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Hampshire Police Targeted Area Patrol Team Volvo XC70 4953 - HX11 JCU - LIGHT DEMO. Parked along Rowlands Lane, Isle of Wight. A massive thankyou to the officer driving this car who offered to drive me to this location and photograph the car, and put the lights on.
19th January 2013
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The photo offers a beautiful contrast between tradition and modernism. In the foreground, cabarets where traditional millet beer, like that found in every market in Burkina Faso, is consumed. In the background, private investors built the modern BRAFASO factory in the late 2000s to compete with the Pierre Castel Group. The company operated from 2002 to 2008, without truly exploiting the factory to its full capacity. A resumption of operations is planned in the short term, with work scheduled to begin in 2025 to resume production at the infrastructure level.
La photo offre un beau contraste entre tradition et modernisme. Au premier plan, des cabarets dans lesquels se consomme la bière de mil traditionnelle comme on en rencontre dans tous les marchés au Burkina Faso. À l'arrière-plan, l'usine moderne BRAFASO construite à la fin des années 2000 par des investisseurs privés pour concurrencer le Groupe Pierre Castel. La société a fonctionné de 2002 à 2008, mais sans réellement exploiter l'usine au maximum de sa capacité. La relance des activités est prévue à court terme avec le constat en 2025 de travaux pour une reprise de la production au niveau de l'infrastructure.
Namibia offers spectacular landscapes. Incredible sunrises and sunsets. Amazing starry nights with no lights to disturb you. There are no words to express the emotions that overwhelm you. You can only experience it first hand.
Namibia ofrece espectaculares paisajes. Increibles amaneceres y ocasos. Alucinantes noches estrelladas sin luces que molesten. No hay palabras para expresar las emociones que te embargan. Solo se puede vivir en primera persona.
French postcard by Editions P.I., Paris, offered by Corvisart, Epinal, no. 1080. Photo: Ektochrome Anders.
From 1961 until 1963 Helen Shapiro (1946) was England's teenage pop music queen, at one point selling 40,000 copies daily of her biggest single, 'Walkin' Back to Happiness', during a 19-week chart run. The singer and actress was only 14 when she was discovered. Shapiro had a rich, expressive voice properly sounding like the property of someone twice as old, and she matured into a seasoned professional very quickly.
Helen Kate Shapiro was born in Bethnal Green, London in 1946. She is the granddaughter of Russian Jewish immigrants, and her parents, who were piece-workers in the garment industry, attended Lea Bridge Road Synagogue. They were too poor to own a record player but encouraged music in their home. At age 9, Helen performed with a ukulele in the school group Susie & the Hula Hoops, whose members included also a young Mark Feld aka Marc Bolan). Reportedly, they performed their own versions of Elvis Presley and Buddy Holly songs. She subsequently sang with her brother Ron Shapiro's trad jazz turned skiffle outfit at local clubs before enrolling in classes at Maurice Burman's music school in London. Shapiro had a deep timbre to her voice, unusual in a girl not yet in her teens. School friends gave her the nickname ‘Foghorn’. Maurice Burman was so enamoured of Helen’s talent that he waived the fees to keep her as a student. He wrote to several record labels to promote interest in his students. EMI Records sent producer John Schroeder, who heard her at one of the classes and was impressed enough to record her and play it back for top EMI producer Norrie Paramor , who had signed Cliff Richard & the Shadows. Helen Shapiro's voice on the rape was so mature that Paramor refused to believe that it belonged to a 14-year-old girl. So, Helen came to his office in her school uniform and sang St. Louis Blues. Only a few weeks later, she cut her first single, Please Don't Treat Me Like a Child, composed by John Schroeder and Mike Hawker. It made number three in the UK charts in May 1961, and the record company’s publicity department made great play on the novelty value of her age. Shapiro’s second release, the ballad You don’t know, was issued three months later. In August 1961, it made 14-year-old Helen the youngest female artist to reach number one. The song stayed at the top of the charts for two weeks and eventually sold over a million copies. In September that year she turned 15 and left school to pursue her career in earnest. Live appearances showcased Helen’s assuredness as a performer. She even headlined at the legendary London Palladium, virtually unheard of for such a young, inexperienced entertainer.
Helen Shapiro had her second number one hit in the UK with Walkin' Back to Happiness. It is now her signature song. Her mature voice made her an overnight sensation. The song also became a hit in the rest of Europe and inspired an attempt to crack the American market. However, despite an appearance on the legendary Ed Sullivan Show, the record only reached # 100 in the US charts. In 1962 she made her debut feature film, It's Trad, Dad!/Ring-A-Ding Rhythm (1962, Richard Lester). This musical comedy was one of the first films put out by predominantly horror company Amicus Productions, and director Richard Lester's feature debut. Shapiro and singer Craig Douglas play two teenagers who, along with their friends enjoy the latest trend of traditional jazz. However, the mayor as well as a group of adults dislike the trend and move to have a coffee shop jukebox taken away. Helen and Craig decide to organize a music festival in their small town, and the film comprises musical numbers by Chubby Checker, Del Shannon, and Gene Vincent. Jeff Stafford at TCM: "Any Richard Lester fan can look at It's Trad, Dad and see the fresh and distinctive techniques that would fully emerge in Lester's A Hard Day's Night. For one thing, Lester's playful editing style keeps the viewer constantly engaged while also paying tribute to the musicians on display. (...) Douglas is a pleasant but unremarkable light pop vocalist but Shapiro is a little dynamo with a powerful voice comparable to Brenda Lee." Shapiro then starred in another teenage musical, Play It Cool (1962, Michael Winner) featuring Billy Fury and the Satellites and Bobby Vee. Before she was sixteen years old, Shapiro had been voted Britain's 'Top Female Singer', and when The Beatles had their first national tour (The Helen Shapiro Tour) in 1963, it was as her supporting act. During the tour The Beatles hit big and replaced Helen as top of the bill. Helen later found out that it was around this time that Lennon and McCartney penned Misery for her, but Paramor declined the offer without informing her. He preferred to release Queen for tonight, a firm fan favourite and a much-requested song, but slightly out of step with current trends. It reached a disappointing 33 in the UK charts. In early 1964, her cover of Fever proved her last top 40 hit.
By the time Helen Shapiro was in her late teens, her career as a pop singer was on the wane. Undaunted, she branched out as a performer in stage musicals, a jazz singer (jazz being her first love musically), and more recently a gospel singer. She also began to concentrate more on stage work. In the early 1980’s she played the role of Nancy in Lionel Bart's musical, Oliver! in London's West End. Various other musicals, pantomimes and revival concerts followed. She also continued to tour, especially in mainland Europe and the Far East, where she remained in demand. Throughout the 1980’s she made guest appearances on many TV variety shows, either singing her old songs or promoting the odd new release. Shapiro also appeared in British television soap operas; in particular Albion Market (1985) where she played one of the main characters up to the time it was taken off-air in August 1986. In August 1987 Shapiro became a committed Christian (Messianic believer). She has issued four Messianic albums since then, as well as appearing in a number of special Gospel Outreach evenings, singing and telling of how she found Jesus (Yeshua) as her Messiah. Shapiro retired from showbusiness at the end of 2002 to concentrate on her Gospel Outreach evenings. In 1993, she published her autobiography, Walking Back to Happiness. She was married three times: Duncan C. Weldon (1967-1971), Morris Gundlash (1972-1977) and John Judd (1988-), an actor with numerous roles in British television and cinema. The couple lives in Kent.
Sources: Jeff Stafford (TCM), Graham Welch (Ready Steady Girls), Bruce Eder (AllMusic), Wikipedia and IMDb.
And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
Last week, two of my friends offered to take me on a tour of the jewels of Norfolk churches. Despite having lived in either north Suffolk or Norfolk most of my life, back in those days I had no idea about churches, nor half the villages where these jewels can be found, even existed.
First on the list was Salle.
It was a grim, wet and misty morning when Sarah and Richard picked me up at the Catholic Cathedral, and so we made our way against the rush hour traffic whilst Richard tried to keep the windscreen clear as my clothes dried out causing a slight fog in the car.
Ss Peter and Paul seems to be in the middle of nowhere, with just two other buildings keeping it company. Salle was clearly a rich parish back in the day, as it is a huge church, serving the village and the large country house, lost to view behind trees nearby.
It is a church that has something for everyone: font and cover, support arm for font cover, good glass, fine memorials, two hidden chapels, painted screens and carved bosses. And so much more beside.
Here is what my friend Simon has to say. He likes it too.
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During their awesome reign over the other great teams of Europe in the 1970s and 1980s, Liverpool football club placed a huge sign in the changing room corridor, so that it was the last thing visiting teams saw before they walked out on to the pitch: This is ANFIELD, it warned. The name alone was enough to impress. Similarly, the cover of the guidebook here proclaims, in a single word, SALLE. Again, it suffices; the word, pronounced to rhyme with call, stands for the building. Perhaps only the name Blythburgh has the same power in all East Anglia.
St Peter and St Paul is big. This is accentuated by the way in which it stands almost alone in the barley fields, with only a couple of Victorian buildings and a cricket pitch for company. What an idyllic spot! And yet there is an urban quality to the building, as if this was some great city church in the middle of Norwich or Bristol. It went up in the course of the 15th century, a replacement for an earlier building on the same site, broadly contemporary with neighbouring Cawston. While Cawston was largely the work of a single family, here the building benefited from an accident of history; several very wealthy families owned manors and halls in the parish at the same time, and it so happened that the time was the greatest era of rural church building.
Among them were the Boleyns, the Brewes, the Mautebys, the Briggs, the Morleys, the Luces and the Kerdistons, and some of their shields appear above the great west door, along with two mighty censing angels, characteristic of late medieval piety. A steady stream of hefty bequests meant that no expense needed to be spared, and the mighty tower with its vast bell openings was topped with battlements and pinnacles on the very eve of the Reformation.
As at Blythburgh, St Peter and St Paul benefited from the restraint of a late restoration, and the building as we see it now has no external Victorian additions. It is all of a piece. The porches either side are huge affairs, matching the transepts, and give the effect of a vast animal, a dragon perhaps, sprawling with erect head in the Norfolk countryside. Its tail is the chancel, in itself longer and higher than many Norfolk churches. The aisles are tall, austere, parapeted, the Perpendicular windows arcades of glass. In the porches, the vaulted ceilings are studded with bosses; the central one in the north porch depicts Christ in Majesty, sitting on a rainbow in judgement.
You enter the building from the west, an unusual experience in East Anglia, and your first sight is of the seven sacraments font with its tall 15th century canopy, similar to the cover at Cawston. This one is so big it is supported by a crane attached to the ringing gallery under the tower.
The font below is interesting because each panel is supported by an angel holding a symbol of the sacrament above - a pot of chrism oil beneath Baptism, for example. The panels themselves are simply done, and are not particularly characterful, apart from the way that Mary turns away and is comforted at the Crucifixion. This panel faces west, and then anticlockwise are the Mass (viewed sideways, as at nearby Great Witchingham), Ordination (the candidate kneeling), Baptism (a server holds the book up for the Priest to read), Confirmation (the candidate obviously a child), Penance (perhaps the most interesting panel - the penitent kneels in a shriving pew), Matrimony (the couples' hands joined by a stole, she in late 15th century dress) and finally Last Rites (the dying man on the floor under blankets as at Great Witchingham).
You can see all these panels below - click on them to enlarge them. The font step has a dedicatory inscription to John and Agnes Luce, asking for prayers for their souls. We know that John died in 1489. Perhaps the actual fabric of the building was complete by this date.
Beyond the font stretches the vastness of the building, the arcades gathering the eyes and leading them forward to the great east window. The chancel arch is barely there at all, just a simple high opening; but as MR James pointed out, it was never intended to be seen.The sheer bulk of the rood screen dado tells us quite how vast the rood apparatus must have been here, and the arch would have been pretty well hidden. Everything is built to scale; although everything has been cut off above the panels, probably in the late 1540s, the panels themselves are enormous, almost six feet high. As at Cawston, St Gregory, St Jerome, St Ambrose and St Augustine, the four Doctors of the Church, are on the doors. Either side are just two surviving paintings; to the north are Thomas and James, to the south are Philip and Bartholomew. The empty panels are a mystery; the screen stood here for a century before its destruction, so it must have been finished; and the dado seems too high to have been hidden by nave altars. And yet, it has all the appearance of never having been painted.
Because the building is so vast, the surviving medieval glass seems scattered, but there is actually a lot of it and some of it is very significant. Some was moved during the restoration of the early 20th century, when the hideous modern glass in the north transept was installed, and the yellow galley lozenges were thankfully replaced with clear glass in the 1970s. The images in the east window are mainly figures; old kings kneel before young princes, there are armoured men and angels, the remains of a scaly dragon. In the centre at the bottom is a perfect Trinity shield, displayed by an angel looking askance.
Some of the panels are now in the south transept. These include fragments of a set of the orders of angels. A kneeling figure is Thomas Brigg, donor of the transept; the scroll behind him begins Benedicat Virgo, 'Blessed Virgin'. The mother of God sits surrounded by red glory, and two women holding croziers, one of them crowned, may be St Etheldreda and St Hilda. Certainly, the crowned figure holding a cross is St Helena. You can see all these above.
Despite the wonders of the font, the screen and the glass, the great glory of the building for me is the set of bosses that line the roof of the chancel. They are easily missed, being very high, and need a good lens; a couple of my photos did not come out as well as I'd hoped, and so I must go back, as if I needed an excuse. There are nine altogether, the first and last set against the walls at the ends of the roof ridge, and they form a kind of rosary sequence of joyful and glorious mysteries. They start with the Annunciation in the west (see left) and then continue with the Adoration of the Shepherds, the Adoration of the Magi, the Presentation in the Temple, the Entry into Jerusalem, the Last Supper, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection , and the Ascension into Heaven. You can see these last eight in John Salmon's splendid photographs below.
There is a fine set of return stalls in the chancel. Although Salle probably never had a college of Priests, all those Masses for the dead must have provided plenty of employment, because we know that there were seven Priests here at a time when the population of the parish was barely 200. Bench ends include heads, a dragon tied up in a knot, a restored pelican in her piety, and a monkey. The misericord seats feature faces, including one that is quite extraordinary.
Although the roof isn't up to the glory of neighbouring Cawston, it includes lots of original angels and paintwork, including sacred monograms, and around the wallplate part of the Te Deum Laudamus and psalm 150. These particular texts seem to have provided the inspiration for many late 15th century interiors; the angels in the roof, the animals on the bench ends, the Saints on the rood screen all in harmony: Let everything that has breath Praise ye the Lord! The benches are mostly renewed now, but the pulpit is an elegant example of the 15th century, from the time when a priority began to be placed on preaching.
Curiously, it has been rather awkwardly converted into a three-decker arrangement, probably in the 18th century, with the addition of a platform and desk from a set of box pews. A large sounding board has been placed overhead. The box pews suggest that the medieval furnishings were replaced at an early date, although the replacements too have gone now.
Salle is one of those churches full of intriguing little details that might easily pass you by, so great is the wonder of everything around. Those two little corbel heads above the south door, for instance - what were they for? Perhaps they supported an image that could be seen from the north doorway as people entered, although not a St Christopher as the guidebook suggests, I think. There is a pretty piscina in the unfortunate north transept that has been outlined in wood, a memorial and helm above, a tall image bracket in the corner of the wall of the south transept, a floreated piscina nearby.
There are many brasses and brass inlays in the nave floor; one of the most interesting is a chalice brass (although the chalice is now gone) to Simon Boleyn, a Priest, who died in 1489, and to the east of it a pair of brasses to Geoffrey and Alice Boleyn, great-grandparents to Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII. Another pair of brasses are to Thomas and Katherine Rose and their eight children. Unlike many churches, Salle actually retains some of the 'missing' brasses, now locked away for safety. It would be nice to think they could eventually be reset in the floor.
One part of the building that many visitors must miss is the chapel above the north porch. There is no sign indicating it; but the doorway, at the west end of the north aisle, is always open. Inside, the vaulted roof is punctuated by spectacularly pretty bosses which you can view at close quarters. The colour is a bit fanciful, but they are fascinating, particularly the central boss of the Coronation of the Queen of Heaven - how on earth did that survive the Reformation?
This is a tremendous building, a box of fascinating delights. What purpose does it serve now? As I said in the introduction, its size was not in response to the needs of a congregation, and as far as worship is concerned it will never be full. It remains constantly in use, however; for regular services in the chancel, sometimes for concerts and recordings, but also of course for the poshest sort of wedding, the kind only the Church of England can provide, and no doubt other elements of the core business of CofE PLC. It is easy to be cynical, but if they ensure the survival of the building, then so be it.
Simon Knott, June 2004
Looking out from the tower of Hereford Cathedral, in Hereford Herefordshire. The current Hereford Cathedral dates from 1079 and is a Grade I listed building. Its most famous treasure is Mappa Mundi, a mediaeval map of the world dating from the 13th century.
The cathedral is dedicated to two patron saints, namely Saint Mary the Virgin and Saint Ethelbert the King. The latter was beheaded by Offa, King of Mercia in the year 792. Offa had consented to give his daughter to Ethelbert in marriage: why he changed his mind and deprived him of his head historians do not know, although tradition is at no loss to supply him with an adequate motive. The execution, or murder, is said to have taken place at Sutton, four miles (6 km) from Hereford, with Ethelbert's body brought to the site of the modern cathedral by 'a pious monk'. At Ethelbert's tomb miracles were said to have occurred, and in the next century (about 830) Milfrid, a Mercian nobleman, was so moved by the tales of these marvels as to rebuild in stone the little church which stood there, and to dedicate it to the sainted king.
Before this, Hereford had become the seat of a bishopric. It is said to have been the centre of a diocese as early as the 6th century. In the 7th century the cathedral was refounded by Putta, who settled here when driven from Rochester by Æthelred of Mercia. The cathedral of stone, which
Milfrid raised, stood for some 200 years, and then, in the reign of Edward the Confessor, it was altered. The new church had only a short life, for it was plundered and burnt in 1056 by a combined force of Welsh and Irish under Gruffydd ap Llywelyn, the Welsh prince; it was not, however, destroyed until its custodians had offered vigorous resistance, in which seven of the canons were killed.
