View allAll Photos Tagged hand-crocheted
A photo my own, used on old spice pot from my grandma, a little hand crocheted cloth, my mother have done.
Have a lovely weekend all dear friends.
Texture:Jai Johnson
Hullo everyone and everybear! I would like to tell you the story of Nanuk. Once upon a time, not so very long ago, there was a bear called Nanuk. Nanuk is a Polar Bear. The Teddy Bear Orphanage in the Netherlands recently contacted my friend Mummy Marian (Marian Kloon (on and off)) who is well known for being a generous host for bears who need a home. They told her that Nanuk has been living at the Teddy Bear Orphanage for quite some time. They also told Mummy Marian that he\'s very unhappy. Sweet Nanuk was born with a rare disease: poor body temperature regulation. He\'s always cold! The Teddy Bear Orphanage were looking for someone who lives in a country where it never freezes. Mummy Marian immediately thought of me, as like her, I am well known for being a generous host and making my home available to bears who need a family. Mummy Marian felt that Australia (where I live) would be the most perfectly wonderful place for Nanuk to live: a warm country with me as his Daddy, and many bear friends to make a family for him. I considered Mummy Marian’s request, and I immediately said “yes”! I think Nanuk will be a very happy Polar Bear, living with me and all my bears. We don’t know the end of the story yet, because of course, Nanuk’s tale is only just beginning! However, I do think he will live happily ever after!
The theme for "Looking Close on Friday" for the 21st of February is "winterwear". As you can see, Nanuk is sitting by the fire on a fur throw, trying to keep warm by sipping some hot tea, whilst it snows outside. Nanuk, who was hand crocheted for me as a gift by my friend Mummy Marian (Marian Kloon (on and off)), is wearing his own beautiful moss green and grey hooded cape, trimmed with grey and silver ribbon and topped with a pompom, accessorised with two silver jingle bells. I couldn’t think of anyone… or anybear better to fit the theme for this week! I hope that Nanuk and his story make you smile!
Into the Light - Day 84 - Year 2022
Treasure Hunt #37 - Lace
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Detail of my lace Christening gown that was crocheted by my Godmother a very, very long time ago.
When it was my birthday a few months ago, a very dear friend who enjoys photography as much as I do, and knows that I collect beautiful and vintage pieces, gave me a wonderful selection of antique ribbons, buttons, buckles, lace and other fine notions. She also gave me three follow up tins of similar delightful gifts for Christmas.
Amongst the gifts was this pretty ribbon of aqua and white embroidered daisies, and some hand crocheted flowers from Poland, which I have set up on the back terrace against one of my antique embroidered Art Deco doilies from the 1930s, and accessorised with a bobbin of Dewhurst's Sylko light blue cotton, which date from between 1954 and 1958.
Belle Vue Mill, commonly known as Dewhurst’s, was built by Thomas Dewhurst in 1828. It opened in 1829 as John Dewhurst & Sons and was one of Skipton’s largest spinning and weaving mills. The mill’s position next to the Leeds Liverpool Canal meant that raw cotton could be shipped in by boats from Liverpool. Finished goods would then be sent back the same way ready for distribution. Coal to power the machine’s steam engines was also delivered by barge. In 1897 Dewhurst’s was bought by the English Sewing Cotton Co. It continued to produce Sylko, one of the mill’s most famous products. It was produced in over 500 colours and sold throughout the world. Sylko cottons are still available at haberdashers today.
In the end she opted for a book on flowers. Good choice, I think. :)
For those of you who are interested in scale, the books (which have turnable pages) are ¾" high. The little mouse is hand crocheted from mohair and her dress is hand knitted.
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#476: Go the distance. When you accept a task, finish it.
~ From: Life's Little Instruction Book
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Little QUPID QUERIDA is bound and determined to finish what she has begun ... a little 24 piece puzzle of Beatrix Potter's illustration of Peter Rabbit, entitled "Run Along!"
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Baby shoes from the early 1950s. Hand-crocheted lace by my grandmother in the 1960s. Taken with a LensBaby Velvet 56 lens.
The whole idea of the "Surprise" them was to try for something a bit different so a picture of Alexander Hamilton is a failure in that regard. However, he truly did surprise me. We always place towels and hand-crocheted mats on the exam table for cats and yesterday I was so busy with appointments that I had only a second to recycle an exam room so after one appointment, I just tossed the used towels in the hallway behind the exam room - a hallway the clients don't see. I then quickly put fresh towels on the table and called the next client into the room. When I opened the exam room door to go give the doctor the patient's history, there was Alexander Hamilton sitting on the pile of dirty towels right on the other side of the door. I truly almost stepped on him.
So... surprise. Now I'll go look for something different!!
Inky in her hand crocheted spring sweater. She was shaking and shivering one day and I took the opportunity to get some photos of her in one of the many sweaters I made for her.
Well what should I choose?? I love to work with my hands, crochet and cross stitch.Therefor my favourite theme is Stitch - Theme from November 21. Three red hearts in a row stitched with cross stitch. Enjoy and Happy Macro Monday!!
That's what it looks like to me. Someone uses a hook, or a set of needles, to tangle a skein of yarn in a very specific way. Voila! Out comes a garment.
Another attempt at trying to capture the impossible . . . the beauty of these ornaments; the stunning sequined Christmas baubles from my dear flickr friend, Jesse, in Australia, and the hand crocheted or tatted (see video below) white snowflakes and icicles from another amazing flickr friend in Maine! I've chosen to keep my theme in white and silver tones, which fit the atmosphere of my zen room. The hanging ribbon tassel, enclosed in an antique thimble, (at 11:00) is one of my ornaments which have become a passion. The little angel at the top was also created by my island friend, Terry! Click on this video to see a sample of the rare art of tatting!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6hUqCISqz0
and here to read more of a description of the gorgeous baubles:
www.flickr.com/photos/40262251@N03/53373903071/in/photost...
For at least 10 years we've been trying to get some traditional "Maine" lupines to grow in our gardens. Finally a crop has sprouted and we're ecstatic! Although they are not truly happy being put into a vase, Teddy has managed to encourage them to be still for a selfie! The stunning hand-crocheted doily is from my dear flickr island friend, Terry, in Maine. Check out her gorgeous stream: www.flickr.com/photos/native_islander/
I found this lovely poem by © Kornelia Birch
and wanted to share . . .