Hereford Cathedral remained in a state of ruin until Robert of Lorraine was consecrated to the see (made Bishop) in 1079 and undertook its reconstruction. His work was carried on, or, more probably, redone, by Bishop Reynelm, who was next but one in the succession, and reorganised the college of secular canons attached to the cathedral. Reynelm died in 1115, and it was only under his third successor, Robert de Betun, who was Bishop from 1131 to 1148, that the church was brought to completion.
Of this Norman church, little has survived but the choir up to the spring of the clerestory, the south transept, the arch between the north transept and the choir aisle, and the nave arcade. Scarcely 50 years after its completion William de Vere, who occupied the see from 1186 to 1199, altered the east end by constructing a retro-choir or processional path and a Lady Chapel; the latter was rebuilt not long afterwards—between the years 1226 and 1246, during the Early English style—with a crypt beneath. Around the middle of the century the clerestory, and probably the vaulting of the choir, were rebuilt, having been damaged by the settling of the central tower. Under Bishop Aquablanca (1240–68), one of Henry III's foreign favourites, the rebuilding of the north transept was begun, being completed later in the same century by Bishop Swinfield, who also built the aisles of the nave and eastern transept.
Officially, Rolls Royce Silver Shadows were never offered in an estate version, but it has become a popular trait to convert them to such, largely to exploit the advantages of extra boot space and a rear hatch.
I give you the car that took Rolls Royce out of the hands of the aristocracy and placed it into the hands of the people, a tradition that has continued ever since. Once rock-stars, pop-stars, TV presenters and alike were seen driving around in a car that was once the exclusive pride and joy of the established gentry, it was then and there that the Class System had truly disintegrated. The Victorian-era divisions of society were well and truly dead.
In 1965 it was apparent that the nearly 10 year old Silver Cloud was starting to look its age, and as time continued to crawl on the aristocratic look of the Rolls Royce was no longer its biggest selling point. Prior to the 1960's society was clearly defined, with what was known as the 'Glass Ceiling' through which none of the lower classes could rise up through the ranks. It was very easy for the Upper Class and Aristocracy to lose their titles and come down, but even if you were a Lower Class person who'd made it rich, you'd still be socially unacceptable due to your background. However, after World War I the emergence of the new Middle Class was starting to bend the rules, and as time went on the ways in which money could be obtained started to become easier thanks to stage and screen. After World War II the influence of the new generation distorted the lines of society even more with the appearance of the Beatles and Elvis Presley, people from low backgrounds who had managed to get a free ticket to the top due to their fame in the music industry. Of course when someone gets money, the first thing they want to do is spend it on luxury items, and nothing back then was more luxury than owning a Rolls Royce.
However, when the Cloud was designed society was still very much in the same Victorian ideal as before, and so its aristocratic look was about as hip and with-it as a China Cabinet in a Discotheque. In order to survive, Rolls Royce was going to have to adapt, so in 1965 they launched the Silver Shadow, a car that was designed for the new money, and the first Roller to be brought to the masses. What made it so appealing was a case of many things.
For starters, it was the first Rolls Royce to be a 'Driver's' car. Previous models had always been built with chauffeur driven passengers in mind, but the Shadow with upgraded suspension, an updated Rolls Royce V8 engine and the same general driving feel of a regular car (if not better with innovative power steering), made it ideal for the 'posers' of the upmarket realm. Secondly, the car was the first to be built with a monocoque, where the body and chassis are part of the same structure. Previously, Rolls Royce would provide the owner with a chassis, and then it was up to the owner what body would be put on it, with a variety of coachbuilders available to do the job including H.J Muliner Park Ward, Hoopers of London and James Young. The advent of the monocoque meant that potential buyers didn't have to go through the rigmarole of buying a chassis and then having a body constructed for it at extra cost.
As mentioned though, reception was something of a mixed bag, whilst motoring press and many people gave it critical acclaim for its revolutionary design, the usual Rolls Royce customer base saw it as something of a mongrel, appealing to the lowest common denominator rather than holding up the traditional standard that the Double R was famed for. But just because it was built for the masses didn't make it any less a car, each individual Shadow cost £7,000 new, weighed 2.2 tonnes and took 3 months to build. The interior was compiled of 12 square feet of wood, and three cows had to sacrifice themselves to create the leather hides that line the seats. Soft and springy Wilton Carpets made up the floor and power from Rolls Royce's astounding V8 engine could whisk the car to about 100mph, but why would you want a sporty Rolls Royce anyway? *Cough* Rolls Royce Wraith *Cough*
After launch the Silver Shadow was whipped up by pretty much anyone and everyone who wanted to show off their wealth, with a total of 25,000 examples being built during its 15 year production life, making it the most numerous Rolls Royce ever built. The Silver Shadow also formed the basis of several other designs, including the convertible Rolls Royce Silver Shadow 2-Door Saloon which later became the Corniche in 1971, the Bentley T-Series which was exactly the same only with Bentley badge and grille, and the controversial Rolls Royce Camargue of 1975 which was designed by Pininfarina.
For a time the Shadow was on top of the world, but things started to crumble fast in the 1970's. New American legislation meant that the car had to conform at the cost of its class, with the chrome bumpers being replaced by composite or rubber, and the ditch lights being slumped underneath on a rather unsightly chin-spoiler. In 1977 this revised car was launched as the Silver Shadow II, which I consider to be but a shadow of its former self due to the fact that this was when Rolls Royce started to become downplayed and underwhelming. Indeed the best intentions were in mind with safety, but without the chrome to adorn its lovely body, the Shadow was merely a husk.
This was added to by the fuel crisis of the mid-1970's, which made motoring a very expensive practice, especially if you ran a Shadow. Shadow's are incredible gas guzzlers at less than 20MPG, and refilling one will set you back in today's money about £80. At the same time it was considered socially unacceptable to be seen driving around in one of these after such a blow, almost as if you were driving a giant middle-finger down the street to everyone else who couldn't afford to drive. Because of this, owners turned to more subtle cars such as Mercedes so as not to fall victim to vindictive passers by. With sales starting to drop, Rolls Royce had to see off the Silver Shadow as soon as possible. After nearly 10 years of development, 1980 saw the launch of the much more angular and somewhat mundane Silver Spirit/Spur range, and with that now on the go the shadows grew long for the Silver Shadow, which was killed off the same year. Spiritually however, the design of the 60's lived on in the Corniche, which was to be built for another 15 years before that too was ended in 1995.
In some ways the Shadow became a failure of its own success, with Rolls Royce building far too many cars for the market that intended to buy them, with the result that the 2nd hand market became saturated with nearly new cars that fell into some disreputable company. Throughout the 1980's the Shadow was noted for being the ride of sleazy salesmen, gang lords and Members of Parliament (pure evil!). Additionally, many Shadows were bought cheap simply for the way they made the owner look.
If you were intending to use your cheapy Shadow to plunder yourself some girls and didn't have the attraction of money to back you up, you'd be out of luck and soon out of cash, because the bills required to run a hand-built luxury car would very quickly be walking through the door, both in terms of fuel and maintenance. Critical failures are rare and these cars are very reliable (although Jeremy Clarkson would have you think otherwise), but when they do happen, it would probably be cheaper to buy yourself another car. The worst problem you could face is a failure of the hydraulics that controlled the rear suspension, the steering and the brakes, which would render the car inoperable if something were to go awry.
Frequent maintenance of a Shadow however (every 4 to 6 months) will probably even out at about £100, which when you consider the £10,000 or more you'd be paying to replace the hydraulic system, is a small sacrifice. Rust is another problem, especially for early Shadows. The Chrome sills and guttering on the roof are especially prone, although the most critical problem is rust on the chassis, which if left can compromise the whole car and essentially write it off. A bit of a buying tip, if the car's body looks good, be sure to check underneath because you may see some costly rust gremlins down there that could ruin your investment.
Another place the Shadow has found itself is in the world of movies. Of course any film that has an upper-crust theme or feel to it would have to include a Rolls, but since 2nd hand Shadows could be picked up for a song you could easily put them in your movie. Sadly, most movies that feature Shadows are ones which feature them being destroyed.
So why do I love Shadows so much? Basically because it's a mixture of all things you'd want in a car. It has a spacious, luxury interior, it has a world beating design dripping with chrome and adorned with the finest hood ornament, and because it's dimensions aren't that far off a normal car, it can easily be used as an everyday machine unlike the Silver Cloud which is simply too big for everyday use. The Shadow is also a very personable sort of machine, if I was to own one I would treat it like a pet, and probably name it Sally (old girlfriend of mine).
Today, Shadows are by no means rare and the ones you'll find on the road are probably the best. Most of the poorer 2nd Hand ones rusted away and died back in the 1980's and 90's (or were blown up in movies, or put in swimming pools), which means that the survivors are largely under the ownership of avid enthusiasts who cherish their cars. You can find Shadows for next to nothing, with some examples going for as little as £4,000, but you'd have to be very desperate to get one of those as they'd probably be in very bad condition. Minters however can go for about £15,000 to £20,000, which when compared to some of the other cars of comparative size and quality such as the BMW's and Mercs of this world, is not a bad deal.
Rijks Museum - National Museum of Netherlands
Vision
The Rijksmuseum links individuals with art and history.
Mission
At the Rijksmuseum, art and history take on new meaning for a broad-based, contemporary national and international audience.
As a national institute, the Rijksmuseum offers a representative overview of Dutch art and history from the Middle Ages onwards, and of major aspects of European and Asian art.
The Rijksmuseum keeps, manages, conserves, restores, researches, prepares, collects, publishes, and presents artistic and historical objects, both on its own premises and elsewhere.
From 1800 to 2013
The Rijksmuseum first opened its doors in 1800 under the name ‘Nationale Kunstgalerij’. At the time, it was housed in Huis ten Bosch in The Hague. The collection mainly comprised paintings and historical objects. In 1808, the museum moved to the new capital city of Amsterdam, where it was based in the Royal Palace on Dam Square.
After King Willem I’s accession to the throne, the paintings and national print collection were moved to the Trippenhuis on Kloveniersburgwal, while the other objects were returned to The Hague. The current building was put into use in 1885. The Netherlands Museum for History and Art based in The Hague moved into the same premises, forming what would later become the departments of Dutch History and Sculpture & Applied Art.
The beginning
On 19 November 1798, more than three years after the birth of the Batavian Republic, the government decided to honour a suggestion put forward by Isaac Gogel by following the French example of setting up a national museum. The museum initially housed the remains of the viceregal collections and a variety of objects originating from state institutions. When the Nationale Kunstgalerij first opened its doors on 31 May 1800, it had more than 200 paintings and historical objects on display. In the years that followed, Gogel and the first director, C.S. Roos, made countless acquisitions. Their first purchase, The Swan by Jan Asselijn, cost 100 Dutch guilders and is still one of the Rijksmuseum’s top pieces.
Move to Amsterdam
In 1808, the new King Louis Napoleon ordered the collections to be moved to Amsterdam, which was to be made the capital of the Kingdom of Holland. The works of art and objects were taken to the Royal Palace on Dam Square, the former city hall of Amsterdam, where they were united with the city’s foremost paintings, including the Night Watch by Rembrandt. In 1809, the Koninklijk Museum opened its doors on the top floor of the palace.
A few years after Willem I returned to the Netherlands as the new king in 1813, the ‘Rijks Museum’ and the national print collection from The Hague relocated to the Trippenhuis, a 17th-century town-palace on Kloveniersburgwal, home to what would later become the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences. Much to the regret of the director, Cornelis Apostool, in 1820 many objects including pieces of great historical interest were assigned to the Kabinet van Zeldzaamheden [Royal Gallery of Rare Objects], which had been founded in The Hague. In 1838, a separate museum for modern 19th-century art was established in Paviljoen Welgelegen in Haarlem. Contrary to the days of Louis Napoleon, very few large acquisitions were made during this period.
Cuypers Cathedral
The Trippenhuis proved unsuitable as a museum. Furthermore, many people thought it time to establish a dedicated national museum building in the Netherlands. Work on a new building did not commence until 1876, after many years of debate. The architect, Pierre Cuypers, had drawn up a historic design for the Rijksmuseum, which combined the Gothic and the Renaissance styles. The design was not generally well-received; people considered it too mediaeval and not Dutch enough. The official opening took place in 1885.
Nearly all the older paintings belonging to the City of Amsterdam were hung in the Rijksmuseum alongside paintings and prints from the Trippenhuis, including paintings such as Rembrandt’s Jewish Bride, which had been bequeathed to the city by the banker A. van der Hoop. The collection of 19th-century art from Haarlem was also added to the museum’s collection. Finally, a significant part of the Kabinet van Zeldzaamheden, which had by then been incorporated into the new Netherlands Museum for History and Art, was returned to Amsterdam.
Renovations
Over the years, collections continued to grow and museum insight continued to expand, and so the Rijksmuseum building underwent many changes. Rooms were added to the south-west side of the building between 1904 and 1916 (now the Philips wing) to house the collection of 19th-century paintings donated to the museum by Mr and Mrs Drucker-Fraser. In the 1950s and 1960s, the two original courtyards were covered and renovated to create more rooms.
In 1927, while Schmidt-Degener was Managing Director, the Netherlands Museum was split to form the departments of Dutch History and Sculpture & Applied Art. These departments were moved to separate parts of the building after 1945. The arrival of a collection donated by the Association of Friends of Asian Art in the 1950s resulted in the creation of the Asian Art department.
The 1970s saw record numbers of visitors of almost one-and-a-half million per year, and the building gradually started to fall short of modern requirements.
‘Verder met Cuypers'
The current renovation reinstates the original Cuypers structure. The building work in the courtyards are removed. Paintings, applied art and history are no longer displayed in separate parts of the building, but form a single chronological circuit that tells the story of Dutch art and history.
The building is thoroughly modernized, while at the same time restoring more of Cuypers original interior designs: the Rijksmuseum has dubbed the venture ‘Verder met Cuypers‘ [Continuing with Cuypers]. The Rijksmuseum will be a dazzling new museum able to satisfy the needs of its 21st-century visitors!
Every year, the Rijksmuseum compiles an annual report for the previous year. Annual reports dating back to 1998 can be found here (in Dutch only). Reports relating to the years before 1998 are available in the reading room of the library.
O Museu Rikjs é um dos maiores e mais importantes museus da Europa.
É o maior dos Países Baixos, com acervo voltado quase todo aos artistas holandeses. As obras vão desde exemplares da arte sacra até a era dourada holandesa, além de uma substancial coleção de arte asiática.
Esse é o Rijksmuseum, o Museu Nacional dos Países Baixos. E aproveite, caro leitor, porque o Rijks esteve parcialmente fechado para reforma durante 10 anos – voltou a funcionar só em 2013. Ou seja, quem esteve em Amsterdam na última década não conheceu o Rijks, pelo menos não completamente.
Mas o quê tem lá? Muita coisa. Destaque para as coleções de arte e História holandesas. Os trabalhos dos pintores Frans Hals e Johannes Vermeer são alguns dos mais concorridos, mas imbatível mesmo é Rembrandt van Rijn, considerado um dos maiores pintores de todos os tempos. Se você não é um fã de museus de arte, mas faz questão de conhecer o trabalho desses grandes artistas, uma dica: assim que chegar ao Rijks, vá direto para a ala onde estão as obras-primas. Assim você vê o mais importante no início da visita, quando ainda está descansado e poderá dedicar o tempo necessário para essas obras.
A mais famosa delas é a “A Ronda Noturna”, de Rembrandt, uma obra que inspirou músicas, pinturas, filmes e até um flash mob. Quando o Rijks foi reaberto, artistas recriam a cena mostrada no quadro dentro de um shopping de Amsterdam. A ação está no vídeo abaixo e eu te garanto que vale a pena dar play.
Read more: www.360meridianos.com/2014/01/museus-de-amsterdam.html#ix...
Read more: www.360meridianos.com/2014/01/museus-de-amsterdam.html#ix...
Rijksmuseum, Museu Nacional
42 Stadhouderskade
Amsterdam
O museu Rijksmuseum de Amsterdã é o Museu Nacional da Holanda, onde você encontrará uma impressionante coleção permanente, formada por 5.000 pinturas e 30.000 obras de arte, além de 17.000 objetos históricos.
Esse museu nacional foi fundado em 1885 e está instalado em um edifício de estilo neogótico. A sua principal atração é a extensa coleção de quadros pintados por artistas holandeses, abrangendo um período que vai do séc. XV aos dias de hoje. A obra de arte mais famosa em exibição é o quadro A Ronda Noturna, de Rembrandt.
O museu Rijksmuseum está dividido em cinco departamentos: pintura, escultura, arte aplicada, arte oriental, história dos Países Baixos e gravuras. O núcleo da coleção é a pintura e suas obras mais representativas são as que pertencem ao Século de Ouro holandês, com quadros de artistas como Rembrandt, Vermeer ou Frans Hals.
Ver fonte: dreamguides.edreams.pt/holanda/amsterda/rijksmuseum
Museu Rijks, Amesterdão
O Museu Rijks (Museu Nacional) é um edifício histórico, sendo o maior museu nos Países Baixos. O Museu é o maior no numero relativamente às suas colecções, na área do edifício em si, no financiamento e no numero de funcionários empregados.
Cada ano, mais de um milhão de pessoas visitam o Museu Rijks. O Museu emprega cerca de 400 pessoas, incluindo 45 conservadores de museu que são especializados em todas as áreas.
O Museu Rijks é internacionalmente reconhecido pelas suas exibições e publicações, mas não só apenas por estes produtos de grande qualidade, mas também pelas áreas no museu em si que são fonte de inspiração e encorajam a criação de novas ideias.
O museu também tem recursos consideráveis para a educação, para a decoração e apresentação de exibições. Importantes designers são regularmente chamados a trabalharem em projectos no Museu Rijks.
O edifício principal do Museu Rijks está a ser renovado. A boa noticia é que a melhor parte da exposição está apresentada na redesenhada ala Philips. O nome desta exposição denomina-se "The Masterpieces'.
O museu abre diariamente das 10 da manhã até ás 5 da tarde.
A entrada é pela Stadhouderskade 42.
Rijksmuseum
Origem: Wikipédia, a enciclopédia livre.
O Rijksmuseum é um museu nacional dos Países Baixos, localizada em Amsterdão na Praça do museu. O Rijksmuseum é dedicado à artes e história. Ele tem uma larga coleção de pinturas da idade de ouro neerlandesa e uma substancial coleção de arte asiática.
O museu foi fundado em 1800 na cidade da Haia para exibir a coleção do primeiro-ministro. Foi inspirado no exemplo francês. Pelos neerlandeses ficou conhecida como Galeria de Arte. Em 1808 o museu mudou-se para Amsterdã pelas ordens do rei Louis Napoleón, irmão de Napoleão Bonaparte. As pinturas daquela cidade, como A Ronda Nocturna de Rembrandt, tornaram-se parte da coleção.
Em 1885 o museu mudou-se para sua localização atual, construído pelo arquiteto neerlandês Pierre Cuypers. Ele combinou elementos góticos e renascentistas. O museu tem um posição proeminente na Praça do Museu, próximo ao Museu van Gogh e ao Museu Stedelijk. A construção é ricamente decorada com referências da história da arte neerlandesa. A Ronda Nocturna de Rembrandt tem seu próprio corredor no museu desde 1906. Desde 2003 o museu sofreu restaurações, mas as obras-primas são constatemente presentes para o público.
A coleção de pinturas inclui trabalhos de artistas como Jacob van Ruysdael, Frans Hals, Johannes Vermeer e Rembrandt e de alunos de Rembrandt.
Em 2005, 95% do museu está fechado para renovação, mas as pinturas da coleção permanente ainda estão em mostra em uma exibição especial chamada As Obras-primas.
Algumas das pinturas do museu:
Rembrandt van Rijn
A Ronda Nocturna
Os síndicos da guilda dos fabricantes de tecidos
A noiva judia
A lição de Anatomia do Dr. Deyman
Pedro negando Cristo
Saskia com um véu
Retrato de Titus em hábito de monge
Auto-retrato como Apóstolo Paulo
Tobias, Ana e o Bode
Johannes Vermeer:
A Leiteira
A Carta de Amor
Mulher de Azul a ler uma carta
A Rua pequena
Frans Hals:
Retrato de um jovem casal
A Companhia Reynier Real
O bebedor alegre
Retrato de Lucas De Clercq
Retrato de Nicolaes Hasselaer
Retrato de um homem
Página oficial do Rijksmuseum
Virtual Collection of Masterpieces (VCM)
O melhor museu de Amsterdam: Rijksmuseum
O Commons possui uma categoria contendo imagens e outros ficheiros sobre Rijksmuseum
Rijksmuseum Amsterdam
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Se você visitar Amsterdam, precisará conhecer o Museu Nacional da Holanda: Rijksmuseum Amsterdam. O Museu Nacional fica na Praça do Museu, situada no centro de Amsterdam. O Museu Nacional, ou Rijksmuseum, possui uma maravilhosa coleção de arte e história holandesas. Após uma visita ao Rijksmuseum, você saberá mais sobre história e arte e terá visto alguns dos maiores marcos culturais da Holanda.
Obras-primas do Museu Nacional
Ao todo, a coleção do Rijksmuseum apresenta a história da Holanda em um contexto internacional, desde 1.100 até o presente. Há alguns ícones da história e cultura da Holanda que você não pode perder:
Ronda Noturna (de Nachtwacht) de Rembrandt é uma das mais famosas obras desse mestre holandês e é de tirar o fôlego.
O Rijksmuseum tem uma das melhores coleções de pinturas dos grandes mestres do século XVII, como Frans Hals, Jan Steen, Vermeer e Rembrandt.
Assim como o Museu Histórico de Haia, o Rijksmuseum apresenta lindas casas de bonecas, mobiliadas em detalhes, datando de 1676.
Se você não puder ir ao Delft Real, pode ainda apreciar algumas das melhores cerâmicas de Delft, de conjuntos de chá a vasos, no Museu Nacional.
Museu que é visita obrigatória em Amsterdam
Quer sua estadia em Amsterdam seja breve ou longa, você deve visitar o Rijksmuseum. Chegue cedo para evitar enfrentar filas. Combine a visita ao Rijksmuseum com várias outras atrações próximas, como o Museu Van Gogh, o Museu Stedelijk Amsterdam e a Coster Diamonds
Para obter mais informações sobre Amsterdam, retorne à página sobre Amsterdam ou à página sobre os museus de Amsterdam.
Dear Family:
Dad and I checked out this area yesterday. It is at the base of Rocky
Mountain National Park (RMNP) in the City of Estes Park.
Along with what you see the house has to offer, the area has a shopping and
fun, much like Hayward only 5 times the size. RMNP offers lovely hikes,
children exploration centers, horse back rides for entire families (safe
for little ones). We saw them in the park on actual trails - so it is not
just in circles.
The Elk are visible from a variety of locations and at night, you can go to
watch Elk 'calls' (they make a cool bugle sound).
Having all of us in one house may be an adventure, but it appears to have
plenty of space to take time to yourself.
The lake is not busy - so it is a peaceful quiet setting. We can go to
Grand Lake (10 min up road) if we wish to water ski or more active stuff.
The elevation is about 10K, so you will need to acclimate by drinking water
and not going too nuts the first day (kids to rest and staying hydrated.
To find out more about the area - google, RMNP and surroundings.
I know this is a big trip and big expense for all of you, so please think
about this and let me know as we need to book soon. This is the only week
left in 2016 for July.
Love you all.
Yvonne
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The home is 4,500 square feet and is set up to sleep 20 people on three
levels. The main level consists of a large great room with a wall of
windows overlooking peaceful Shadow Mountain Lake. The kitchen is truly a
chef's delight. Furnished with a 10 foot island and top-of-the-line
appliances including double ovens, a six burner cook top and a sub zero
refrigerator you'll have all you need to prepare wonderful meals for your
family and friends. And while you are preparing your feast, you can watch
all of the activity on the lawn and lake below from two sizable banks of
windows.
The dining room table sits 14 comfortably and a second table in the great
room will sit an additional 6 people. The main floor master suite has a
king-sized bed, bathroom with walk-in shower and large lakefront window
perfect for watching the sunrise from bed.
On the 3rd level there is one master suite with a queen-sized bed, large
interior jetted tub (please note: the home does not have a hot tub),
separate shower and private lakefront deck perfect for lake viewing and
star gazing. Also upstairs are two additional bedrooms with a queen-sized
bed in each. These two bedrooms share a second bathroom with a tub/shower.
On the 3rd level there is also a large loft area overlooking the great room
with amazing lake views, a comfy couch and large desk set up for working
professionals.
The lower level is a walkout with a huge rec room looking out towards the
lake through another long wall of windows. This room has many amenities to
entertain both kids and adults alike. The room currently has a quick-shoot
basketball game, train table, large table for doing crafts or playing
games, and player piano. The room also has a television WITHOUT CABLE.
There is a DVD/VHS player for watching movies.
In addition, the lower level has another king bedroom, two bunk rooms and
another full bathroom, The first bunk room has 3 sets of twin bunk beds and
the second bedroom has 2 sets of queen bunk beds.
This home has a huge wrap around deck on the main level that has a
barbecue, two picnic tables and several rocking chairs to sit and enjoy the
lakefront views. On the lower level there is a huge porch that runs the
width of the house with a third picnic table and a porch swing.
There is a large grassy area on the lakefront perfect for throwing the
ball, Frisbee or just enjoying the amazing views. The house also has its
own private boat dock along with a couple of canoes, kayaks and paddle
boards.
Lower/Subway Level: All 6 NYC Kmarts offer same-day home delivery services.
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At 154,000 sq ft, Astor Place Kmart is one of the largest Kmart stores still in operation. This store was opened in a grand former Wanamaker’s department store close to NYU, in Greenwich Village. Kmart occupies the first and second levels, as well as the subway-level (or at least it did until Sears found out how much money Facebook was willing to spend to buy out the second level lease).
The store has an entrance from the street, as well as an extremely cool entrance directly from the No. 6 Subway platform with windows that allow commuters to look directly into the store.
Astor Place Kmart thrives as one of the only places in the neighborhood with suburban-style selection and discount prices, yet this store is notably less busy than its Midtown sister, Penn Plaza Kmart, which benefits greatly from tourist trade and commuters.
The store opened in 1996, a month after the Penn Plaza store, and at a time when Kmart’s formula had stopped working its magic in its traditional suburban comfort zone and the company was looking to urban areas for growth.
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Backstory: In 1990, Kmart knew it was in trouble and embarked on a $3 billion program to renovate, expand or relocate all of its aging 2200 Kmart store base. From 1990-95, the company built hundreds of big new and replacement Kmart stores and Super Kmart Centers, financed by lots and lots of borrowed Wall Street money and by selling off divisions like its Pace Warehouse Clubs, Builder’s Square, and Office Max.
The bigger, brighter Kmarts increased store sales for a short while, but as Walmart continued to elbow in on Kmart’s territories, sales slipped. With so much debt, the company had huge interest payments and in 1996, it narrowly avoided bankruptcy by striking a deal with its lenders that slashed its debt rating to junk bond status.
It was during this time that Kmart opened its 2 Manhattan stores, hoping that the company would make up for the higher NYC rents by doing more volume. It seems to have worked, as both Manhattan stores are top 25 stores.
Turn of a Friendly Card
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Based on a true adventures of a rogue active in the waning years of the 1930’s as discovered in the criminal archives of Chatwick University.
Act 1
I begin my tale in the present…
That afternoon a soiree was given as part of the purchase price of the tickets for the annual Autumn Charity Ball to be presented later that evening at the manor’s great house. Since I was alone, I just went mainly for the free food and to rub my elbows with the wealthy guests who would be in happy attendance there, and at the Ball. I was alone, but certainly not bored. There was a game I enjoyed playing to pass the time at these affairs that entailed scoping out by their dress and day jewels worn, those ladies whom would be most likely to be wearing the better costumes and sparklers that evening. It often proved to be a most beneficial insight into the actions and mannerisms of the very rich. I walked amongst the cheerful guests, eying one here ( a lady in satin and pearls) and another there( a high spirited girl with a diamond pin at the throat of her frilly silken blouse). It was as I was passing the latter that the friend she had been talking too (dressed like a vamp), bumped up against me. I caught her, steadying her as they both giggled. I didn’t mind, for the lassie’s too tight satin sheath tea dress had been an enticement to hold, and the gold bracelet that had been dangling from her gloved wrist had been a pleasure to observe. I kissed her gloved hand, rings glittering, as I apologized gallantly for my clumsiness. Her eyes were bright, almost as bright as the twin necklaces of gold that hung swaying down pleasantly from between her ample bosom. I left them, moving on to greener pastures, and it was very green, all of it….
It was then that I detected another pretty lassie. It was her long fiery red hair with falling wispy curls that first captured my attention. She was wearing a fetchingly smart white chiffon party dress that commanded me to acquire a closer examination. She appeared to be a blithe spirit, seemingly content with just being by herself and roaming about with casual elegance, the extensive grounds of the manor proper. I began to discreetly follow her at a distance. Although she did not wear any jewelry, her manner and the eloquent way she moved is what attracted me the most. It would be very interesting to seek her out later that evening and she what she would have chosen to decorate herself with. I followed her as she sojourned into the depths of a traditional English garden with a maze of lushly green trimmed 8 foot high hedges
As I strolled through the hedgerows in her wake I allowed my mind to wander its own course. Suddenly I straightened up, my reverie broken by an epiphany of sorts. I allowed myself to grin and the lady whose enchantment I was swollen up in, at that moment turned, and seeing my beaming smile assumed it was for her and gave me a rather cute nod of her head. I answered in same, as I headed en route to a nearby stone garden bench to allow my thoughts to think through themselves.
But before I go on, allow me the pleasure to sojourn and reminisce about an incident that occurred several years prior:
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I was still working unaided in those days, travelling on to a new next quest that would take me just outside of Surrey.
I had just purchased my train ticket and had seen my luggage safe on board when I decided to rest in the lounge, it being some 45 minutes before allowed to enter personally aboard. Being so early the lounge was almost deserted, only one other occupant. I assumed she was waiting for someone on an incoming train due to the fact she carried no luggage. She was obviously well off, well dressed in satins and lace, and her jewels shone magnificently in the dim lights. Especially one of her rings, noticeably lying loosely around a finger, it sparkled with an expensive brilliance. I had seen one like it in a tiffanies store, worth almost 250 pounds. But she did not appreciate the show her jewelry was putting on under the lounge lights, for she was fast asleep.
I circled around her, aiming for a seat next to her, eyeing her and her possessions carefully. I noticed her purse had fallen off her lap and lay on the floor. An idea popped into my head, and I picked the purse up, and looked around carefully, before placing my plan into action. But I was thwarted as an older, matronly lady was spotted heading our way. I slipped the purse into my jacket and moved off before I was noticed. Of course she came in and took the empty seat across form the sleeping princess, and soon busied herself with knitting. As the older lady had sat down, not quietly, the wealthy lady stirred waking up at the noise. I went into a corner and sat, waiting. The two ladies soon fell into conversation; the minute’s ticked by excruciatingly slow. Soon I noticed we even had more company.
He was a lad of only fourteen, but with a devilish look about him that marked him a kindred spirit to meself, and his quick eyes were darting about taking it all in as he stood outside the paned glass window.
It was as the first announcement of boarding the train that I saw a chance for opportunity to strike.
The older lady folded up her knitting and clinching her bag, bid adieu to her new friend,( befuddled a little by the old ladies constant stream of gossip), and headed to the train. I was twenty steps ahead of her and was standing behind the youth as she left the lounge. I tapped him on the shoulder; he looked around at me suspiciously, and then caught sight of the shilling I was holding in front of his nose. I quickly whispered a few words into his ear on how he could earn it, and his grin spread as he bought into my story. I still held onto the shilling as he darted around and inside the lounge. I watched as he ran up behind the lady, circling her, then running in front of her he tripped over her leg, as she helped him up, her hand with the ring reaching down, he turned and spat onto the wrist and sleeve of that hand, than standing he ran away. Running alongside me, I handed him the shilling in passing as he ran off, disappearing in to the street.
I went inside and approached the astonished lady, as she was looking for her purse to get a handkerchief, confused as to its absence, while she held up her soiled hand( ring glittering furiously) in utter disbelief. I approached, catching her attention by the soothing words I uttered to her. I took her hand, unbelieving with her at just had happened, and I as I apologized for the youth of today I produced my own silk handkerchief and starting with her silky sleeve, began to wipe it off, continuing my tirade of displeasure and contempt at what had just occurred to the dear lady as I did so. As I finishing wiping her down, ending with her warm slender fingers, I kissed them, just as the last boarding announcement came over (perfect timing!) I let her go, explaining that I must catch my train. I turned and without looking back made the train just as it was letting off steam before chugging off.
I gained my private carriage just as the train began to lurch away. It wasn’t until after the train began its journey that I casually removed my silk handkerchief from my pocket and unwrapped it carefully, admiring up close the shimmering, valuable tiffany ring that was lying inside. I pocketed it, and then remembered the purse. I took it out and examined its contents: coin and notes equaling a handsome amount, a gold (gilded) case, embroidered lacy handkerchief, small silver flask of perfume, and ( of all things)a large shimmering prism , like one that would have dangled from a fancy crystal chandelier. A prism?, I questioned with interest as I examined it. It was pretty thing, about the circumference of a cricket ball, but shaped like a pendulum, it shimmered and glittered like the most precious of jewels. Why she had it in her purse? I couldn’t guess, and I saw no value in it, so I pocketed it and allowed it to leave my mind.
As I settled into my seat I began to think of the lad I had just met, I had been right on the money as far as his eagerness for mischief. Actually he reminded me of myself at that age, and I wondered if that lad with the shifty eyes would also turn out to follow the same course I had explored.
Which Begs the question, what had I turned out to become. And since I’m still reminiscing
I’ll give little background material about me, hopefully I don’t come across as being too conceited about my self-taught skills..
I had never been one to take the hard road, and even at a young age I was always looking for angles, or short cuts to make some money.
Once, while watching for some time a street magician and his acts. I observed a pick pocket working the crowd. He approached a pair of well-dressed ladies in shiny clothes, and standing behind them bided his time and then lifted a small pouch from one velvet purse, and a fat wallet from a silken one, then he moved on. Now both ladies were wearing shiny bracelets, one with jewels. I thought that he could have realized a greater profit if he had nicked one or both of the bracelets first, than try for the contents of their purses. The bracelets’ alone would have realized a far greater profit than what he lifted from their purses. It further occurred to me that by mimicking some of the sleight of hand tricks and misdirection that the magician was using on his audience, it could be accomplished. A hand placed on the right shoulder and as the lady turned right, whisk off the bracelet from her left wrist, and excuse oneself, that sort of thing.
So, I practiced (on my sisters, who proved to be willing accomplices to “my game”) and learned to pick their purses and pockets. I than moved onto their jewelry, starting by lifting bracelets and slipping away rings, before advancing to the brooches, necklaces and earrings they were wearing. After I was satisfied at my skill level, I went out and worked the streets. Sometimes using my one sister who was also hooked on what I was doing as a willing partner.
But I found myself still not being satisfied, in the back of my mind I thought there had to be a more lucrative way to turn a profit.
I’d found my answer when an attractive lady in a rustling satin gown zeroed in on me while I was “visiting” a ballroom. She was jeweled like a princess right up to the diamond band she wore holding up her piles of soft locks like a glimmering crown. The more she drank, the closer she got and I decided that her necklace would definitely help pay my expenses more than the contents of her purse (although I had already lifted the fat wallet from her small purse), and I did have very expensive tastes to pay for. So I took her onto the dance floor.