JOURNEY OF THE HEART
"Most delicate
tragedy
Far from ravines
Sea knows me
Air scents
Lupines of love
grow in the half light
Unfolding their
sapphire wings
Learning to fly
again
pearlescent dew
anoints this dawn
I am waiting
for the refrain
of rain
spindles weave
axis of sky
around
gentle hills
breathing
in motion
reflecting
pearlescent
painted
ocean"
💝Some Vintage feel dress. The right and left are the dress I use coffee and tea to dyeing. The middle is a hand crocheted little bird dress for summer. The dress also can smell coffee and tea flavour.😬
A shop owner makes the clothing she sells on the sidewalk in front of her shop in Baguio, Philippines.
Featured in this fine Gallery: www.flickr.com/photos/fototodofoto/galleries/721576876819...
Winter in Europe is coming to an end, and the door of the Magical Portal in Mummy Marian's garden is open again after being frozen over with ice and snow. Peter told Aurora (who has recently started living with Mummy Marian) about the Magical Portal and out of curiosity, she went looking for it and found it. Hoping that she could use the Magic Portal to visit her Uncle Nanuk, and Peter’s best friend Scout at daddy Jesse’s house in Australia, she carefully pulled on the door, which opened slowly and creakily. However, what she saw disappointed her. Rather than a welcoming garden all she could see was an area overgrown with dense branches and leaves, rather like Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Aurora called out to her Uncle Nanuk and Scout, thinking they might be hiding. Luckily, both Scout and Nanuk heard Aurora in the distance and ran to the magic Portal to see what was wrong. Because it has been summer in Australia, and nobear has been trampling the plants around the Magic Portal with their paws, it had become overgrown with creepers. With the help of everybear at Daddy Jesse’s house, the creepers were soon removed, and both Aurora and Peter could be the first to visit. Scout is hosting a tea party for them.
PADDY: “Welcome back to our house, dear Peter, and welcome for the first time to you, little Aurora.”
SCOUT: “Paddy! I am hosting the tea party. Welcoming the guests should be my job.”
PADDY: “Oh!” *Puts paw to mouth.* “I’m sorry Scout! I’m so used to doing it that I just forgot. Please go ahead.”
SCOUT: “Ahem!” *Clears throat.* “Welcome back to our house, mijn allerbeste vriend Peter, and welcome Aurora! You are going to have soooo much fun here!”
AURORA: “Oh thank you, Scout! I do love your cute little nose.”
SCOUT: “Err… thank you, Aurora.”
PETER: “Oh I love coming here to Daddy Jesse’s and seeing you, mijn allerbeste vriend Scout, and of course, mijn allerliefste Prinses Rosie!”
ROSIE: “Oh mijn prins! You are so handsome, charming and romantic! I cannot ait to give you 10,000 soft snuffly kisses! We are going to have the most wonderful time together!”
PETER: “Oh we are mijn allerliefste Prinses Rosie! I can’t wait to give you 10,000 soft snuffly kisses.”
SCOUT: “We are all going to have soooo much fun!” *Jumps up and down with excitement.*
PETER: “Is this your new Little Red Riding Hood tea set that you received from Father Christmas and the Christmas Bear, mijn beste vriend?”
SCOUT: “Yes it is, mijn beste vriend!” *Proud.* “Look how bright and beautiful it is! Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf are on the saucers, and Little Red Riding Hood’s face is on the bottom of every teacup!”
PETER: “Woooow! It’s soooo pretty!”
SCOUT: “Thank you!”
PADDY: “And I am offering my silver tea service that I received from Father Christmas and the Christmas Bear some years ago.”
PETER: *Whispering to Scout.* “Was that back in ancient times when the world was black and white?” *Giggles.*
SCOUT: *Giggles too.*
NANUK: “Oh I am so pleased that Scout and I heard your calls for help, dear Aurora! I would have hated not seeing you!” *Gives Aurora a snuffly kiss.* “I am so glad that you are here! You make me very happy!”
AURORA: “Oh I would have hated to miss you too, Uncle Nanuk! I so wanted to see you, and Scout too,” *Looks at Scout.* “And his cute little nose.”
NANUK: “We worked hard to clear away all the creepers away from the Magic Portal.”
AURORA: “Oh it was like the forest of thorns around Sleeping Beauty’s castle, Uncle Nanuk! It was dark, and there was no sign of you Uncle Nanuk, or Scout, or anybear! I thought at first that Peter had fooled me and told me a story!”
PETER: “I would never tell you a story, Aurora, unless it was a faerie tale, but Paddy is best at telling faerie tales.” *Nods enthusiastically as he looks at Paddy.*
SCOUT: “That’s because he knows all the old, old faerie tales from the olden days when the world was bla…”
PADDY: “Scout!” *Gives Scout a hard stare.*
SCOUT: “What?!?!”
PADDY: “Thank you for the compliment, Peter. I do enjoy reading faerie stories.”
SCOUT: “And we enjoy listening to them, Paddy! Especially Little Red Riding Hood, except the nasty version where she gets swallowed up by the wolf, and that’s the end of the story! That one isn’t nice!” *Shakes head.*
AURORA: “Can you read us a faerie story later, Paddy?”
PADDY: “Yes, if you’d like that, Aurora. Is there one that is your favourite?”
AURORA: “I don’t know if I know enough ones to know if I have a favourite. Maybe if you could read me one that is romantic, about snow.”
NANUK *Shivers.* “Not too cold a faerie tale, Paddy, or I shall freeze!” *Shivers again.*
AURORA: “Poor Uncle Nanuk, at least here in Australia it is nice and sunny and warm, so you don’t have to worry about being cold, and that makes me very happy!”
NANUK: “Thank you, dear Aurora.” *Gives Aurora another snuffly kiss.* “That is very sweet of you to say so.”
PADDY: “I could read you the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Aurora. It starts in winter time, but ends in summer time, so it shouldn’t be too cold a tale for you, Nanuk.”