I was amazed at how easily I had been able to open the necklace’s clasp , slipping it over her satiny shoulder, lifting it off and placing it safely in my pocket with almost no effort. Then she decided to be playful once the song ended and brushed up against me. She felt the necklace in my pocket and before I could act she had her hand in and pulled it out.
The silly naive twit thought I was teasing her and told me that for my penance I had to go up to her suite in order to put it back on for her. I kept up the charade as best as I could.
And that’s where we ended up. A little bit of light fondling began as I placed the necklace back around her throat. I began to tease her, plied her with more and more alcohol as I tried to keep my distance, and virginity. Finally she passed out in a drunken stupor, but not before I had learned where she hid her valuables by suggesting she should lock her jewels up for the night..
With her safely unconscious, I began to strip her clean off all her jewels, reclaiming the necklace first. Then I visited all her jewelry casket and began looting it. I even took her small rhinestone clutch with the diamond clasp; of course I already had liberated its small wallet.
When I’d left her lying happily asleep in bed, still in her satin gown( the only item left to her that shined), I knew I had found a much more profitable line of “work”
So I began making circuits around to the haunts of the very rich, I still kept may hand in pickpocketing, so to speak, but centered only on those “pockets” containing mainly jewelry. I also began to carefully explore new ways of acquiring jewels” in masse”, so to speak.
Soon I had accumulated many tricks and tools, having them at my disposal to put into action once required, and for the remaining years up till the present had managed to live quite comfortably off of the ill-gotten gains using them allowed me to acquire.
Which brings me back to the train ride, my prism, and the rest of my background story before I retun to the present tale. Please be patient.
*****
So, anyway, I reached Surry without any further incident and disembarking, made my way out to the large country house where I would be staying to take a short rest, vacation if you will. But, pardon the play on words, for there is never any rest for the wicked, is there?
I had become acquainted with a servant of the old mansion ( almost a small castle, really) , that was about a mile off. I managed to learn a great deal, and soon found myself, on the pretense of visiting her, exploring the grounds. There was to be a grand ball taking place a couple of weekends away , and the maid had filled my ears with the riches that would be displayed by the multitude of regal ladies making an appearance. I began to think about trying to make a little bit of profit from my vacation. I am not sure how the idea developed, but the prism that I still had in my possession, came up centrally into my plans.
Late on the evening of the regal affair, I snuck over, covered head to toe in black, with my small satchel off tools by my side. I set up a candle behind an old stone ivy covered wall in a far corner of the rather large and intricate English garden that surrounded the inner circle around the mansion. I than strung the jewel-like prism in front of it. Standing behind the wall, I would strike the prism with a long stick I was holding whenever I observed sparkles emanating from silkily gowned ladies walking in the distance, solitary or in pairs. The prism would flash fire, sort of like a showy lure being used when fishing in a crooked trout stream. Only I was fishing for far sweeter game than trout. My objective was to trick certain types of jeweled ladies (scatterbrains some may call them) by luring them down onto the path beyond the wall, using their natural curiosity to my advantage.
I had at least two strikes rise up to my lure in the second hour.
On was a pretty lady in flowing green satin number, decorated with plenty of emeralds, which, hidden in the shadows, I observed were probably paste. I let her wonder about; as she looked and played with the shiny toy, remaining hidden until she grew bored and wandered off.
The second was a slender maiden wearing a long sleek black gown with long ivory silk gloves. I had never before seen a lady so decked out in jewels, literally head to toe. With the exception of the rhinestones adorning her heels, the rest of the lot was real, so valuably real that I could feel my mouth salivating at the thoughts of acquiring her riches. Now in Edwardian times only older, married ladies would be allowed the privilege of wearing a diamond Tiara. But in these modern times, it had become culturally acceptable for any well-to do lady, single or otherwise, to wear one out in society. Even so, they were still rarely worn, and seldom seen outside the safety of large gatherings. But there it was, a small, delicately slender piece of intricate art that glistened from the top of her head like some elegant beacon. That piece alone was probably worth more than I had made all the last four months combined!
I began to skirt around in the shadows, placing myself in position to cut off her retreat. Her diamonds blazed as she approached, eyeing the swinging prism with total concentration. Which was unfortunate, because as I was about to leave the shadows, she walked into the thorns of a rose bush, screeching out, and attracting the notice of a pair of gentlemen who had just crossed the path quite a ways off, called out when they heard the commotion. She started to become chatty with them, obviously coming on to her rescuers, my prism all but forgotten. Than before I knew it, in a swishing of her long gown, she was gone, “swimming” off before I was able to set me ”hook”.
Which I was able to do on the third strike, almost an hour later, just as I was beginning to ponder wither I should call it off and head back home..
They were a pair of young damsels in their young twenties. They may have been sisters, or cousins at the least. I still remember how my heart leapt into my throat as they observed my colourful prism and turned down the old flagstone path. I had not seen anyone out and about for some time, so I knew they would be no would be rescuers around to come to their aid
And, best of all, they were both dressed for the kill!
One, the blonde, was clad in a black velvet number that one could cannily describe as quite form fitting. As were the small ropes of pearls that hung from all points of interest, pretty with a matching pricelessness.
But her cousin, as I will refer to her, out shone black velvet quite literally.
This one, a stunning raven haired beauty, wore a long streaming gown of liquid ivory satin. A diamond brooch sparkled as it held up a fold of the gown to her waist. The fold allowed her to show a rather daring amount of a slender bare calf. The brooch was not paste, but a real jewel that had been added for the nights festivities ( To be successful, one learns to read these signs accurately) Her ears and neckline were home to a matching set of pure white diamonds. A wide diamond bracelet graced a bare right wrist ,so she must be left handed I instinctively thought, an observation that would have aided me if I were planning on having a go for slipping the bracelet from her wrist, but tonight I was planning a much more daring attempt to empty the entire jewel casket, so to speak.
They went to the prism, playing with it a bit, I had begun to circle around, when I noticed black velvet pointing out with multiple ringed fingers, to something further down the path past the wall.
With a clicking of heels I let the pair pass, they apparently wanted to see what was on the other side of the wall. I followed; it was not hard, because the necklace the raven haired one wore, diamonds fully encircling her throat, rippled and sparkled from their perch, caught in the full harvest moon’s cast, giving me more than enough light to shadow them quietly .
After a while they caught on that something/someone was following them, but as they turned they could see nothing. I was in black, and hooded, invisible to them in the shadows of the trees. They whispered amongst themselves, now worried, realizing that there were dangers lurking beyond the pale, in their case, the safety of the gardens , especially for ones decked out as they were. They then turned and headed right back from where they had come, right into my waiting arms.
It is interesting what good breeding does for young, poised ladies. For, as I stepped out of the shadows, a finger of my right hand to my lips, my Fairborn in my left hand, its black blade glinting wickedly in the moonlight , they did not scream out or shout for help. Instead the pair merely let out small gasps, and then they both, in a quite charming synchronized display of disbelief, place each one hand over their open mouths, and the other upon their perspective necklaces.
And as I flourished my wicked looking Fairbairn–Sykes blade in their direction, they unquestioningly reached around and undid those pretty necklaces, tremblingly handing them out to me, like actresses following a well-read script. I took the little pretties and after stuffing them into my satchel, held out again my free hand, my fingers beckoning. Not a word was spoken between us, as the frightened pair of young ladies began removing their shimmering jewels and added them in a neat little growing pile along my open palm. The raven haired girl even undid her brooch without me having to command her to do so. Once I had stashed it all away, I motioned for them to turn back around, than with a little helpful prodding on my part, they began moving forward back down the hill, away from the garden. The one in white hobbling a little now as she kept tripping over the hem of her dress, now no longer held up by the stolen brooch.
After we had traveled about 200 meters I had them stop, and take off their high heels. Then picking the pretty things up, I motioned them to turn back around and made them walk back the way we had come in their bare feet, watching the pair awkwardly hobble barefooted down the wooded path. They would be quite a while on their journey back, allowing me more than ample time to make me escape. I threw their shoes off to the side and went briskly the other way, reaching the place was staying at , gaining my room without notice. But not before I had hidden the jewels inside an old stump to retrieve them at a later date. I never really heard so much as a whisper of the incident, other than from the pretty lips of my friendly maiden. The wee hours of the morning before my early departure for the train station found me revisiting the stump and retrieving my satchel and its precious cargo. After hiding it all in a false bottom of my case I laid my head on the pillow and drifted off to sleep as I wondered what had happened to the little prism, marveling at how useful it had ended up proving to be.
So, how does this story (journey rather) relate to the one I had already started? Please read on, and enrich your curiosity… my dear readers.
****************************************************************************
Act 2
So, with apologies for my lengthy elucidation, but I now return you back to the garden party I was now attending on that warm fall day. But, as you will see, my prism story needed to be told in order to add a bit of flavor to what was about to unfold.
As I sat on the garden bench I formulated my plans. I should be able to acquire the main piece tonight at the Ball, I would have time this afternoon to retrieve my ever handy satchel and its array of tools and have it hidden at the spot I had already selected. It was perfect, located at the end of the path I had found, or rather the charming lady in the smart chiffon dress had found for me. A gas lamp would provide adequate light for my “lure”, and it led to a back wood where I could lead any victims away and liberate them of their valuables before making my escape. I rose, just enough time to walk my escape route, before setting up and then be dressed for the evening’s festivities. I looked around, I was alone now, my lady in white had disappeared, following her own course, whatever it may have been.
The Autumn Ball that evening was in full swing by the time I arrived. Being a cool fall day, most of the women were wearing long gowns and dresses, and that, for whatever the reason, usually meant they were decked out with more layers of jewelry than say , if it had been the middle of summer. In order to put my plan in action I need and intrinsic piece of the trap, a prism. The one I had once had was long ago lost, a minor pawn in a game to take a pair of princesses.
I knew exactly the type of prism required for my plan, and so began mingling amongst the guests with that in mind.
I started out by walking through to the chamber like ballroom where a full orchestra was starting to play. The first person I saw from the garden party was the little tramp who had been wearing the too tight satin tea dress. That dress had been replaced with a long silky gown, her gold jewelry replaced with emeralds; including a thin bracelet that had taken the place of the gold one that she had so obligingly dangled in my larcenous path. I decided to avoid her In principle, and in doing so spied someone quite interesting.
That someone was a pretty lady in a long velvet gown standing off to one side, idly watching the many dancers out on the floor. The dancing couples were forming an imagery of a rainbow coloured sea of slinky swirling gowns and with erupting fireworks of sparkling jewels, ignited by pair of immensely large chandeliers that hung over the dance floor, setting them off. I made my way, skirting the dance floor to reach her, my eyes on her jewels, which were making pretty fireworks of their own. I happened to walk up just as a waiter with a tray of drinks was passing by. Plucking off a drink I offered it to the lady with one hand, my other hand placed on her back as If to steady myself. She laughed prettily, and taking the drink I met her eyes, as she was focused on reaching and holding the glass in her slippery gloved hand, mine was on the ruby and diamond necklace. My hand behind her had flicked open the simple hook and eye clasp of the antique piece and was in the process of lifting it up and whisking it away from her throat. As I said a few words to her, I pocketed it, while also taking in the rest of her lovely figure and its shiny decorations, before biding adieu. She smiled, her pale bare neckline now quite glaringly extinguished of its fire.
It was about an hour later, after spotting, but unable to make inroads with several likely candidates, that I finally struck gold (figuratively). It came in the form of a young couple arguing between themselves in a far corner of the chamber. She was lecturing a rather handsome man in a tux, her jeweled fingers flying in his face. If she hadn’t been moving about in such an animated fashion as she lectured, I may not have even noticed her. But as it happened I did, especially noticeable was the sanctimonious lady’s wide jeweled bracelet that was bursting out in a rainbow of colorful flickers as her hand was emphatically waving, as her long gown of silk swished around with every movement she made. Perfect. I watched for a bit, and sure enough they moved off, the man heading for the patio leading outside, the wealthy girl following him, still giving him lashes with her tongue. I moved and managed to have her bump into me simply by stepping on the hemline of her long gown. For a few seconds I was the one on the receiving end of her wrath, but I took it like a man, I could see in the eyes of her tongue lashed husband, that he was grateful for the respite. I was also grateful; grateful for the quite wide, very shimmering, bracelet that I had removed from her wrist and now was residing in my pocket.
I began to leave the patio, but was stopped by a matronly lady in ruffles, laces and pearls, her breath heavy with alcohol. She started to question me on what the couple had been on about. Then without waiting for an answer she launched herself into a tirade of her own, her gem encrusted, silken gloved fingers, waving in my face for emphasis. It was almost ten minutes before I was able to make my escape. Which I did, but not before slipping off one of the lecturing ladies vulgarly large cocktail rings.
I headed onto the patio; the time was getting ripe for my plan, which I was now ready to put into motion, now having acquired its most essential piece. I went to the end of the large patio, weaving in and out of the by now well liquored guests whom had assembled there. Across the way I saw a lady tripping over her own gown. By the time I reached her she had fallen down, giggling merrily. Two of us rushed to her aid, she was busy gushed her thanks to the rescuer she knew, while ignoring the one she didn’t! Which was unfortunate on her part, for by ignoring me, she also was ignorant of the fact that I was busy lifting the small stands of black pearls from her wrist. I left unnoticed, much like a shadow fading out of the light, or at least that’s how it seemed. Finally I reached the patios outer edge without further incident, or gain. I went on the grass and turned a corner with the intention of going, post haste around the house to reach the gardens by the long way, hoping not to be seen by anyone. But I no sooner turned the corner, when I realized that it was not to be the case.
It was my blithe spirit in white chiffon from the garden party, pardon me, soiree. She was unescorted, looking up at the moon above a stone turret with one lit window, so intently that my presence had not been noticed. I had been absolutely correct in my observation of her as far as what she would be wearing for the evening. For what she had lacked in ornaments at the soiree, she had more than made up for in the evening festivities. She was absolutely gorgeous, resplendent in as beautiful a silvery satin gown that I had ever witness. It was just pouring down, shimmering along her delightful figure. Her long blazing red hair was still curling down and free, but now a pair of long chandelier earrings cascading down from her earlobes, were peeking out every now and then as they swayed with her every movement. Her blazingly rippling necklace was all diamonds, dripping down the front of her tightly satin covered bosom, twinkling iridescently like an intensively glimmering waterfall. Her slender gloved wrists were home to a pair of dangling diamond bracelets that were almost outshone by her many glistening rings. All in all she was quite a lure all too herself
I came up to her, starling her from her reverie. Taking up her hand, I looked into her startled, suddenly blushing face. I complimented her on the fine gown she wore. She thanked me, and I could see I that she suddenly remembered she me as the chap who she thought smiled to her in the garden. She seemed to accept my compliment quite readily. I chanced it( although Lord knows I was short on time) and asked her to a dance. I did not think she would agree, so it was with a little bit of surprise, hoping she would politely decline and walk off, leaving me free to go about my business unobserved. But she accepted, and I will admit that my heart leapt as she agreed (although in the back of my mind I knew I should be off if my plan was to work). The music had stopped so we made small talk as we slowly walked back to the ballroom. Her name was Katrina. It seems she was waiting for someone, which suited my plans, but he was late and so she had time. Which may have sounded dismissive, but from the apologetic way she said it, it was anything but the sort.
The orchestra started to tune back up as we entered, and taking her offered hand up, was soon lost in the elegance of my appealing partner. It was a long dance, and a formal one, but I could tell she was subtly anxious to be off on her meeting, as I was to be off to my own adventure. But Katrina did not really allow it to show, which was very uncharacteristic of her someone with her obvious breeding. So I was ready when the by the end of the music she begged her condolences and took flight. I watched her as she fluidly moved away, her jewels sparkling, all of them. On her mission to meet Mr. X I thought, for whom I was already harboring a quite jealous dislike. I should be off I thought to meself.
But I stood, still as stone; totally mesmerized by the way Katrina’s swirling silvery satin gown was playing out along her petite, jewel sparkling figure. It wasn’t till the last of her gown swished around a corner out of sight that I moved, but not without having to shake my head to clear the thoughts of her out of it. Well old son, focus. For by now the guests were starting to wander a bit afield in the waning hours of the Autumn Ball, and my small window of opportunity was closing fast. If my little plan was going to have any chance of success it would have to be now.
I walked out and made my way to one of the outside exist of the garden wall. Reaching into my pocket as I did so, fingering the bracelet, now cold, that had belonged to the quarrelsome lady,and soon would be playing another role, far from one its former mistress would ever have dreamed off. I also felt my new acquisition, still warm from my dance partner’s body. I will admit that I had felt a twinge of regret for taking it from a lady I had found to be most charmingly captivating. But slipping off the diamonds up and away from her throat had been as temptingly easy as it had been automatic. I had advantageously made use of the sleekness of her scintillatingly silky gown, and with the distractions created by the movements of the dance, successfully managed to keep Katrina’s attention safely diverted from the reality of why my fingers were ever so gently, caressingly sliding along her slippery gowns neckline. The truth was I had originally placed my hand there because it had felt so right, and I was a little startled when my fingers had subconsciously started playing with her necklaces clasp. Before I knew it, they had flicked open the gemstone clasp of her obviously expensive diamond necklace, and had lifted up. As I watched out of the corner of my eye, almost like I was a spectator, as opposed to being the perpetrator, I saw the chain move up and over her shoulder; its diamonds sparkling with is as the necklace disappeared from view behind her back.
It was a favored technique that I had perfected to the point that by this stage of my career I nearly always acquired my objective. But, as odd as it sounds, I was not happy with myself on this occasion.
But I did not long dwell on my mixed feelings on taking the charming lass’s diamonds, for by now I had reached my place of ambush. It was in one of the farthest reaches of the garden, at a bend on the end of a long path that, with a gas lamp at its beginning just off the patio, would allow me to see from some distance off. Behind me was a break in the hedge wide enough for a person to walk through comfortably. It was here, off a tree limb, underneath a second ornate cast iron gas lamp, which was now lit, that I hung the shimmering bracelet that I had sought out and acquired for just that reason
I walked around and saw that it could be seen flickered off in the distance from the woods, Perfect! Earlier I had hidden my satchel with a hood and knife and bit of rope in the hollow of an old tree. I now retrieved them, and after getting ready, found my position and waited. At 10 minutes past the first hour of my wait, with nary a single glimpse of anyone, I started to fidget. My corner may be just a bit too desolated I was beginning to admit to myself. It seemed that most of the guests were staying by the patio. I was starting to think that I should pack it in, possibly rejoining the guests for one last parting( of someone from her Jewelry). I was just reaching down to pick up my satchel when I suddenly saw something flash under the gas lamp at the beginning of the path, and my senses immediately perked up. I watched as the wisps of rich shimmery satin moved closer, I stiffened, drooling with anticipation, the game was afoot.
I could see clearly the flickering jewels she wore, and by their blazing sparkles of rippling fire, I knew that my long vigil would not have been in vain. As the lady drew I recognized her gown of silvery satin! I knew who was making those tantalizing flashes of appealing treasures. Katrina!
I watched as she approached, in all her glittering elegance. My heart and conscious was in turmoil, but I knew I probably would not get a second chance. I could not let her get away unscathed. Beside, from the shock of being confronted with a masked scoundrel wielding a wicked blade, she would be in no shape to recognize her assailant. She stopped, apprehensively looking back towards the bright lights of the Manor, Then turning back I saw she had a self-satisfied smile creeping upon her face. She reached up, and undoing her hair, shook it down, curls of softness cascading down, hanging loosely down. It was as she performed this provocative act, that I saw her eyes open wide in curiosity; she had spied my pretty little “prism”. The charming fish was hooked.
I waited, watching her approaching ever closer to fate, and from my concealment, I basked in her glow. My heart beating fast, my adrenaline pumping, for the remaining jewels (I thought of her necklace in my custody) that she possessed I already had witnessed were quite valuable. She passed my hiding spot and went to the hanging, shimmering object. As she reached up, looking around, she failed to see me approaching in the shadows. I came up from behind, jabbing a finger in her back as I reached her, I gruffly in no uncertain terms, snarled for her to freeze and make no sound. She stiffened under my touch, but made no move or outcry. I went around; pointing my knife in her direction, looking into her sad doe wide eyes as she realized what was going to happen next. She was trembling; from fear I guessed, and knew I had her right where I wanted. As I made my demands upon her, gimme them jewels sister, she, not surprisingly, was very compliant in giving them up to me. She reached for her necklace last, and looked entirely shocked to find her throat bare, as she searched the neckline of her gown I saw her look into my hand, now dripping with her precious jewelry, almost as if to see if she had not already removed it. She looked apologetically into my eyes, startled; almost pleading that she didn’t know what had happened to it. I just played dump. She than spoke for the first time, sir, may I ask to keep my purse? Her words would have instantly melted even the coldest chunk of ice, I looked down at the little silvery clutch hanging from her arm on its rhinestone chain, I nodded, indicating that she could, and saw relief wash over her face. I told her she now needed to turn around and walk off into the woods ahead of me. She hesitated, and I told her no harm would befall her, I had no intentions along those lines.
About 5 meters in I stopped her, and had her remove her shoes, as she bent over to undo the high heels rhinestone clasps I watched her gown tightly outlining her figure. She tripped on the hem of her gown, and as she attempted to keep her balance, accidently let her purse slip off her shoulder. Without thinking I reached down to pick it up for her as she tried reached for it simultaneously
The small purse was far heavier than it should have been. Curious I opened it, finding that it contained a rather extensive array of mismatched jewelry, glittering in unbelievably expensive fire . I looked into Katrina’s horror struck eyes dumb founded, as she looked guiltily into mine. The gig was up. The jewels belonged to the lady of the manor, my muse in silver was a thief, a female version of me very self.
Aye, what’s this than luv? I questioned her as she looked into my eyes, hers large with a mixture of fright and disbelief. She melted before me, fainting, I caught her in my arms, and it was no ruse. I held her as she came to, holding her warm, silky figure lovingly to mine. I did not know what to think. Nor could I ever explain what possessed me to do what I did next. As she came to, her eyes opened, and I removed my mask, looking back into them deeply.
Oh, she gasped, I’m glad it was you, startled that she had said the words out loud. She than started to coyly blushes, quite demurely. Something sparked in me, and unless she was an incredibly good actress, it did also for Katrina. Our eyes both looked into the others, melting away in the lust of the moment. We embraced, deeply, and I held her squirming warm slick figure tight in my enveloping arms. I looked over her shoulder, eyeing the glistening bracelet hanging from its branch. To catch a thief, the thought suddenly opened in my mind, what a great title for a novel I thought to myself, as I buried my nose into Katrina’s luxuriously soft hair.
We talked for a bit, walking off into the woods, then she looked into my eyes again, a coy, look that melted me on the spot, and that was the end of it, we embraced again, and wholly gave ourselves to one another. What about your man I asked suddenly remembering, my man she questioned , than oh, you mean the Lord, I was waiting for him to come down from smoking in his tower study, that’s where the lady’s jewels are kept. She broke into an Irish brogue as she said the last bit, and that I guessed was her natural tongue. she laid a hand on the side of my face, thanks for being jealous though, me lad.
I should collect my lure I said, which made her smile; it was such an enticing smile at that. We started to head back and watched as it dangled in front of us flickering. With a far off look in her green eyes, Katrina spoke as if in deep though.
The daughter of the house, she has a bracelet on like the one you have dangling, a bracelet of diamonds that I had taken a fancy to, wishing it had been in the safe along with the rest of the ladies of manors jewelry. I knew who she was talking about. The one in green taffeta I asked? Aye lad, that’s the one. Actually her necklace would be just as easy, and worth more I said. Just then her bright green eyes gleamed, Give me about a half an hour, she told me, we will put your little lure to use again. She noticed my hesitation, don’t worry luv she said soothingly placing a gloved hand to my cheek, no longer was it sparkly with its stolen bracelet and rings. I’ll leave my purse with you, can’t very well be carrying it around now can I? I nodded my consent, my mind burning with the thoughts she had alluringly placed there.
She turned, and then hesitated; turning back she said I probably should not go back in naked luv. I smiled, reaching in I pulled out her necklace and placed it around her throat. With a little gasp she blurted, so it was you, I was wondering who and when it had happened. It’s not the first time I’ve had me jewels lifted, but it’s a bloody annoyance to have to let them get away with it, crawls under my skin to have pretend not to notice so that I don’t draw any attention to me self before making my move to steal the posh ones jewels.
But you, mister, I never felt as much as a prickling. I was ready to assume my pretties had been a victim of a broken clasp this time. I gave a little nod in acceptance. That wasn’t exactly a compliment lad, she said in what I hopped was a subtle jest. Just last summer some clumsy bugger slipped of me earrings, my favorite pearls, as we were danc… she stopped, seeing the guilt in my eyes. Men! As thieves you are all of the same skin she spat out angrily, or attempted to sound angry, for the look in her eyes to me she wasn’t. I best be off, before I change me mind about out little endeavor.
With that she swirled around on her heels, and started off, but not before turning and giving me an extremely coy look of interest. As she swirled back around I heard her say loud enough for my ears, I’ll learn me self to be a picker of pockets, see how males like to be taken advantage of in their vulnerabilities! She nodded to herself as she said it. Then suddenly she stopped, than twirled on her heels, her gown swirling enticingly along her figure. Looking me dead in the eye she said, “Vie ne est pas d'attendre que la tempête , mais d'apprendre à danser sous la pluie” !
What does that mean? I questioned in a low voice, perplexed.
Maybe, Mon Cheri, someday I will tell you… And with that she turned on her heel, her gown once again swirling about, and went, determinedly, swishing her way back up the path. I just watched. I had never heard anyone speak French with an Irish Brogue and I had found it to be rather provocative!
I watched as she swished and swayed her way back through the hedge and regained the path leading back to the manor. Her plan was simple; she would lead the daughter of the house to my corner and as she had done, go out with her to look at the swinging charm. I would then make my appearance, rob both ladies of their finery, and telling the daughter to wait until I released her friend, walk off with Katrina as a hostage, and we would both take off and make good our escape. A simple plan, so simple it should actually work.
So, there I was. Holding a purse with a small fortune in jewels, my pocket full of more jewels worth an additional pretty farthing, and her charms were wearing off by her leaving. And my thieving nature coming back, reawakened from the spell they had been under!
The devil of my conscious crept out on my shoulder, the angel markedly absent from the other.
Look mate, she may not be all she seems, and possibly has some other game in mind. Maybe she does have a male confidante helping her out… and was actually on her way to fetch him. He said in my inner ear. And, after all, you took her diamonds twice, didn’t ye now? Do you really think shell forgive you of that me lad?
And there is no honor amongst thieves, as the saying goes, he added as a closing argument...
I rolled it over in my mind…I could leave, absconding with it all, book a cruise to the states or down under where there lay untried fertile grounds to ply my trade. Not to mention working over my fellow passengers aboard the cruise ship while they attended the fancy affairs that were always going on, or so the brochures always seemed to show……
Then In the distance I caught a wisp of Katrina’s long silvery gown. She was coming, and not only with the daughter of the manor, but also with a spare. For I could see a purple coloured gown swishing alongside with the prey in rustling green taffeta.. I watched as all three ladies, resplendent with the rippling fiery gems they all possessed, came up the path, gowns sweeping out , shimmery from the now misty distance.
The thought of making my escape with all the loot continued to haunt me, there was still time now to take off without notice, or I could rob all three, and leave with purple silk as my hostage, Katrina would not be able to say anything on chance of giving up her part of the game, or I could just be a good lad and sty with the script that Katrina had written. Take a chance, roll the dice and believe that she was all she had me believing she could ever be.
As they came closer I knew my time was running out. The thoughts of just looking out for myself kept coming up playing the devil with my conscience as the precious seconds ticked away…
No honor amongst thieves…
What will it be, old boy I challenged myself,
What will you have it be?........
To see what his decision ultimately was, and the eventual path it led to, see the album question answered)
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Life is not about waiting out the storm, but about learning to dance in the rain.
Vie ne est pas d'attendre que la tempête , mais d'apprendre à danser sous la pluie .
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Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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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 far from Cavendish Mews. We are not even in England as we follow Lettice, her fiancée, Sir John Nettleford Hughes, and her widowed future sister-in-law, Clementine (known preferably now by the more cosmopolitan Clemance) Pontefract on their adventures on their visit to Paris.
Old enough to be Lettice’s father, wealthy Sir John was until recently still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intended to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. After an abrupt ending to her understanding with Selwyn Spencely, son and heir to the title Duke of Walmsford, Lettice in a moment of both weakness and resolve, agreed to the proposal of marriage proffered to her by Sir John. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them.
The trio have travelled to Paris so that Lettice may attend the ‘Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes’* which is highlighting and showcasing the new modern style of architecture and interior design known as Art Deco of which Lettice is an exponent. Now that Lettice has finished her commission for a feature wall at the Essex country retreat of the world famous British concert pianist Sylvia Fordyce, Lettice is moving on to her next project: a series of principal rooms in the Queen Anne’s Gate** home for Dolly Hatchett, the wife of Labour MP for Towers Hamlets*** Charles Hatchett, for whom she has done work before. Mrs. Hatchett wants a series of stylish formal rooms in which to entertain her husband’s and her own influential friends in style and elegance, and has given Lettice carte-blanche to decorate as she sees fit to provide the perfect interior for her. Lettice hopes to beat the vanguard of modernity and be a leader in the promotion of the sleek and uncluttered lines of the new Style Moderne**** which has arisen as a dynamic new movement at the exhibition.
We find ourselves in the Jardin des Tuileries**** where amidst the finely clipped square topiaries and brilliant white classical statuary of the gardens, on the lush and well clipped lawns, Lettice sits with Sir John and Clemance enjoying a very fine picnic repast in the warm autumnal sunshine of Paris. Arranged with the assistance of the chefs at the hotel they are staying at, Clemance has arranged a splendid picnic to which she has invited her good friends, Marcel and Léonie Dupont, and to which Sir John has invited some of his own Parisian acquaintances. A red and white gingham picnic rug has been spread across the lawn, and its surface is graced with water crackers, a selection of cheeses, dips, pâtés, breads, pies, pasties, sandwiches and even a dressed lobster and a traditional English trifle. Bottles of the finest French wines and champagnes stick up out of silver wine coolers and cutlery, gilt hotel crockery and glassware glint in the sunlight. Birds twitter in the trees and the distant burble of Paris traffic mixes with the chatter of the voices of visitors to the public gardens. In the middle distance, the Louvre Museum, housed in a palace of the same name, basks in the sunshine.
“So, to what pleasures, do we owe the pleasure of your company here in Paris, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?” Monsieur Dupont asks Lettice in slightly laboured and heavily accented English.
“We can speak French if you’d prefer, Monsieur Dupont.” Lettice replies kindly with a gentle smile as she tears a piece of bread delicately from a flour dusted roll, casting a shower of white snowflakes into the linen napkin spread across her lap. “I do speak it fluently.”
“Marcel is very proud of his command of Anglaise, Mademoiselle Chetwynd.” Madame Dupont proffers in reply with a laugh.
“I am,” Monsieur Dupont agrees with his wife, sitting up a little more straightly as he speaks. “I find my command of Anglaise to be useful when doing business with your fellow countrymen. Sadly, I don’t get to practice conversation à la Anglaise enough, Mademoiselle Chetwynd, so I should like to converse in Anglaise with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, Monsieur Dupont.” Lettice agrees, her own smile broadening, as she lavishes her piece of fluffy white roll with a lashing of creamy yellow butter from a silver knife as she speaks. “However, if you get tired of conversing in English, we can always revert to French.”
“Merci, Mademoiselle Chetwynd.” Monsieur Dupont replies with a grateful sigh and beaming smile below his small waxed petite handlebar moustache*****. “Vous êtes si gentil.” He holds up his glass of rich, jewel like red wine in a toast to Lettice.
“Mon plaisir, Monsieur Dupont.” Lettice replies.
“And in answer to your question, Marcel, my future sister-in-law is probably here more for business than pleasure, unlike Nettie and I.” Clemance adds to the conversation as she holds aloft her half-drunk flute of sparkling champagne, which glints in the sunshine. “For whom it is strictly a visit for pleasure.”
“Ahh.” Monsieur Dupont remarks with interest. “How so, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?”
“Well Monsieur Dupont, I’m visiting Paris so that I can attend the Exposition des Arts Decoratifs et Industriels Modernes. My fiancée is escorting me.”
“Nettie was looking for an excuse to visit Paris and catch up with old friends.” Clemance adds with a chuckle, using her pet name for her brother, indicating with her glass to Sir John, who sits on the other side of the red and white gingham picnic rug covered in the delicious repast organised by Clemance, surrounded by a few other picnickers, chatting rather intently with a lowered head with a heavily made up peroxided blonde woman in a fashionable fuchsia coloured afternoon frock.
“So I see,” Madame Dupont remarks a little dourly as her striking emerald green eyes follow Clemance’s gesture. Her nose crumples almost imperceptibly with distaste as Sir John and the blonde woman laugh at a shared confidence whispered into her ear by him.
Lettice’s pretty face clouds just a little as she observes the familiarity that seems to exist between her fiancée and the blonde woman to whom she has yet to be introduced, who arrived late to the picnic with a small coterie of loud and colourful friends who twitter around them like exotic birds. The way the pair’s heads are lowered towards one another, and the closeness of their shoulders seems to imply to Lettice that whoever the blonde woman is, she has been intimate with Sir John. Closing her eyes and quickly shaking her head as if ridding herself of an irritating insect, she tries to dismiss the idea from her mind. Yes, Sir John did come to Paris to meet up with old friends, including a long-standing acquaintance and old flame of his, Cinégraphic****** silent film actress Madeline Flanton, but surely this blonde woman wasn’t her! Sir John promised Lettice that he would never do anything to make her ashamed of him, in public at least. Paris might be freer than London was in relation to propriety and social mores, but surely even he wouldn’t flirt with an old flame like Mademoiselle Flanton in front Lettice in such a public way, would he? Of course not! She shakes her head again to rid herself of the idea. Not every woman Sir John knows is a former lover of his: take Sylvia Fordyce for example. Their relationship, whilst long standing and very close, is strictly platonic.
“I’m only here as a chaperone for Lettice.” Clemance goes on blissfully unaware of Madame Dupont’s disapproval of Sir John’s behaviour, breaking Lettice’s train of thought about him and the blonde woman. “But it also gave me an excuse to return to Paris and see you and some of my other friends.” She smiles beatifically at the Duponts. “I miss you all so.”
“Then you shouldn’t have left us, cher Clemance!” Mrs Dupont scolds Clemance good naturedly. “You can always come back you know.”
“Oh, I know Léonie.” Clemance remarks. “But it’s impossible.” She shakes her head. “After Harrison…” Her voice trails off as she mentions her dead husband and she gulps to gather her composure as unshed tears well in her eyes. “I have lost so much, here in Paris.” She blinks back the tears as she stares meaningfully at Madame Dupont. “No, it’s better if I am in London with Nettie nearby,” She turns to Lettice and smiles bravely. “And my dear Lettice of course.”
Lettice knows that Clemance lost her only child, a daughter, Élodie, to diphtheria when she was just twelve years old, but she cannot let on that Sir John has shared this deepest of confidences with her. So, she knows that Clemance has lost not only her husband, but her daughter in Paris, making the city of light and love a very dark place for her future sister-in-law.
“Of course, Clemance,” Lettice agrees. “And you will always be welcome to stay with John and I whenever you want. You have a home with us, wherever we are.”
“Thank you, Lettice my dear.” Clemance says with a grateful smile, reaching out her left hand and squeezing Lettice’s right forearm comfortingly.
“Ahh…” Madame Dupont taps her nose knowingly. “As the future Lady Nettleford-Hughes, you will become the mistress of Rippon Court.” She refers to the old castle built on Sir John’s vast family estate in Bedfordshire.
“Oh, I don’t think John and I plan on making Rippon Court our country seat, Madame Dupont.” Lettice responds. “He didn’t seem at all keen on the idea when I couched it.”