NANUK: “And are you settled in comfortably at Mummy Marian’s now, Aurora?”
AURORA: “Oh yes, I am, thank you Uncle Nanuk. Mummy Marian has made me a nice little bed and gives me plenty of delicious treats for my grumbly tummy! Everybear is so nice and kind, especially Peter! We have great adventures together, don’t we Peter?”
PETER: “Oh yes Aurora! You are a tenacious bear, just like me and mijn beste vriend Scout! We have soooo much fun playing, Nanuk!”
AURORA: “Maybe we can play together here with Uncle Nanuk and Scout too,” *Looks at Scout.* “And his cute little nose.”
SCOUT: “We can play hide-and-seek in the garden if you like, Aurora.”
AURORA: “And maybe I could… play at kissing your cute little nose, Scout!” *Giggles.*
DADDY: “But there will be no playing of games before you all have some tea and some brightly coloured macarons for afternoon tea!” *Places Scout’s Little Red Riding Hood tray laden with macarons on the table.* “You need something to fill your grumbly tummies and give you plenty of energy!”
PADDY, SCOUT, NANUK, ROSIE, PETER and AURORA: “Macarons! Grumbly tummies, Daddy! Grumbly tummies!” *Rub tummies vigorously.*
My bears Paddy and Scout have made very good friends with two bears in Holland called Peter and Oleg (www.flickr.com/photos/40262251@N03/galleries/721577154558... and www.flickr.com/photos/40262251@N03/galleries/721577233464...) and their MummyMarian Kloon (on and off). Peter and Scout are very similar and have become best friends. Peter also loves Rosie and she loves him, so they have become prince and princess to one another. Aurora is Nanuk's niece and lives with Mummy Marian after being blown there on a cloud from the North Pole, as both she and Nanuk are Polar Bears.
It is true that out of curiosity, little Aurora did go and explore Mummy Marian's garden, to see whether there was a Magic Portal, and she found it, but it was all overgrown. You can see here: www.flickr.com/photos/66094586@N06/54360194570/in/datepos... or in the first comment below. Luckily, her Uncle Nanuk and Scout heard her calls and came to clear the Magic Portal, so that Aurora and Peter could visit and have tea with us all.
The lovely and bright tea set on the table was a gift to Scout from Father Christmas and the Christmas Bear. It is a 1960s tin children's tea set that consists of six cups, saucers and plates, plus a wonderful oblong tea tray. Little Red Riding Hood features with the wolf on all the plates, saucers and tray, and Little Red Riding Hood's face is on the underside of every teacup.
The beautiful nursery tea set comprising of a tea pot, milk jug and sugar bowl are very Art Deco, and were a gift to Paddy from Father Christmas and the Christmas Bear a few years ago. The set was obviously made originally for the child of a very wealthy family, as the set is made of very heavy sterling silver. The hallmarks on each piece (including on the inner lip of the teapot lid) indicates that it was made in Sheffield by the well known English silversmith James Dixon of James Dixon and Sons in 1921. The pot also features an ebonised finial and handle which are affixed with tiny sterling silver screws and wingnuts, just like a real teapot!
My Paddington Bear came to live with me in London when I was two years old (many, many years ago). He was hand made by my Great Aunt and he has a chocolate coloured felt hat, the brim of which had to be pinned up by a safety pin to stop it getting in his eyes. The collar of his mackintosh is made of the same felt. He wears wellington boots made from the same red leather used to make the toggles on his mackintosh.
He has travelled with me across the world and he and I have had many adventures together over the years. He is a very precious member of my small family.
Scout was a gift to Paddy from my friend. He is a Fair Trade Bear hand knitted in Africa. His name comes from the shop my friend found him in: Scout House. He tells me that life was very different where he came from, and Paddy is helping introduce him to many new experiences. Scout catches on quickly, and has proven to be a cheeky, but very lovable member of our closely knit family.
Rosie is Scout's cousin, because like Scout, she is a free trade knitted bear from Africa. She was made in Kenya by one of the Kenana Knitters, Martha Wanjira. She is made from home spun and dyed wool. She was a gift to me from two very dear friends, including the one who gave Scout to Paddy.
Nanuk, who was hand crocheted for me as a gift by my friend Mummy Marian (Marian Kloon (on and off)). Sweet Nanuk was born with a rare disease: poor body temperature regulation. He's always cold! Thus Mummy Marian thought that the best place for him to live would be Australia where it never freezes, and I readily agreed for him to come and live with us!
Thank you very much to Marian Kloon (on and off) for the use of her photo of Peter and Aurora in my photo montage.
For A Year of Dolls! Odds & Evens - July 25
Someone has been spending the rainy days sewing and Tildee is sweeping up after them. Ooooops, sorry!
Bordada a mano estilo tradicional solo que normalmente usan muchos colores, y tejen la tela a mano. Esta es tela comercial de algodón con estambre. Los bordes son de crochet hecho a mano. Creo que el pájaro de pescuezo chueco es guajolote.
Me la regalaron en una casa de tejedoras, pues compré huipiles y pagué demasiado después de regatear un rato, y me regaló varias cositas, para no sentirse tan culpable.
This was given to me by the woman who embroidered it. I bought huipiles from her, and i paid too much, and so she gave me some stuff to assuage her guilt. :) Hand embroidered with acrylic, hand crocheted edges, very traditional designs, normally done in a riot of colors on handwoven cloth, but to make a servilleta (napkin, or tortilla cloth) they embroider one color on factory made cloth.
Ojitlán, Oaxaca, MEXICO (Chinanteca)
December 16 350/365
Took tons of pics and one of the ones I liked the best was the motion blur ones...an ongoing process that I have been including during my selfie shoots...every so often, I snag one worthy of artistic value...softened the color a bit...The hat and garment are vintage/antique...
Will be by more in the a.m...hate to post and run...feeling a little under the weather today...
Thank you so much for stopping by! Take care!
Vincent van Gogh was born this day in 1853. What would he think, I wonder, if he could know that March 30th each year is therefore now designated World Bipolar Day.
Equally he might find it strange that Tate Britain, in the shop attached to its current exhibition of his time in London, has for sale at £35 (plus P&P) a 30cm hand crocheted van Gogh 'doll' described as the 'perfect gift for any young art enthusiast'.
My forsythia and bokeh was blooming along the river at Winchester.
*ღღ* Entre Amigos *ღღ* Proyecto 365 Días
Tikki ecstatically rubbing up against (and rotating) the hand-crocheted gift basket / cat bed filled with similarly handmade - including catnip! - cat toys. An item I bid on at an auction for Cat Adoption Team. The photo looked so adorable as I started to press down the shutter... later added to Happy Caturday 12 October 2024 “Contrary Cats” (for failing to cooperate w photographer).
bodice is a patchwork of cottons, linens, satin and lace. The bodice back is constructed with a hand crocheted collar and slightly elasticized for shaping. The skirt is layers of silk chiffon, lace, cottons and rayon.
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 at Cavendish Mews. We have travelled east across London, through Bloomsbury, past the Smithfield Meat Markets, beyond the Petticoat Lane Markets* frequented by Lettice’s maid, Edith, through the East End boroughs of Bethnal Green and Bow, to the 1880s housing development of Upton Park. It is here that Frank’s closest and only surviving relation lives: his grandmother. As Edith and Frank’s relationship has deepened over the past few months, Frank has been anxious to introduce his sweetheart to his grandmother, but he has wanted to wait for the right moment to do so. And so, today is the day!
Getting out at Upton Park railway station, the pair exit the polychromatic red and brown brick Victorian railway station with its ornate finials and elegant quoining. Even though the day is grey and overcast, the glare of natural light after being in the London underground blinds them momentarily. Before them the busy high street shopping precinct of Green Street stretches in either direction to their left and right, the noisy thoroughfare chocked with a mixture of chugging motor cars, lorries and the occasional double decker electrical tram. Even horse drawn carts with placid plodding old work horses unperturbed by the belching of their mechanical usurpers join the melee of trundling traffic going in either direction. People bustle past them on the footpath, going about their Sunday business cheerily, many off to the nearby Queens Road Market.
Edith looks across the road to the ramshackle collection of two and three storey buildings constructed over two centuries. Their canvas awnings fluttering in the breeze help to advertise a haberdasher, a lamp shop, a chemist, a boot repairer, a grocers, an electric sanitary laundry and a bakery. She smiles at the banality of it all and sighs with relief. Having never been to Upton Park before, Edith didn’t quite know what to expect. As she stands on the pavement, she cannot help but feel nervous about meeting Frank’s grandmother, her stomach roiling with anxiety and tension. However, seeing the similarities between the Upton Park high street and her own home high street in Harlesden, Edith feels a little easier. Up until this moment, she has been worried that Frank’s grandmother might be far grander than she or her family. Even the fact that the area she lives in has a park in its name suggests grandeur, so the ordinariness of her surroundings gives her hope and eases her apprehension a little.
“Everything you need is right here.” Frank remarks as he notice’s his sweetheart’s keen eye taking in her surrounds. “All it really needs now is a cinema**. Come on.”
The pair cross the busy thoroughfare of Green Street, weaving their way through the traffic, and head west a short distance before turning down the elm tree lined Kings Road, which is flanked to either side with identical polychromatic cream and red brick two storey Victorian terraces with grey or painted stone dressings. As Edith peers at their façades over the top of their low brick fences, she notes that each house has a small bay with two windows downstairs and two upstairs, a recessed porch and front door with a window above that. As they walk underneath the elm trees, Edith notices the slight flutter of several sets of lace curtains in the downstairs windows as suburban London housewives, no doubt alerted to the pair’s approach by their footsteps on the concrete footpath, peer out from the comfort of their front rooms.
“So, back before the war and the Spanish Flu, it used to be five of us here in Kings Road.” Frank chatters brightly, the heightened false joviality indicating his own underlaying nervousness at this very important meeting between the two most important women in his life. “My Grandpop and Gran, Mum, Dad and me.”
“Is your Grandpop going to be there today too?” Edith asks, suddenly aware that there may be a person she has not considered in the equation of her visit. Frank has only ever talked about his grandmother and not a grandfather.
“Not unless we’re having tea in the West Ham Cemetery,” Frank replies, somewhat in alarm.
“Oh I’m sorry, Frank. You haven’t mentioned him before, so I assumed that… well…” She gulps guiltily.
“Don’t worry about it, Edith.” Frank reassures her, putting his arm comfortingly around her. “I think we’re probably both as nervous as each other about today.”
Edith sighs and allows herself to fall into Frank’s protective embrace and press against his side as they walk. The familiar scent of him: a mixture of soap and the grocery shop, is comforting to her and helps her to keep her mettle. She knows how important this meeting is, and she wants to impress upon Frank’s grandmother that she really does care for her grandson, as well as making Frank proud of her.
“Not that you have anything to worry about. You’re my girl, and I know Gran is going to love you. I bet she’s just as nervous as we are,” Frank goes on. “Not that she’d tell me so.”
They stop in front of a terrace behind a low brick wall just the same as all the others, its front door painted black and a small patch of lawn, devoid of any other vegetation filling the space between the street and the house.
“Well, here we are then.” Frank says, rubbing Edith’s arm consolingly. “Like I was saying before, before the war there were five of us here, but Grandpop died in 1912, and of course my parents went with the Spanish Flu, so it only left Gran and me, so the landlord divided the house. He said it was so Gran could stay because she was a good tenant, but I reckon he just wanted to make more money by turning upstairs into a second tenement.” He lets out a deep breath tinged with remorse. “Still, at least it did mean when I moved to live closer to work that Gran could manage on her own downstairs, and the neighbours upstairs are nice people who keep an eye on her.”
Frank releases Edith and grasps her forearms and looks her squarely in the face, admiring her beauty as she stands in her Sunday best plum frock, her three quarter length black coat and her cloche with the purple silk roses and black feathers. In an effort he knows is to impress his grandmother, her second-hand crocodile skin handbag hangs from the crook in her left arm. She nervously fiddles with the butchers paper wrapped around a bunch of yellow roses she bought as a gift for Frank’s grandmother from a florist outside Down Street Railway Station***.