“Well, that’s hardly surprising.” Clemance adds in a strangulated tone as her face pales.
“Why not, mon cher Clemance?” Monsieur Dupont queries before slipping half a water cracker lavished in creamy and rich duck pâté into his mouth.”
“Surely it is only right that Sir John and Mademoiselle Chetwynd take up residence in the family estate once they are married, Clemance.” Madame Dupont adds.
“Rippon Court does not hold fond memories for either Nettie or myself.” Clemance snaps in an unusual pique of irritation, bristling all over.
“I was born in Wiltshire, on my parent’s estate, Glynes.” Lettice quickly adds in an effort to deflect questions away from her future sister-in-law, who is obviously suffering discomfort at the mention of the home she and Sir John grew up in. “Glynes is quite close to Fontengil Park, John’s Wiltshire estate. I’ve never been to Rippon Court before, but John tells me that even though Fontengil Park is smaller, it is more suitable for us. More comfortable. Heating old houses is so expensive nowadays, never mind a castle.”
“John and I will have to take you to Rippon Court before you get married, Lettice my dear.” Clemance says with less brittleness in her voice. “Even if you don’t live there, as county gentry, you’ll be expected to participate in events around the local hunt. Unlike our parents, Nettie and I have never enjoyed foxhunting, but the old Nettleford Hunt is as much part a part of the county social calendar as Bonfire Night*******, Christmas, New Year and Twelfth Night********.”
“Your brother is très curieux, mon cher Clemance!” Madame Dupont laughs as she reaches daintily for a golden pâté en croûte*********. “How can le gentilhomme Anglaise not like to hunt? It is in your blood, non?” She takes a bite, showing her napkin covered lap in pastry crumbs.
“My father would have agreed with you, Léonie.” Clemance replies. “Nettie and I used to say that our parents were born on horses. Father was always a fine rider, a mad keen steeplechaser********** and bloodthirsty hunter.’ She shudders. “Mother was too. They couldn’t understand why Nettie didn’t enjoy, nor have the aptitude for, the outdoor sports they embraced with such gusto. Nettie was a bookworm***********, like me, and we’d bribe our governesses when we were children with promises of good behaviour and no procrastination at bedtime to lie to our parents and say they hadn’t seen us when they came looking for either Nettie or both of us to join in the hunt.” She giggles rather girlishly. “He and I used to hide in one of Rippon Court’s towers where we kept a small library of our favourite books to amuse ourselves for an afternoon of hiding from our parents.” She pauses for a moment and sips some of her champagne. “I wonder if our childhood books are still up there, gathering dust and shrouded in cobwebs?” she ponders. “Lettice my dear!”
“Hhhmmm….” Lettice says distractedly.
“Lettice, Nettie and I must show you the book tower when we visit Rippon Court in the New Year for the Nettleford Hunt.” Lettice doesn’t reply as her attention is caught by something out of the corner of her eye. Clemance doesn’t notice and continues, focussing upon her friends the Duponts. “However, luckily being the master of foxhounds************ is only a ceremonial role, and Nettie is not forced to mount a horse and take part in the hunt itself. Lettice of course, is a skilled horsewoman, but her role, at least on this first visit to the Nettleford Hunt will be ceremonial too. As the future Lady Nettleford-Hughes, she’ll be restricted to handing out the winners’ trophies.”
Clemance’s chattery voice dulls and morphs into a distant undistinguishable burble in her ears as Lettice’s attention is drawn back to her fiancée sitting on the other side of the picnic blanket. She notices a subtle movement on the fabric of the rug close to a plate of finely cut triangle sandwiches garnished with tomato and cucumber. It’s Sir John’s finger and that of the unknown blonde woman. They are discreetly playing with one another teasingly before entwining their little fingers tightly together, hidden from the view of those in front of them by Sir John’s back. A sparkling peridot in a gold ring on the woman’s finger twinkles whilst the sheen of Sir John’s Georgian gold and carnelian************* signet ring*************, bearing the Nettleford-Hughes crest glares in the sunlight, shining in Lettice’s eyes, causing her to blink and look down.
“Mademoiselle Chetwynd?” Monsieur Dupont queries.
“What?” Lettice asks in a distracted fashion, her attention drawn back to the conversation happing on her side of the picnic, between Clemance and the Duponts.
“You never fully answered my question, Mademoiselle Chetwynd.” Monsieur Dupont explains.
“Err… what question was that, Monsieur Dupont?”
“You never told me why you are visiting the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes, Mademoiselle. Business or pleasure?”
“Well, it’s for business really,” Lettice manages to say with a slightly strangulated voice. “Although I can’t deny that there is a mix of pleasure to be found amidst the business.” She glances back to Sir John and the blonde woman’s entwined fingers, but find that they are no longer interlocked. She quickly returns her attention to Monsieur Dupont’s expectant face. “Thanks to Clemance’s generosity at organising this lovely picnic for us, and introducing me to her old and beloved Parisian friends. She speaks of you both so fondly.”
“Pardon moi, but I wouldn’t call that lovely!” Madame Dupont says in disgust, waving an accusing finger at the picnic.
For a brief moment, Lettice thinks that Clemance’s guest has seen the intertwined fingers of Sir John and the blonde woman, and she blushes red with embarrassment at the thought. Then she notices that Madame Dupont is actually pointing at a round container sitting on the red and white chequered rug, marked ‘U-Like-It Savoury Cheese’**************, featuring two cherub cheeked children in the label. It houses some individually wrapped triangles of cheese, each one’s tin foil*************** affixed with a different brightly coloured label.
“Oh that’s just for Nettie!” Clemance laughs with a sweep of her hand over the container of cheese before taking another sip of her champagne.
“Is our cheese not good enough for your frère, ma chere?” Monsieur Dupont asks, a little offended as he raises his hand to his chest, as if wounded by Clemance’s declaration.
“Not at all, Marcel!” Clemance assures him quickly. “When he inherited the family title, land and estates, amongst them he inherited a sheep station in Australia, called Rippon Station.”
“A railway station?” Monsieur Dupont asks in surprise.
“Built just for sheep transportation?” Madame Dupont adds in confusion.
“How très peculiar Antipodeans*************** are.” Monsieur Dupont declares as he takes up another cracker lavished with pâté and bites into it.
“No, no, Léonie and Marcel!” Clemance explains with a smirk, used to the confusion stirred within her Parisian friends, just as she and her brother had once been confused by some uniquely Australian vernacular. “A station in Australia can mean a railway station as we know it to mean. However, it can also be a name for large swathes of pastural land, like a very large farm.” She chuckles. “I know, it’s a strange term. Nettie and I were just as confused then, as you are now.” She looks at the perplexed looks on her friends’ faces. “Both Nettie and I sailed to Australia after our father died. It took six weeks to get there alone! I think Harrison despaired that I would ever return to Paris. The station, the large farm, is in Victoria. It is looked after by a very competent manager who grazes and breeds cattle for us on the property, and they produce cheddar cheese there. The Australians call it ‘tasty cheese’ rather than cheddar, but call it what you like, it equates to much the same thing. During our stay there, Nettie developed a taste for this uniquely Australian ‘tasty cheese’, pardon my pun. Now when his station sends crates of cheese from Rippon Station to London by refrigerated vessel****************, Nettie always has a few tins of our cheese marketed under the U-Like-It brand sent up to Belgravia for his pleasure. I had this shipped to our hotel in Paris from the London docks a few days ago, once I had settled on the fact that I was going to host this picnic luncheon whilst we were visiting.”
The pair of Parisians nod in slightly less confusion.
“You still haven’t answered my question, Mademoiselle Chetwynd,” Monsieur Dupont persists.
“Oh, that’s because I have been chatting away nineteen to the dozen*****************!” Clemance apologises with an embarrassed gasp. “Please, dear Lettice, tell Marcel why you’re visiting the exposition.”
“Well, as I said, I’ve come to view the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes, Monsieur Dupont.” Lettice says again, politely, trying to focus on his inquisitive middle-aged face, and not be tempted to take her eyes off him and stray back to Sir John and the blonde woman, thus drawing attention to their flirtatious behaviour. “I’m an interior designer in London, you see, and I am an exponent of the modernist and uncluttered Art Deco aesthetic.”
“Ahh!” Monsieur Dupont murmurs with interest. “Yes, we are very proud of all that France has on show at the exposition! It’s a symbol of national pride to show the world what the height of fashion is.” he adds proudly. “France, and Paris in particular, has always set the trends for fashion and design.”
“Now that Lettice has finished her commission for our friend Sylvia Fordyce,” Clemance pauses. “You remember Nettie’s and my friend the concert pianist who performed at the Casino de Paris******************?”
“Oui! Oui!” the Duponts reply enthusiastically.
“Well, Lettice is moving on to her next project: a series of rooms for a British politician and his wife in the heart of London.”
“Is that so, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?” Monsieur Deupont asks.
“Yes,” Lettice replies, blushing at the Frenchman’s intense interest. “Mrs. Hatchett wants me to decorate a series of formal rooms in her new London home, in which to entertain their friends.”
“Lettice’s star is on the rise as a society interior designer in London,” Clemance enthuses. “Everyone wants her to design for them. She hopes to beat the small vanguard of this new modern style emerging in London and be a leader in the promotion of the style. Err…” she stumbles. “What did you call it again, Lettice my dear?”
“Style Moderne*******************.” Lettice replies rather distractedly as once again her attention returns to Sir John and the blonde woman.
The blonde woman laughs overly loudly at something Sir John says and places a hand predatorily upon his upper arm in a most unnervingly familiar way, which only helps to confirm for Lettice that whomever she is, this woman has been her fiancée’s lover in the past, and seems to have easily wound him up in her thrall yet again in the short period of time since she and her coterie of friends arrived to join Clemance’s picnic. She peers more closely at her heavily rouged cheeks with their defined bones and her exotic eyes, made even more so by the dark kohl******************** rimming them. She is not as youthful as Sir John’s current conquest in London, the West End actress Paula Young – more middle aged than twenty something - but as Lettice observes her hand lightly caressing Sir John’s tweed jacketed shoulder with her elegant fingers with their pink painted nails, she perceives that this woman shares the same steely determination as Paula, and whilst she appears on the surface to be jovial and gay in a free and natural way, there is a glibness behind it all that suggests to Lettice that she is a woman who has had to fight for everything she now has, and she knows how to enchant Sir John with her coquettish charms, in spite of her age.
“I perceive that you and I may have a fruitful friendship, Mademoiselle Chetwynd,” Monsieur Dupont remarks. “If you intend to pursue your career in interior design.”
“Oh, Nettie is very supportive of Lettice furthering her pursuits as an interior designer, Marcel.” Clemance replies.
“Indeed, how very forward thinking of him.” Monsieur Dupont opines.
“I think it is the businessman in him, Marcel. They say that like is drawn to like, and Nettie saw the determination in Lettice that he has for being successful in business. Isn’t that so, Lettice my dear?”
Drawn back to the conversation, Lettice replies with an apology, “I’m afraid I was distracted, Clemance my dear. What did you say?”
“I was just telling Marcel that Nettie is very supportive of your career as an interior designer, my dear.”
“Oh indeed he is, Monsieur Dupont. He wants me to continue with my interior design business even after I become Lady Nettleford-Hughes.”
“Then I really do believe that you and I will have a very fruitful relationship, mademoiselle Chetwynd.” Monsieur Dupont reiterates.
“Oh no, mon cheri!” Madame Dupont implores. “No business talk today, please! We are here to have fun and see Clemance and Jean, and meet Mademoiselle Chetwynd!”
“Business?” Lettice queries.
“My husband is a fabricant de textiles… a fabric manufacturer who specialises in tissue d’ameublement.” Madame Dupont elucidates.
“A furnishing fabric manufacturer, Monsieur Dupont?”
“Indeed, Mademoiselle Chetwynd.” The Frenchman replies proudly. “You will even see some of my fabrics on display at the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes when you visit it.”
“S'il vous plaît, ne parlez pas de travail, Marcel!” Madame Dupont implores her husband. “Let us just have fun today. Please! No work!”
“Oui! Oui Léonie!” he acquiesces. He then notices Clemance’s empty glass. “More champagne, mon cher Clemance?” he asks.
“How free you are with my champagne, mon cher Marcel!” Clemance giggles. “Please!” She holds out her glass.
“Très certainement!” he replies laughing as he withdraws the bottle from its silver cooler.
As Monsieur Dupont tends to Clemance’s and his wife’s glasses, Lettice cannot help but allow her attentions to return to the mysterious blonde woman sitting next to her fiancée on the grass. Solicitous towards her, she happily accepts anything Sir John offers her with a gracious elegance, yet it seems to be all artifice as she smiles a broad painted smile at him, and lowers her lids coquettishly as he refills her flute with champagne from another bottle.
“I see that you are taken by our ravissante cinéma chantuse*********************.” Monsieur Dupont’s voice breaks Lettice’s silent observation.
“Oh!” Lettice gasps, her hands rising to her cheeks as she feels the heat of embarrassment flush her face at being caught looking so overtly at the blonde woman. “I’m sorry, Monsieur Dupont. How frightfully rude of me.” she apologises to the Frenchman.
“Not at all, Mademoiselle Chetwynd.” he assures her with a shake of his head and a gentle smile. “Who could blame the moth for being drawn to the flame? More champagne?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, but immediately begins refilling Lettice’s three-quarter empty flute.
“Who is she, Monsieur Dupont?” Lettice asks. “You obviously know her.”
“Of course, Mademosielle! Like any red-blooded Frenchman, I know of her.” He cocks his head, looking thoughtfully at Lettice. “But you evidently, do not?”
Lettice looks at Monsieur Dupont and shakes her head.
“That, is Madeline Flanton, the famous French film star. She has been smouldering across our cinéma screens, and working her way into our hearts, since before the war.”
Lettice feels the blood drain from her face just as easily as it was flushed moments ago, as her worst fears, the concern that has been curdling her stomach ever since she noticed the familiarity between her and Sir John, is brought to fruition. Lettice’s mind is suddenly filled with the memory of the conversation she and Sir John had at the Savoy********************** when she first mentioned that she wanted to visit the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes in Paris. His counter proposal involved him attending the exhibition with Lettice in the mornings, before slipping away discreetly and meeting up with his old flame, Madeline Flanton in the afternoon. Determined not to lose face over this suggestion, Lettice suggested that perhaps she could meet Mademoiselle Flanton as well. Rather than balk at the idea, as she had in her heart-of-hearts hoped he might, Sir John warmed quickly to Lettice’s idea, suggesting that if they both went to Mademoiselle Flanton’s apartment for cocktails, the Parisian media wouldn’t question Sir John visiting her, and any whiff of scandal would thus be avoided. He suggested that after a few polite social cocktails with Mademoiselle Flanton, she and Sir John could escort Lettice out via the back entrance to her apartment into a waiting taxi to return her to the hotel that she, Sir John and Clemance have arranged to stay at, leaving Sir John to spend the rest of the night with Mademoiselle Flanton.
Lettice lifts her refilled glass of champagne to her lips and takes a gulp of champagne, rather than her usual ladylike sip. However, rather than tasting refreshing and sweet, the effervescent golden liquid tangs of bitterness, as it roils in the pit of her stomach. And suddenly, everything she was enjoying about Clemance’s picnic in the Tuileries Garden – the delicious spread of food, the warm autumnal sunshine, the birdsong, the pleasant chatter of her companions – all seems suddenly spoilt, and when Mademoiselle Flanton laughs again at something Sir John has said, and she places a hand on his upper arm again, the sound of her guffaws appear harsh, strident and forced.
*International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts was a specialized exhibition held in Paris, from April the 29th (the day after it was inaugurated in a private ceremony by the President of France) to October the 25th, 1925. It was designed by the French government to highlight the new modern style of architecture, interior decoration, furniture, glass, jewellery and other decorative arts in Europe and throughout the world. Many ideas of the international avant-garde in the fields of architecture and applied arts were presented for the first time at the exposition. The event took place between the esplanade of Les Invalides and the entrances of the Grand Palais and Petit Palais, and on both banks of the Seine. There were fifteen thousand exhibitors from twenty different countries, and it was visited by sixteen million people during its seven-month run. The modern style presented at the exposition later became known as “Art Deco”, after the exposition's name.
**Queen Anne’s Gate is a street in Westminster, London. Many of the buildings are Grade I listed, known for their Queen Anne architecture. Simon Bradley and Nikolaus Pevsner described the Gate’s early Eighteenth Century houses as “the best of their kind in London.” The street’s proximity to the Palace of Westminster made it a popular residential area for politicians.
***The London constituency of Tower Hamlets includes such areas and historic towns as (roughly from west to east) Spitalfields, Whitechapel, Bethnal Green, Wapping, Shadwell, Mile End, Stepney, Limehouse, Old Ford, Bow, Bromley, Poplar, and the Isle of Dogs (with Millwall, the West India Docks, and Cubitt Town), making it a majority working class constituency in 1925 when this story is set. Tower Hamlets included some of the worst slums and societal issues of inequality and poverty in England at that time.
****"Style Moderne," often used interchangeably with "Streamline Moderne" or "Art Moderne," is a design style that emerged in the 1930s, characterized by aerodynamic forms, horizontal lines, and smooth, rounded surfaces, often inspired by transportation and industrial design. It represents a streamlined, less ornate version of Art Deco, emphasizing functionality and sleekness. It was first shown at the Paris International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts of 1925.
****The Tuileries Garden is a public garden between the Louvre and the Place de la Concorde in the first arrondissement of Paris. Created by Catherine de' Medici as the garden of the Tuileries Palace in 1564, it was opened to the public in 1667 and became a public park after the French Revolution. Since the Nineteenth Century, it has been a place for Parisians to celebrate, meet, stroll and relax.
*****A petit handlebar moustache is a smaller version of the classic handlebar moustache. It features the same upward-curling ends, but the overall length is shorter, with the ends typically stopping just before the cheeks.
******Cinégraphic was a French film production company founded by director Marcel L'Herbier in the 1920s. It was established following a disagreement between L'Herbier and the Gaumont Company, a major film distributor, over the film "Don Juan et Faust". Cinégraphic was involved in the production of several films, including "Don Juan et Faust" itself. Cinégraphic focused on more experimental and artistic films.
*******Guy Fawkes Day, also called Bonfire Night, British observance, celebrated on November the fifth, commemorating the failure of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Guy Fawkes and his group members acted in protest to the continued persecution of the English Catholics. Today Guy Fawkes Day is celebrated in the United Kingdom, and in a number of countries that were formerly part of the British Empire, with parades, fireworks, bonfires, and food. Straw effigies of Fawkes are tossed on the bonfire, as are—in more recent years in some places—those of contemporary political figures. Traditionally, children carried these effigies, called “Guys,” through the streets in the days leading up to Guy Fawkes Day and asked passersby for “a penny for the guy,” often reciting rhymes associated with the occasion, the best known of which dates from the Eighteenth Century.
********Dating back to the fourth century, many Christians have observed the Twelfth Night — the evening before the Epiphany — as the ideal time to take down the Christmas tree and festive decorations. Traditionally, the Twelfth Night marks the end of the Christmas season, but there's reportedly some debate among Christian groups about which date is correct. By custom, the Twelfth Night falls on either January 5 or January 6, depending on whether you count Christmas Day as the first day. The Epiphany, also known as Three Kings' Day, commemorates the visit of the three wise men to baby Jesus in Bethlehem.
*********In French, a pasty is known as "pâté en croûte". Whilst "pasty" can also be translated as "friand" or "tourte" depending on the specific context, if referring to the Cornish pasty, it can be described as a "petit pâté en croûte à la viande et aux pommes de terre".
**********A steeplechase is a long-distance race involving both galloping and jumping over obstacles, primarily fences and water jumps. In horse racing, steeplechases involve horses jumping over various obstacles like fences and ditches.
***********The term "bookworm" was first used in the mid-1500s, specifically in 1549 in a translation by Thomas Chaloner, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Initially, it referred to the actual insects that would bore into books. Later, around 1580, the term began to be used metaphorically to describe people who spent excessive amounts of time reading, often with a somewhat negative connotation.
************A master of the foxhounds is a ceremonial position in foxhunting. The master of foxhounds is the person responsible for the conduct of a fox hunt and to whom all members of the hunt and its staff are responsible.
*************Carnelian is a semi-precious gemstone, specifically a reddish-orange variety of chalcedony, a type of quartz. It is known for its vibrant colors, ranging from pale orange to deep reddish-brown, and is often used in jewelry and decorative art. Carnelian has been valued for centuries for its beauty and is also believed to possess various metaphysical and healing properties.
**************A signet ring is a type of ring, traditionally with a flat face, that is often engraved with a family crest, initials, or other symbolic design. Historically, these rings were used to seal documents by pressing the engraved face into hot wax, effectively acting as a personal signature. Signet rings have been a symbol of status, family heritage, and personal identity for centuries.
***************"U-Like-It" was a brand of cheese made in Australia, marketed to the rest of the world. It contained a variety of cheddars, marketed as "tasty cheese" in Australia. The term "tasty cheese" itself is commonly used in Australia to describe a medium-aged cheddar, and the "U-Like-It" brand was part of this category. The brand is now known as Cheer, and the "U-Like-It" brand was discontinued after the Second World War.
**************Tin foil, made from thin sheets of tin, was first commercially produced and used in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth centuries. While the term "tin foil" is still used today, it now often refers to "aluminium foil", which replaced tin foil due to its superior properties and lower cost.
***************The term Antipodean is used when referring to people or items relating to, or originating from places on the opposite side of the globe, especially Australia and New Zealand.
****************Refrigeration on ships began with experimental shipments of chilled and frozen meat in the 1870s, with the first successful voyage occurring in 1878. The Paraguay arrived at Le Havre with five and half thousand frozen carcasses, proving the concept of refrigerated shipping. This was followed by the Strathleven's successful voyage from Australia to London in 1879-1880. The Dunedin's voyage in 1882, carrying a full cargo of refrigerated meat from New Zealand to England, further solidified the viability of refrigerated shipping. By 1900 a worldwide survey indicated 356 refrigerated ships in operation, carrying a variety of cargo. By the mid 1920s, when this story is set, refrigeration on ocean bearing vessels was quite common and reliable, thus making produce from the far-flung corners of the British Empire able to be brought to the heart of Empire in London.
*****************We are all familiar with the phrase “ten to the dozen’” which means someone who talks fast. However, the original expression is actually “nineteen to the dozen”. Why nineteen, you ask? Many sources say we simply don’t know, but there are other sources that claim it goes back to the Cornish tin and copper mines, which regularly flooded. With advancements in steam technology, the hand pumps they used to pump out this water were replaced by beam engines that could pump 19,000 gallons of water out for every twelve bushels of coal burned (much more efficient than the hand pumps!)
******************The Casino de Paris, located at 16, Rue de Clichy, in the 9th arrondissement, is one of the best known music halls of Paris, with a history dating back to the Eighteenth Century. Contrary to what the name might suggest, it is a performance venue, and not a gambling house. The first building at this location where shows could be mounted was erected by the Duc de Richelieu around 1730, while after the French Revolution the site was renamed Jardin de Tivoli and was the venue for fireworks displays. In 1880 it became the Palace Theatre, which housed shows of different types, including wrestling. It was at the beginning of the First World War, however, that the modern Casino de Paris began to take shape, when the venue was converted into a cinema and music hall. After the bombardments of the First World War caused performances to be interrupted, the revue format was resumed, one which lasted through a good part of the Twentieth Century.
*******************"Style Moderne," often used interchangeably with "Streamline Moderne" or "Art Moderne," is a design style that emerged in the 1930s, characterized by aerodynamic forms, horizontal lines, and smooth, rounded surfaces, often inspired by transportation and industrial design. It represents a streamlined, less ornate version of Art Deco, emphasizing functionality and sleekness. It was first shown at the Paris International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts of 1925.
********************Kohl is a cosmetic product, specifically an eyeliner, traditionally made from crushed stibnite (antimony sulfide). Modern formulations often include galena (lead sulfide) or other pigments like charcoal. Kohl is known for its ability to darken the edges of the eyelids, creating a striking, eye-enhancing effect. Kohl has a long history, with ancient Egyptians using it to define their eyes and protect them from the sun and dust, however there was a resurgence in its use in the 1920s and 1930s. In the 1920s, kohl eyeliner was a popular makeup trend, particularly among women embracing the "flapper" aesthetic. It was used to create a dramatic, "smoky eye" look by smudging it onto the lash line and even the inner and outer corners of the eyes. This contrasted with the more demure, natural looks favoured in the pre-war era.
*********************Whilst the chanteuse became a stock character in the film noir genre — a woman singing sultry songs in a smoky nightclub or cabaret — the word simply means "female singer" in French.
**********************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.
Beautiful as it may be, this decadent and delicious looking picnic on the lawns may not be all it seems, for it is in fact made up of miniatures from my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The silver tray of biscuits and crackers in the foreground has been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. She also made the silver tray of pâté en croute, the basket of bread, the porcelain tray of tomato and cucumber sandwiches in the background, the footed glass bowl of trifle and the glass dish containing butter. She also made the U-Like-It tin of cheeses. Each wedge of cheese is carefully wrapped up in foil and stuck with a label, just like the real u-like-it cheeses were presented when they were manufactured! Frances Knight’s work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination.
The dressed lobster and the cutlery came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as did the cutlery and the gilt edged porcelain plates. The champagne flutes also came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. Each is made from real, finely spun glass.
The bottle of champagne is a 1:12 size artisan miniature made of glass by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, as are the other bottles you see. The champagne bottle has real foil wrapped around its neck, and all are hand made from glass. Each bottle features the label from a real winery in France or Germany.
The silver wine cellar in which the champagne bottle sits is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The second wine cellar in the background and the silver water jug are miniature artisan pieces that I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The two large wicker picnic baskets were made by unknown miniature artisans in America. The floral patterns on the top of the one with handles have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside. It came with some miniature handmade placemats and napkins inside including the yellow napkins sitting in the bottom right-hand corner of the photograph.
The picnic blanket being used is in reality a corner of one of my gingham shirts, which my partner derisively calls my “picnic blanket shirt”. The grass in the background is real, as this scene was photographed on my front lawn during the height of summer, on a partially sunny day.
Baker Beach offers one of San Francisco's most iconic views of the Golden Gate Bridge, where natural beauty meets architectural marvel in perfect harmony. This mile-long stretch of coastline, situated within the Presidio, provides photographers and visitors with a stunning perspective of the bridge's southern span against the backdrop of the Marin Headlands.
The beach, which was historically part of the Presidio military base, now serves as a popular recreational destination within the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. The image captures the classic postcard view, featuring the rust-colored suspension bridge rising majestically above the San Francisco Bay's steel-blue waters.
In the foreground, a rustic fence line traces the coastal trail, while native cypress trees frame the scene, providing a characteristic touch of Northern California's coastal landscape. The sandy beach shows evidence of the typical wave action that shapes this dynamic shoreline, with white surf creating a natural leading line toward the bridge.
The Marin Headlands rise dramatically across the Golden Gate strait, their slopes showcasing the natural topography that makes the Bay Area's geography so distinctive. The weather conditions captured in the image display the characteristic marine layer, with high clouds creating depth in the sky while maintaining excellent visibility of the landmark bridge.
The path visible in the image is part of the California Coastal Trail, which offers hikers and nature enthusiasts access to this spectacular viewpoint. The beach's position, facing north, makes it particularly popular for photography during golden hour and sunset, though this daytime shot demonstrates how the location maintains its grandeur throughout the day.
The sun setting over the jagged shoreline of #FortWilliamsPark and the #PortlandHeadLighthouse in Maine. Make sure to experience all the natural beauty and Treasures Of Traveling this park has to offer!
treasuresoftraveling.com/portland-head-light/
#TreasuresOfTraveling #Portland #Maine #NewEngland #TravelBlog #WorldTravel #WorldTraveler #TravelBlogger #TravelPics #TravelPhotos #LukeKeelerTravels #TravelUSA #GlobeTrotter #PassportStamps #TravelTheWorld #TourThePlanet #TheGlobeWanderer #Wanderlust #DiscoverEarth #AwesomeGlobe #FantasticEarth #TravelGram #OptOutside #NaturalBeauty #GayTraveler #Coastline #Sunset #GuysWhoTravel
Get the satisfaction of knowing Kodak offers a lifetime guarantee, but is it for your lifetime or Kodaks lifetime?
I was sorting some old prints on the rainy weekend, and came across some of these memories from the film days.
Truncated Wikipedia text is :-
Kodak was founded by George Eastman in 1889 and in 1976 had a 90% market share of photographic film sales in the United States.
The letter "K" was a favorite of Eastman's; he is quoted as saying, "it seems a strong, incisive sort of letter."
He and his mother devised the name Kodak with an Anagrams set. Eastman said that there were three principal concepts he used in creating the name:
it should be short
one cannot mispronounce it
and it could not resemble anything or be associated with anything but Kodak
In 2011 Kodak rapidly used up its cash reserves, stoking fears of bankruptcy.
On January 19, 2012 Kodak filed for Chapter 11 Bankruptcy Protection.
The photographers of the world have a lot to thank Kodak for.
The Letter P (Pictures) theme
In 1872 R. M. Albery purchased a run down saw and feed mill just south of Covington, OH on the east bank of the Stillwater River.4 R.M. updated and upgraded the mill and it became a showplace in the area.
R.M. had three sons, Martin, Morris, and Richard Jr. They became interested in a newfangled thing called electricity and coaxed R.M. into buying the “Falls Electric Company” at Greenville Falls in 1897.
A new and larger water wheel, alternator, switchboard equipment, raceway and dam were installed. It was also found necessary to install auxiliary steam plant to provide electricity in the summer months when the water level was low in Greenville Creek.
They took turns operating the plant which was a twenty-four hour, seven days a week job. They improved the power lines into Covington which had arc burning type street lights at that time.
Falls Electric Company and dam
With the improved service, the use of electricity grew by leaps and bounds. Electric light lines were extended to farmers at the edge of town so soon they were pumping their water and grinding their feed by motors instead of by hand. Farmers further away learned of this and were anxious for a line to them also.
To build miles of rural electric line was something new and a hazardous undertaking for such a small concern. R.M. and his boys felt that such a investment required too much for their pocketbooks, not withstanding the merits of such a program. In 1912, an eastern public utilities concern headed by a Mr. Robinson became interested and purchased the entire property. The new owners had considerably more financial backing and they re-named the concern “The Buckeye Light & Power Co”. R.F. continued on as general superintendent.
The following years of expansion were hectic and replete with trials and some disappointment. Starting with the 1913 flood, R.F. was the last man to cross the covered bridge before it was washed away by the floodwaters of the Stillwater River. Upon arriving at the power plant at Greenville Falls he was greeted by water in the raceway spilling over into the boiler room. He ran down the inside stairway and slammed the door behind him. Already the water gushing could be heard against the door but fortunately it held and the alternators and equipment were saved from flood damage. After the high waters receded the stairway was found full of coal which had washed down from the boiler room.
After a menial, hasty cleanup job was completed an auxiliary power line was installed across the Stillwater River due to the original line going down with the covered bridge. In spite of all this, electric service was interrupted only a few days.
Several months later the large driving belt broke in two between the eight foot in diameter pulley on the water wheel and the electric alternator. With no load to pull, the water wheel revolved like mad and the large steel pulley on its shaft flew apart. The impact tore the front end of the powerhouse away with a deafening roar. The night attendant on duty, Wilbur Harry, thought the world had come to a end. Fortunately he was not injured. A neighboring farmer jokingly claimed his chickens laid nothing but cracked eggs for the next two weeks.
With the addition of many large electric motors replacing the steam or gas driven engines at the creamery, sawmill, and other shops in Covington a new problem posed. This additional electric load was too heavy for the power plant to carry satisfactorily. In fact, the large electric motor at the sawmill would cause the lights all over town to flicker as the power saw started through the log. R.F. had to ask Bill Drees, the sawmill operator if he couldn’t nurse the saw along when starting the cut through the log. With Bill’s permission, he took the sawmill controls over briefly and from his own sawmill experience showed Bill what he wanted.
It was quite evident that a larger power supply must be provided. A larger hydro-electric plant was immediately built along side the old one. This was of modern type with the electric alternator directly connected to the water wheel shaft. No belts to break this time!
Some interesting sidelights to this new plant construction are recalled. Will Furnas, the carpenter foreman, lost his footing on the scaffold and fell thirty feet into the icy water below. Although sustaining a broken leg, he swam unaided to shore still clinching a stogie cigar in his mouth. Bill lived in Covington after his retirement.
A stump was dynamited from the raceway to provide a wider channel. Old “Cheese” Swartz miscalculated the dynamite charge and the big stump sailed about a hundred feet into the air and descended through the ice house roof. The air was also filled with “Cheese’s” violent invictives.
With this additional electric power the demand was met and more expansion was planned. Farmers were still clamoring for electric lights and power. R.F. approached his boss, Mr. Robinson, with the proposition of building rural electric lines. “It isn’t a paying proposition for the investment R.F.” was his answer. However R.F. got permission to talk the proposition over with farmers. After several meetings, a plan was agreeable to both parties whereby the farmers would assume a portion of the rural line investment to offset the lack of revenue from country lines to that received in town. The company attorney, J.H. Marlin, now deceased, and R.F. Albery established the first contract, to my knowledge, for rural electrification in Ohio. This took place in 1921.
Hundreds of farmers in the Stillwater valley enjoyed the service and satisfaction from this public utility long before others throughout the state and nation. Of course there were larger electric power companies in Ohio but they were reluctant to venture any capital in this field due to the smaller revenue in return for their investment. After the Buckeye Power and Light Company made a financial success of it’s rural electrification, other companies soon followed suit.
The water dam at Greenville Falls was raised several feet and a surplus power was gained during the rainy seasons. This surplus power was sold to Dayton, Covington, and Piqua traction lines which operated its own power plant at West Milton by steam power.
A high voltage line power line was built from West Milton to Dayton to secure the resources of the Dayton Power and Light Company. When a surplus at Covington was available it was metered and sold to the Dayton Power and Light Co. and when needed at Covington and West Milton it was likewise received through the same power line. This provided a very stable system and eliminated the need of a steam power at the Covington plant during the low water stages.
In spite of all the pioneering, trials, and errors, the Buckeye Light and Power Company was prosperous and continually paid an 8% dividend to its stockholders. Such earnings did not go unnoticed. In 1927 a Chicago concern became interested enough to make an offer of purchase that could not be turned down. The stockholders of Buckeye Light and Power Co. were quite pleased to learn that their $100 per share par value of stock were purchased at $285 each.
The new owners headed by the Insull interest of Chicago further expanded the properties. Power lines were built to the Greenville electric power plant which also supplemented the services. R.F. continued with this new company, supervising all power line construction.
After several years the Insull financial bubble burst and the company was reorganized and changed hands again. On February 4, 1948 it was purchased by the Dayton Power and Light Company, who was already interested in its services and has maintained ownership to the present time.
The old sawmill and plants water wheels no longer turn. Their years of service have been retired and supplanted by the power lines from the giant modern steam turbines of the Dayton Power and Light Company.
In silence these properties proudly stand today as monuments to men of strong hearts and courage. Their mute evidence marking another milestone of yesteryear’s service in Ohio’s constant march of progress.
In April of 1967, The Dayton Power and Light Company announced plans to donate 126 acres of land to the village of Covington, OH, including the Greenville Falls area.
After several years of holding the land, The village donated the land to the State of Ohio, Department of Natural Resources in the late 1980s.