“Come on then, Edith.” Frank says, bucking his sweetheart up. “Let’s get this over with.”
Walking through the unlocked front door, the pair find themselves in the black and white lino lined hallway of the terrace, with a flight of stairs leading upwards. The vestibule smells of a mixture of carbolic soap, boiled cabbage and fish. “Smells like Mrs. Claxton managed to get some fish for tea.” Frank observes.
The doorway that would have led into what was once the front room has been bricked up and paper pasted over it, however an original frosted and stained glass panelled doorway adjunct to the stairs which leads to the back of the ground floor of the terrace now serves as the downstairs tenement’s front door. Walking up to it, Frank knocks loudly and then calls out “It’s only me, Gran,” before opening it and walking in without waiting for an answer.
“Och! Is that you, my bairn?” a voice thick with a Scottish brogue calls as Frank eases Edith out of her coat and hangs it on a hook in the hallway alongside his own coat, scarf and hat.
“Yes Gran!” he replies. “And I’ve brought Edith with me.”
“Good! Good!” comes the reply.
“Wait Frank!” Edith gasps.
“What is it?” Frank queries.
“I… I don’t know what to call your grandmother. I can’t very well call her Gran, can I? That would be presumptuous of me.”
“Oh, that’s true.” Frank replies, cocking his head thoughtfully to one side. “Well, she’s my Mum’s mum, so she’s a McTavish. So best call her Mrs. McTavish, at least initially.” He gives her a reassuring wink before leading her further down the corridor and through a second frosted and stained glass door like the first and into a neat, cheerful and light filled kitchen.
Edith quickly assesses the room with flitting glances around her. The kitchen is bigger than her parents’ one in Harlesden, but similarly to theirs, the room is dominated by a big black coal consuming range and features a dresser that is stuffed with all manner of mismatched decorative china and a panoply of cooking items. The walls are covered with cream coloured wallpaper featuring dainty floral sprigs. Several framed embroideries hang around the room and a cuckoo clock ticks contentedly to the left of the range. A rug covers the flagstone floor before the hearth. A round table covered in a pretty lace tablecloth has several mismatched chairs and stools drawn up to it. On the table itself stands a healthy looking aspidistra which obviously benefits from the sun as it filters through the lace curtains at the large kitchen window. Just like her mother’s table when guests come to call, a selection of decorative blue and white crockery has been set out, ready for use. A shop bought Dundee Cake****, still with its ornamental Scottish tartan ribbon wrapped around it, sits on a plate, whilst a biscuit tin and a cannister of tea stand next to it. A sewing work table with a sagging floral bag for storage beneath it stands open, its compartments filled with needles, thread, wool, buttons and everything a sewer and knitter needs. And there, in a very old and worn brown leather wingback chair sits Frank’s Scottish grandmother, Mrs. McTavish.
“Och, there you are, Francis my boy!” the old woman says with a growling enunciation of the letter r as she reaches up and grasps her grandson’s face in her hands, drawing him down for a puckered kiss on the lips.
“Oh Gran!” Frank gasps with embarrassment.
“What? Too big to be kissed by your old Gran, Francis?” she asks, the wrinkles and folds in her weathered and old face deepening in concern as she looks up into his fresh and youthful one.
“Francis?” Edith queries with surprise.
“I thought we had this discussion, Gran!” Frank protests. “I’m Frank, 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!”
“Francis?” Edith repeats, unable to prevent a smile spreading across her face as she hears Frank’s real name for the first time.
“Now don’t you start.” Frank says warningly to his sweetheart, wagging a finger admonishingly at his grandmother at the same time, who smiles cheekily. “No-one will take me seriously if I’m Francis, so I’m Frank.”
“If you say so, Francis,” Mrs. McTavish replies, using his real name again, much to his irritation. Turning her attention to the stranger in the room, she addresses Edith, “And you must be Edith.” She smiles broadly, showing a set of slightly crooked and tea stained teeth. “How do you do, dearie.”
“How do you do, Mrs. McTavish.” Edith replies, smiling politely in return as she stands in the middle of the room. Frank tries to indicate something with his eyes, and remembering that she is holding the yellow roses that she bought, she presents them to the Scottish woman in the chair. “These are for you.”
“Och! How kind dearie!” she replies, taking them into her worn and gnarled hands which Edith notes as she passes them over, have rather long and elegant fingers. “I do so love flowers, and roses are a real treat. Thank you. They’ll brighten up the table. Will you Fr…”
“Gran!” Frank warns.
“Will you put them in some water, as-he-likes-to-be-known-now, Frank?”
“You are incorrigible, Gran!” Frank exclaims in exasperation, snatching the roses from his grandmother’s outstretched hands. He takes them over to the small trough sink underneath the window and finding a glass vase on the grooved wooden draining board, fills it with water and starts unwrapping the roses from their butchers paper housing.
“I bet he didn’t tell you his name was Francis, did he, dearie?” Mrs. McTavish asks Edith, indicating for Edith to take a seat in the Windsor chair, not too unlike her own at Cavendish Mews, that has been drawn up to the range.
“No, he didn’t.” Edith replies, inhaling the smell or carbolic soap which has obviously also been used in the neat kitchen. She also picks up the smell of coal dust and fried or baked potatoes coming from the range.
“Well you can hardly blame me, can you?” Frank calls from the sink. “Francis is a girl’s name, not a boy’s.”
“Nonsense bairn!” Mrs. McTavish says again. “What about Francis Drake the great Elizabethan explorer? Hhmm?”
“We don’t live in Elizabethan times, Gran.” Frank replies, putting the vase of roses on the table. He places a comforting hand on Edith’s shoulder before taking a seat in the high backed Windsor chair on the opposite side of the table to Edith.
“So, dearie,” Mrs. McTavish begins. “Frank,” She emphasises his preferred choice of name. “Has told me a bit about you, but he didn’t tell me whether you prefer to be called Eadie or Edith. What shall I call you?”
“Oh Edith is fine. No-one calls me Eadie.”
“Very good. So Edith, Frank tells me that he met you through delivering for the grocers that he works for up in the West End. Is that right?”
“Well yes,” Edith replies, prepared and yet at the same time not quite expecting the interrogation to start quite so soon after her arrival. “I work as a maid for the daughter of a viscount and Willisons is our local grocer.”
“And you’ve been a domestic since?”
“Since I was fourteen, Mrs. McTavish.”
The old woman nods and smiles pleasantly. “And you’re how old now, Edith?”
“She’s twenty-two.” Frank pipes up.
“Thank you, Francis,” the old woman addresses her grandson with wide eyes, this time deliberately using his proper name. “I was addressing Edith, not you. And were your parents in service too, dearie?”
“No.” Edith replies. “Well, my mother works as a laundress to bring in a little extra money, but my father works for McVitie and Price in Harlesden.”
“He received a promotion last year, to line manager.” Frank pipes up again.
“Och!” the old woman exclaims. “I’m addressing Edith, not you, bairn! Stop being a nuisance and interrupting. Make yourself useful and make us some tea, will you.” She points to a pretty blue floral teapot sitting in the shadows on a shelf at the side of the range over a small oven. “We can’t go having Dundee cake without tea, now can we?” she asks rhetorically.
Frank picks himself up out of his chair and walks around the table, reaching behind Edith to grab the teapot which he takes to the table. “Have you been cooking rumbledethumps*****, Gran?” he asks as he catches the same whiff of potatoes that Edith had smelt whilst sitting by the hearth.
“I have, bairn. I’ll give you some to take home to your landlady to heat up for you for your tea. That Mrs. Chapman could serve you a decent dish of rumbledethumps or two. You’re as skinny as a rake.” she observes before continuing her conversation with Edith. “And you were born in Harlesden then, Edith?”
“I was, Mrs. McTavish. So were both my parents. They met through a church picnic as they went to the same parish.”
“And what do you and my Fran… k, do, when you go out together?”
“I told you, Gran!” Frank mutters as he puts a third heaped teaspoon of tea from the red enamel and brass tea caddy into the pot. “We go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais****** and to the Premier in East Ham******* to catch a moving picture. I told you!”
“Och! Don’t keep interrupting, Francis!” the old Scottish woman exclaims, reverting back to his proper name yet again, this time in exasperation as she scolds Frank like a little boy. “And don’t forget to add an extra spoon for the pot********! And don’t stir that pot with the handle********* once the tea is made, or it will be nothing but strive for you!”
“No Gran!” Frank mutters in reply with slumped shoulders.
“We go to Hyde or Regent’s Park sometimes,” Edith adds hopefully, embroidering on Frank’s admission to their pursuits on their days off. “And listen to the band play under the rotunda, or visit the speakers********** and listen…”
“If they have anything decent to say.” Frank adds as he takes up the large brass kettle from the hob, only to find it nearly empty. He grumbles to himself as he goes and fills it at the tap.
“And sometimes we go to Lyon’s Corner House*********** in Piccadilly for tea, and sometimes we don’t go anywhere. We just sit in my kitchen at Cavendish Mews and take tea there.”
“Och! Doesn’t your mistress mind?”
“Miss Lettice is quite liberal and kind in that way, Mrs. McTavish,” Edith assures her. “But we usually only have tea in the kitchen on my days off if I know Miss Lettice isn’t going to be home. I don’t like to impose, nor abuse her kindness and generosity.”
“That’s very wise.” the old Scotswoman acknowledges.
“Oh Gran!” Frank groans loudly.
“What is it now, bairn?” she asks, bristling with mild irritation at her grandson’s constant interruptions.
“You’ve nearly let the range go out!” He investigates the canal ware************ coal scuttle and sees that it is nearly empty. “And there’s no coal.”
“Och, here!” With a groan she heaves herself out of her comfortable seat with the Scottish tartan blanket behind her head and reaches up under the ornamental fringe hanging from the mantle above the range and hands her grandson a small key. “Go and fill it up for me. There’s a good lad!” She smiles brightly and runs her hand lovingly along his cheek before patting it.
“You’ve been locking the coal store in the cellar?” he queries.
“There have been a few instances of coal theft in the neighbourhood lately.” Mrs. McTavish elucidates with a nod as she lowers herself back into her seat.
Muttering to himself, Frank leaves the two ladies alone in the kitchen. They both fall silent as they listen to his shuffling footsteps as he lugs the scuttle awkwardly out of the back door and heads for the coal cellar entrance.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Edith asks knowingly after taking a few measured breaths upon the closure of the back door. “You knew the scuttle was empty and you let the fire die down.”
“I did, bairn.” Mrs, McTavish admits with a sigh. “And I used Francis’ real name because I knew he would ne have told you it. You’re a canny and clever wee lass aren’t you?” Her eyebrows arch over her glittering dark brown eyes. “I know, I’m a bit of a cheeky one, even at my age. I love Francis very much. He is, after all, my only real close family now with my daughter and son-in-law being gone these last few years.” she goes on. “But he’s so anxious that you and I should get along that he’ll do anything, say anything, to gild the lily about anything you are, say or do. I want to know the truth, without his interruptions and insistences.”
“Well, I hope I will please you, and that we will get along, Mrs. McTavish.” Edith leans across the space between them and grasps the older woman’s bony left hand as it rests on the arm of her chair with her right hand. “It is my fondest wish that we should. I only want to make Frank happy, I assure you.”
The old woman places her right hand over Edith’s and pats it gently, the worn and cool flesh of her palm sending a spark of energy though the younger woman. “I’m sure, dearie. And from what Francis has told me, and what you’ve shown so far whilst you’ve been here, I can tell you’re a nice lass, not racy or rude like some he’s met on his rounds.”
“No,” Edith muses, retreating and sitting back to her seat as she remembers meeting Vi at the Premier Cinema in East Ham just before Christmas. “No, I’m not at all racy, and I was raised to mind my manners. In fact I’m quite old fashioned and conservative, really.” She chuckles half to herself. “Or so Miss Lettice says.”
“Old fashioned and conservative isn’t always bad, dearie.” Mrs. McTavish answers as she snuggles back into the woolly warmth of the red, green and yellow blanket draped across the top of her chair. “So tell me, Edith, whilst my best lad is out of the room, what is it that drew you to him? He tells me that you sort of stumbled into courtship, or whatever it is you young people call it now. What is it about my Francis that you like so well?”
“Well, “ Edith thinks. “I suppose it’s because he is a bit old fashioned and conservative too. I like that he wants to do things correctly. He’s kind and thoughtful too, and I like that he is trying to better himself in little ways. I suppose I am too, in my own way.” Edith pauses before continuing. “I must confess that I do enjoy reading romance novels, Mrs. McTavish, but I’m under no illusions that Frank should sweep me off my feet with declarations of love or grand gestures of emotion. He told me just before Christmas when he took me out to the pictures, that he wishes that he could afford to buy me a brooch as a token of his affection, but I really don’t need it. He does little things for me, like pay for a deckchair when we go to Hyde Park, or gives me a box of chocolates now and then, and that’s more than enough for me.” She smiles. “We rub along well together, and I think we’re well suited, Mrs. McTavish. I love him and he loves me.”
“And what would you do, dearie, if Francis told you that he was going to do something that you did ne agree with?”
“Oh, I’m sure Frank wouldn’t do that, Mrs. McTavish. Like I said, he’s kind and gentlemanly.”
“Yes, but what if he did?”
“Like what?”
“Well,” she thinks. “What if he decided to follow those Communists or Bolshevists or whoever it was killed the Russian Czar and created anarchy there?”
“Oh, he’s not a communist, Mrs. McTavish!” Edith assures her.
“Yes, I know he isn’t, dearie,” she answers patiently. “But what would you say to him if he were?”
“Well, “ Edith ponders. “I suppose I’d tell him that I thought it was a bad idea, and why. I’ve found you have to reason with Frank.”
The old woman sighs and Edith can see her body relax within the confines of her old fashioned high necked Edwardian print dress. “Well that’s all I need to know, Edith.” She raises a hand to her chest and starts massaging it comfortingly. “I won’t always be around, and to know my Francis has met a nice girl who will help love and support him, and reason with him if he looks like he might get himself into trouble makes me very relieved.”
Edith wonders if she has just passed Mrs. McTavish’s test. Suddenly all the anxiety and fear that had been roiling around in Edith’s stomach starts to disperse.
“Did you make the fringe above the fireplace, Mrs. McTavish?” Edith asks, pointing to the beautifully embroidered floral scallops of duck egg blue and tan.
“I did my dear, and the tablecloth too.” She points proudly to the snowy white cloth on the table. “My clan comes from Perthshire, and I make bobbin lace – a skill which I learned from my mother, and my mother learned from hers.” She reaches to a small black pillow covered in dangling wooden bobbins sitting on an old pedestal table next to her. Edith stands up and steps over, crouching before the Scotswoman as she places the pillow in her lap and begins moving the bobbins deftly beneath her elegant fingers, creating a little bit more lace. “Snowflaking************* goes back in my family for as long as anyone can tell.” She indicates to a basket in front of her sewing table.
Edith follows her hand and sees a froth of beautiful white lace sticking out from it. With careful reverence she reaches into the basket and touches the rolls of lace, lace doilies and lace trimmed pillowcases inside.
“My mother does a little bit of lacework, Mrs. McTavish, but nothing like this.”
“Well, I make lace for some of those dressmakers who make the fancy frocks for the likes of your mistress up the West End.”
“Miss Lettice has a friend who makes frocks, Mrs. McTavish.” Edith remarks. “Maybe you make lace for him.”
“Maybe I do, dearie.”
A loud thud, followed by the bang of the back door and a few more smaller thuds indicate that Frank has returned from the coal cellar. Huffing he groans as he dumps the large canal ware scuttle full of crumbling black coal onto the hearth tiles. “You…” he puffs. “You didn’t need… to give me the key… Gran. The box was… unlocked.”
“Oh? Was it, bairn?” Mrs. McTavish asks, her eyes glistening cheekily as she looks to Edith. “Well, there you go. Must have forgotten to lock it last time I was down there.”
“Well,” Frank replies. “Luckily… no-one broke in… and stole your coal, Gran. And I’ve… locked it up for you… so it’s… safe as houses************** now.” He replaces the key back on the little hook beneath the fireplace fringe, and looks down at his sweetheart and his grandmother. He pauses for a moment to catch his breath before asking, “So, how are my two best girls getting on, then?”
“I think we’re getting along just fine, Francis.” Edith says with a cheeky smile.
*Petticoat Lane Market is a fashion and clothing market in Spitalfields, London. It consists of two adjacent street markets. Wentworth Street Market and Middlesex Street Market. Originally populated by Huguenots fleeing persecution in France, Spitalfields became a center for weaving, embroidery and dying. From 1882, a wave of Jewish immigrants fleeing persecution in eastern Europe settled in the area and Spitalfields then became the true heart of the clothing manufacturing district of London. 'The Lane' was always renowned for the 'patter' and showmanship of the market traders. It was also known for being a haven for the unsavoury characters of London’s underworld and was rife with prostitutes during the late Victorian era. Unpopular with the authorities, as it was largely unregulated and in some sense illegal, as recently as the 1930s, police cars and fire engines were driven down ‘The Lane’, with alarm bells ringing, to disrupt the market.
**It was not until five years after this story that the Carlton Cinema on Green Street opened its doors on the 29th of October, 1928 with the Fritz Lang film “The Spy” (Spione) starring Willy Fritsch. The Carlton Cinema was a project of exhibitors Clavering and Rose who employed noted cinema architect George Coles to convert the old St. George’s Industrial School building into the auditorium of the new cinema. The outer walls, now with original windows and doors bricked up were retained and a splendid new facade in an Egyptian style was built on Green Street. It was faced in multi-coloured tiles manufactured by the Hathern Station Brick and Terra Cotta Company similar to the George Coles designed Egyptian style Carlton Cinema, Islington. Inside the entrance led to a long connecting corridor which contained a cafe, and through this into the auditorium, which was set well back from and parallel to Green Street. Inside the auditorium, seating was provided for 2,117 in a semi-stadium plan, (a raised area at the rear, but with no overhanging balcony).
***Down Street, also known as Down Street (Mayfair), is a disused station on the London Underground, located in Mayfair. The Great Northern, Piccadilly and Brompton Railway opened it in 1907. It was latterly served by the Piccadilly line and was situated between Dover Street (now named Green Park) and Hyde Park Corner stations. The station was little used; many trains passed through without stopping. Lack of patronage and proximity to other stations led to its closure in 1932. During the Second World War it was used as a bunker by the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, and the war cabinet. The station building survives and is close to Down Street's junction with Piccadilly. Part of it is now converted to a retail outlet.
****Dundee Cake has strong association to the geographical area through the marmalade makers Keillers of Dundee. Keillers used their surplus orange peel from their marmalade production to create the Dundee Cake. The cake was made as a rich buttery sultana cake flavoured with orange peel and almonds. Some Scottish bakers decided they didn't like glazed cherries in their fruit cakes (usually a staple in most fruitcakes) and so they baked a cake with blanched almonds instead.
*****Rumbledethumps is a dish that is popular in the Scottish border regions and is perfect for using up leftover mashed potatoes and excess vegetables. Often referred to as the Scottish version of bubble ‘n squeak, rumbledethumps recipes usually contain turnip and cabbage, but really any vegetable leftovers could be used. The vegetable mixture is topped with cheese and then baked until bubbling. The dish can be made the day before and heated up and whilst it can be eaten on its own, makes a nice accompaniment for a hearty stew.
******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.
*******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 traditional measurement when making that we give is one teaspoon per person, and one extra spoon for the pot. Although not confirmed by anyone else, my Grandmother always told me the one spoon of tea leaves per person rule is based on the assumption that in polite society, a sitter only ever drinks one cup from the pot, before the pot requires replenishment. The tea weakens after its first use, but by adding an extra spoonful of tea leaves, when replenished for a second time, the tea should still be strong and flavoursome enough for the enjoyment of the sitters.
*********A Scottish superstition states that it is considered bad luck to stir tea with anything other than a spoon, as the handle of a fork or spoon is said to stir up trouble for the improper stirrer.
**********A Speakers' Corner is an area where open-air public speaking, debate, and discussion are allowed. The original and best known is in the northeast corner of Hyde Park in London. Historically there were a number of other areas designated as Speakers' Corners in other parks in London, such as Lincoln's Inn Fields, Finsbury Park, Clapham Common, Kennington Park, and Victoria Park. Areas for Speakers' Corners have been established in other countries and elsewhere in Britain. Speakers here may talk on any subject, as long as the police consider their speeches lawful, although this right is not restricted to Speakers' Corner only. Contrary to popular belief, there is no immunity from the law, nor are any subjects proscribed, but in practice the police intervene only when they receive a complaint.
***********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.
************Narrow boat painting, or canal art is a traditional British folk art. This highly decorative folk art once adorned the working narrow boats of the inland waterways of Britain. Canal ware, barge ware, or gift ware, are used to describe decorated trinkets, and household items, rather than the decorated narrow boats.
*************Lace made by hand using bobbins is properly called bobbin lace, but colloquially it is known as snowflaking, Depression lace, or chickenscratch, indicating that it was a way to make something out of nearly nothing.
**************John Hotten argued in his Slang Dictionary of 1859 that “safe as houses” may have arisen when the intense speculation on railways in Britain — the railway mania — began to be seen for the highly risky endeavour that it really was and when bricks and mortar became more financially attractive.
A cosy kitchen this may be, but it is not quite what it seems, for it is made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Dominating the room is the large kitchen range which 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). The fringing hanging from the mantle is actually a beautiful scalloped ribbon that was given to me at Christmas time by a very close friend of mine.
Mrs. McTavish’s intentionally worn leather wingback chair and the sewing table are both 1:12 artisan miniatures. The inside of the sewing table is particularly well made and detailed with a removable tray made up of multiple compartments. Beneath it, the floral fabric lines the underside and opens up into a central bag. Both pieces come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The top comparts are full of sewing items which also came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop and various online specialists on E-Bay. The tartan rug draped over the back of the chair I have had since I was about six. It came with a blanket rocker miniature I was given for my sixth birthday.
The sewing basket that you can see on the floor beneath the sewing table I bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings. It is an artisan miniature and contains pieces of embroidery and embroidery threads. Also inserted into it is an embroidery hoop that has been which embroidered by hand which came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The lidded wicker basket also beneath the sewing table was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside. In this case it contains various lace doilies, some of which I have obtained from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom and one that I bought from the same high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings that the sewing basket came from.
On the small pedestal table next to Mrs. McTavish’s chair sits a black velvet pillow used for making bobbin lace. It comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom, and so too does the table.
On the wall just behind Mrs. McTavish’s chair hangs a hand painted cuckoo clock. It has been made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
In the background you can see Mrs. McTavish’s dark wood dresser cluttered with decorative china. I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom.
Like the dresser, the round table and the Windsor chairs I have had since I was a child. The cloth on the table is hand crocheted antique lace which I have had since I was seven years old. The decorative china on the table also come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. So too does the tea caddy, the aspidistra in the white pot and the floral teapot on the range. The biscuit tin with the decorative lid featuring a Victorian man and lady comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The Dundee cake is a 1:12 artisan miniature made of polymer clay with a real piece of tartan ribbon around it, made by Polly’s Pantry who specialises in making food miniatures. The vase of yellow roses came from an online stockist on E-Bay.
The brass pieces on the range all come from different online stockists of miniatures.
The rug on the floor comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
Oh la la! is finally done and finished~
I am really happy with the result. She has the melancholic look and antique style I dreamed in my head.
Her outfit is made of antique linens and laces. Hand embroidery skirt and hand crocheted trims.
As I was staring at our tree and reflecting on the JOYS of the season, having not given much thought to the placement of our ornaments while decorating . . .
I realized how much the polar bear, snowflakes and icicles were almost a premonition to the weather we've been experiencing!
I love this section of "seaside" remembrances, with just a few of the exquisite hand crocheted gifts from my flickr friend, Terry, who lives on an island in Maine.
Flickr friendships are such a special part of my life.
Thanks, everyone, for sharing and caring.