Stagecoach Cumbria & North Lancashire's Kendal-based "The Lakes Connection" branded Dennis Trident 2/Alexander Enviro 400MMC 10555 (SN16 ONX) is pictured here alongside similar Stagecoach Manchester Ashton-based Dennis Trident 2/Alexander Enviro 400MMC 10580 (SN16 OTV) in the yard of Stagecoach Carlisle's Willowholme Depot, Carlisle, whilst on display during the Stagecoach Cumbria & North Lancashire Annual Family Open Day event. 27/05/17
Stagecoach Manchester Ashton-based Dennis Trident 2/Alexander Enviro 400MMC 10580 (SN16 OTV) is seen showing "We ❤ MCR" on its destination display. This display has been adopted by a number of the bus operators in Greater Manchester as a mark of respect for those lost their lives or were injured during a terror attack at the Ariana Grande concert at the Manchester which occurred on Monday 22nd May 2017.
Stagecoach Cumbria & North Lancashire celebrated its 22nd annual family open day in Carlisle on Saturday 27th May 2017. The event offers the opportunity to explore behind the scenes at one of the North West's biggest depots between 10am - 4pm, and see a variety of historic buses, both past and present.
Refreshment stalls were on-site, offering a range of hot and cold drinks, snacks and ice cream. Inside the workshop area there were stalls trading in transport related items; although aimed at transport enthusiast, they will be of general interest to all.
For younger visitors there was stalls with toys and models, the opportunity to get their photo taken with their name in lights on the front of a bus, and rides through the bus wash too!
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Save £20 if you buy all three screen prints in this limited offer.
Limited edition screen prints
Limited run of 30 printed on quality paper.
Size: A3 (297mm × 420mm)
All are numbered and signed.
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Carreg yr Imbill is the remains of a large dolerite with pegmatite pods and quarry at Pwllheli, Gwynedd, Wales.
The dolerite was mined by the Liverpool and Pwllheli Granite Company (sometimes known as the Pwllheli Granite Company), which used the diorite for stone setts to pave the streets.
The worked out quarry forms the basis for a large holiday village which is run by the Haulfryn Group, the same company which runs The Warren in Abersoch.
Pwllheli is a market town and community on the Llŷn Peninsula (Welsh: Penrhyn Llŷn), north-west Wales. It lies in the traditional county of Caernarfonshire but is currently administered as part of the unitary authority of Gwynedd. It had a population of 4,076 in 2011, the population declining slightly to 3,947 in 2021. of whom a large proportion, 81%, were Welsh speaking. Pwllheli is the place where Plaid Cymru was founded. It is the birthplace of the Welsh poet Sir Albert Evans-Jones (bardic name Cynan).
Pwllheli has a range of shops and other services. As a local railhead with a market every Wednesday, the town is a gathering point for the population of the whole peninsula.
The town's name means salt-water basin.
The town was given its charter as a borough by Edward, the Black Prince, in 1355, and a market is still held each Wednesday in the centre of the town on 'Y Maes' (‘the field’ or ‘the town square’ in English).
The town grew around the shipbuilding and fishing industries and the granite quarry at Gimlet Rock (Welsh: Carreg yr Imbill).
The population in 1841 was 2,367.
During the 1890s the town was developed by Solomon Andrews, a Cardiff businessman. This work included the promenade, roads and houses at West End. A tramway was built linking the town to Llanbedrog. The trams ran until 1927, when the section of track between Carreg-y-Defaid and Tyddyn-Caled was seriously damaged by a storm. Andrews ran the Cardiff Road section in 1928 and offered to sell the tramway to Pwllheli Corporation at the end of the season, but they did not take up his offer. He then sold the assets and the Corporation removed the tracks during the winter of 1928/29.
Poet Albert Evans-Jones, who was an archdruid for the National Eisteddfod of Wales and was known by his bardic name 'Cynan', was born in Pwllheli; before becoming an archdruid he joined the First World War effort through the Welsh Student Company of the RAMC, serving in Salonika and France, initially as an ambulance driver and medic, later as the company's chaplain. He was the son of the proprietor of the Central Restaurant in Penlan Street, Pwllheli.
Pwllheli Town Council consists of fifteen members elected from the North and South wards.
Pwllheli North and Pwllheli South are the county wards covering the town; they each elect one county councillor to Gwynedd Council.
Ysgol Glan y Môr was formed by the merger in 1969 of the former Pwllheli Grammar School at Penrallt and the Frondeg Secondary Modern School in Upper Ala Road to form a comprehensive school based on two sites in the town. The junior pupils (year 1 and year 2) were located at the Penrallt site and the senior pupils (year 3 and upwards) at a new complex in Cardiff Road. This new school was subsequently expanded to accommodate all pupils under the Ysgol Glan y Môr name.
The Penrallt site was later redeveloped as the Pwllheli campus of Coleg Meirion-Dwyfor. The façade of the main building of the old grammar school was retained and incorporated into the design of the current college buildings. Thus the 'old school' is readily seen from the town square (Y Maes), as it has been since the former Pwllheli County School moved to Penrallt in the early 20th century.
Pwllheli railway station is the terminus of the Cambrian Coast Railway, running to Machynlleth with services continuing to Shrewsbury and Birmingham. The station is operated and served by Transport for Wales. The rail link to Caernarfon via the Carnarvonshire Railway was axed under the Beeching cuts and as a result it closed in December 1964.
Pwllheli is connected to the wider road network by the A497 to Porthmadog and the A499 to Caernarfon. From there major roads lead away from Gwynedd to the rest of Wales.
Buses serve most of the town as well as the rest of the wider Llŷn Peninsula. Services to Caernarfon give connections to Bangor.[citation needed] Pwllheli bus station is in the town centre.
Attractions
Plas Bodegroes, which until 2009 was a Michelin starred restaurant
Penarth Fawr, a 15th-century house
Hafan y Môr, a former Butlins holiday camp now operated by Haven
Pwllheli Market
Neuadd Dwyfor, a theatre and cinema in Penlan Street
Pwllheli has a section of the Wales Coast Path along its shoreline.
Pwllheli has a small harbour at the confluence of the Afon Erch and Afon Rhyd-Hir.
Hafan Pwllheli is a marina built in Pwllheli Harbour during the 1990s.
Notable people
Eleazar Roberts (1825–1912), musician, translator, writer and amateur astronomer
Owen Davies (1840–1929), Baptist minister and writer
Sir (Albert) Cynan Evans-Jones CBE (1895–1970), bardic name Cynan, was a war poet and dramatist.
William Richard Williams (1896–1962), Principal of the United Theological College, Aberystwyth
John Robert Jones (1911–1970), philosopher
Hywel Williams (born 1953), Plaid Cymru politician, MP for Arfon, previously Caernarfon, since 2001
David Dawson (born 1960), artist
Gareth Pierce (born 1981), actor and musician
Pwllheli hosted the National Eisteddfod in 1925, 1955 and 2023 as well as an unofficial National Eisteddfod event in 1875.
According to the United Kingdom Census 2011 80% of the population spoke Welsh.
Pwllheli is home to association football team Pwllheli F.C., rugby union team Pwllheli RFC and running club Llŷn Striders. There is a hockey club, Clwb Hoci Pwllheli, which is part of the rugby, cricket and hockey club.
Pwllheli is a hub for water sports, owing in part to a marina, Pwllheli Sailing Club and Plas Heli - the Welsh National Sailing Academy.
The town has two beaches, South Beach and Glan-y-don. South Beach stretches from Gimlet Rock, across the Promenade and West End, towards Penrhos and Llanbedrog. Glan-y-don Beach is on the eastern side of the river mouth and runs for 3 miles (5 km) from behind the marina workshops and out towards Penychain (holiday camp).
The town has a golf club on the Llŷn coastline.
Gwynedd is a county in the north-west of Wales. It borders Anglesey across the Menai Strait to the north, Conwy, Denbighshire, and Powys to the east, Ceredigion over the Dyfi estuary to the south, and the Irish Sea to the west. The city of Bangor is the largest settlement, and the administrative centre is Caernarfon. The preserved county of Gwynedd, which is used for ceremonial purposes, includes the Isle of Anglesey.
Gwynedd is the second largest county in Wales but sparsely populated, with an area of 979 square miles (2,540 km2) and a population of 117,400. After Bangor (18,322), the largest settlements are Caernarfon (9,852), Bethesda (4,735), and Pwllheli (4,076). The county has the highest percentage of Welsh speakers in Wales, at 64.4%, and is considered a heartland of the language.
The geography of Gwynedd is mountainous, with a long coastline to the west. Much of the county is covered by Snowdonia National Park (Eryri), which contains Wales's highest mountain, Snowdon (Yr Wyddfa; 3,560 feet, 1,090 m). To the west, the Llŷn Peninsula is flatter and renowned for its scenic coastline, part of which is protected by the Llŷn AONB. Gwynedd also contains several of Wales's largest lakes and reservoirs, including the largest, Bala Lake (Llyn Tegid).
The area which is now the county has played a prominent part in the history of Wales. It formed part of the core of the Kingdom of Gwynedd and the native Principality of Wales, which under the House of Aberffraw remained independent from the Kingdom of England until Edward I's conquest between 1277 and 1283. Edward built the castles at Caernarfon and Harlech, which form part of the Castles and Town Walls of King Edward in Gwynedd World Heritage Site. During the Industrial Revolution the slate industry rapidly developed; in the late nineteenth century the neighbouring Penrhyn and Dinorwic quarries were the largest in the world, and the Slate Landscape of Northwest Wales is now a World Heritage Site. Gwynedd covers the majority of the historic counties of Caernarfonshire and Merionethshire.
In the past, historians such as J. E. Lloyd assumed that the Celtic source of the word Gwynedd meant 'collection of tribes' – the same root as the Irish fine, meaning 'tribe'. Further, a connection is recognised between the name and the Irish Féni, an early ethnonym for the Irish themselves, related to fían, 'company of hunting and fighting men, company of warriors under a leader'. Perhaps *u̯en-, u̯enə ('strive, hope, wish') is the Indo-European stem. The Irish settled in NW Wales, and in Dyfed, at the end of the Roman era. Venedotia was the Latin form, and in Penmachno there is a memorial stone from c. AD 500 which reads: Cantiori Hic Iacit Venedotis ('Here lies Cantiorix, citizen of Gwynedd'). The name was retained by the Brythons when the kingdom of Gwynedd was formed in the 5th century, and it remained until the invasion of Edward I. This historical name was revived when the new county was formed in 1974.
Gwynedd was an independent kingdom from the end of the Roman period until the 13th century, when it was conquered by England. The modern Gwynedd was one of eight Welsh counties created on 1 April 1974 under the Local Government Act 1972. It covered the entirety of the historic counties of Anglesey and Caernarfonshire, and all of Merionethshire apart from Edeirnion Rural District (which went to Clwyd); and also a few parishes of Denbighshire: Llanrwst, Llansanffraid Glan Conwy, Eglwysbach, Llanddoged, Llanrwst and Tir Ifan.
The county was divided into five districts: Aberconwy, Arfon, Dwyfor, Meirionnydd and Anglesey.
The Local Government (Wales) Act 1994 abolished the 1974 county (and the five districts) on 1 April 1996, and its area was divided: the Isle of Anglesey became an independent unitary authority, and Aberconwy (which included the former Denbighshire parishes) passed to the new Conwy County Borough. The remainder of the county was constituted as a principal area, with the name Caernarfonshire and Merionethshire, as it covers most of the areas of those two historic counties. As one of its first actions, the Council renamed itself Gwynedd on 2 April 1996. The present Gwynedd local government area is governed by Gwynedd Council. As a unitary authority, the modern entity no longer has any districts, but Arfon, Dwyfor and Meirionnydd remain as area committees.
The pre-1996 boundaries were retained as a preserved county for a few purposes such as the Lieutenancy. In 2003, the boundary with Clwyd was adjusted to match the modern local government boundary, so that the preserved county now covers the two local government areas of Gwynedd and Anglesey. Conwy county borough is now entirely within Clwyd.
A Gwynedd Constabulary was formed in 1950 by the merger of the Anglesey, Caernarfonshire and Merionethshire forces. A further amalgamation took place in the 1960s when Gwynedd Constabulary was merged with the Flintshire and Denbighshire county forces, retaining the name Gwynedd. In one proposal for local government reform in Wales, Gwynedd had been proposed as a name for a local authority covering all of north Wales, but the scheme as enacted divided this area between Gwynedd and Clwyd. To prevent confusion, the Gwynedd Constabulary was therefore renamed the North Wales Police.
The Snowdonia National Park was formed in 1951. After the 1974 local authority reorganisation, the park fell entirely within the boundaries of Gwynedd, and was run as a department of Gwynedd County Council. After the 1996 local government reorganisation, part of the park fell under Conwy County Borough, and the park's administration separated from the Gwynedd council. Gwynedd Council still appoints nine of the eighteen members of the Snowdonia National Park Authority; Conwy County Borough Council appoints three; and the Welsh Government appoints the remaining six.
There has been considerable inwards migration to Gwynedd, particularly from England. According to the 2021 census, 66.6% of residents had been born in Wales whilst 27.1% were born in England.
The county has a mixed economy. An important part of the economy is based on tourism: many visitors are attracted by the many beaches and the mountains. A significant part of the county lies within the Snowdonia National Park, which extends from the north coast down to the district of Meirionnydd in the south. But tourism provides seasonal employment and thus there is a shortage of jobs in the winter.
Agriculture is less important than in the past, especially in terms of the number of people who earn their living on the land, but it remains an important element of the economy.
The most important of the traditional industries is the slate industry, but these days only a small percentage of workers earn their living in the slate quarries.
Industries which have developed more recently include TV and sound studios: the record company Sain has its HQ in the county.
The education sector is also very important for the local economy, including Bangor University and Further Education colleges, Coleg Meirion-Dwyfor and Coleg Menai, both now part of Grŵp Llandrillo Menai.
The proportion of respondents in the 2011 census who said they could speak Welsh.
Gwynedd has the highest proportion of people in Wales who can speak Welsh. According to the 2021 census, 64.4% of the population aged three and over stated that they could speak Welsh,[7] while 64.4% noted that they could speak Welsh in the 2011 census.
It is estimated that 83% of the county's Welsh-speakers are fluent, the highest percentage of all counties in Wales.[9] The age group with the highest proportion of Welsh speakers in Gwynedd were those between ages 5–15, of whom 92.3% stated that they could speak Welsh in 2011.
The proportion of Welsh speakers in Gwynedd declined between 1991 and 2001,[10] from 72.1% to 68.7%, even though the proportion of Welsh speakers in Wales as a whole increased during that decade to 20.5%.
The Annual Population Survey estimated that as of March 2023, 77.0% of those in Gwynedd aged three years and above could speak Welsh.
Notable people
Leslie Bonnet (1902–1985), RAF officer, writer; originated the Welsh Harlequin duck in Criccieth
Sir Dave Brailsford (born 1964), cycling coach; grew up in Deiniolen, near Caernarfon
Duffy (born 1984), singer, songwriter and actress; born in Bangor, Gwynedd
Edward II of England (1284–1327), born in Caernarfon Castle
Elin Fflur (born 1984), singer-songwriter, TV and radio presenter; went to Bangor University
Bryn Fôn (born 1954), actor and singer-songwriter; born in Llanllyfni, Caernarfonshire.
Wayne Hennessey (born 1987), football goalkeeper with 108 caps for Wales; born in Bangor, Gwynedd
John Jones (c. 1530 – 1598), a Franciscan friar, Roman Catholic priest and martyr; born at Clynnog
Sir Love Jones-Parry, 1st Baronet (1832–1891), landowner and politician, co-founder of the Y Wladfa settlement in Patagonia
T. E. Lawrence (1888–1935), archaeologist, army officer and inspiration for Lawrence of Arabia, born in Tremadog
David Lloyd George (1863–1945), statesman and Prime Minister; lived in Llanystumdwy from infancy
Sasha (born 1969), disc jockey, born in Bangor, Gwynedd
Sir Bryn Terfel (born 1965), bass-baritone opera and concert singer from Pant Glas
Sir Clough Williams-Ellis (1883–1978), architect of Portmeirion
Owain Fôn Williams, (born 1987), footballer with 443 club caps; born and raised in Penygroes, Gwynedd.
Hedd Wyn (1887–1917), poet from the village of Trawsfynydd; killed in WWI
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 visiting the home of Edith’s, Lettice’s maid, beloved parents. 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. 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 Mayfair flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith and her younger brother Bert all their young lives. Since her father’s promotion in 1922, Edith’s mother is only laundering a few days a week now. The money she makes from this endeavour she uses for housekeeping to make she and George’s life a little more comfortable, but she is able to hold back a little back as pin money* to indulge in one of her joys, collecting pretty china ornaments to decorate their home with.
We are in Ada’s front parlour, which is where most of her decorative porcelain finds from different shops, fairs and flea markets around London are proudly displayed. With busy stylised floral wallpaper and every surface cluttered with ornaments, it can only be described as highly Victorian in style, and it is an example of conscious consumption, rather than qualitative consumption, to demonstrate how prosperous the Watsford family is, especially now that George holds the management position that he does. Like many others of its kind in Harlesden and elsewhere in London, it is the room least used in the house, reserved for when special guests like the parish minister or wealthy old widow and the Watsford’s landlady, Mrs. Hounslow, pay a call. However today’s special guest is not either the minister, nor Mrs. Hounslow. It is Frank Leadbetter, Edith’s beau, who has arranged to visit Edith’s parents on his own, as he has a very important question to ask of them both.
Dressed in his Sunday best suit, Frank sits awkwardly in one of two Victorian high backed barley twist chairs. The combination of the formality of his suit and the hard and uncomfortable horsehair upholstery of the chair encourage Frank to sit with a ramrod stiff back in his seat. He looks awkwardly around the room, allowing his gaze to flit in a desultory fashion around the unfamiliar surrounds of the Watsford’s formal front parlour. Cluttering the surface of an old Victorian sideboard and an ornate whatnot, the cold stares of Queen Victoria, Edward VII, Queen Alexandra and the current King George V and Queen Mary stare out from the glazed surfaces of plates and other objects celebrating coronations and jubilees, whilst on the mantle, flanked by pretty statues of castles and churches, younger versions of George and Ada in sepia pose formally with Edith as a little girl and Bert as a baby, gazing out from brass frames with blank stares. Frank coughs awkwardly and nervously tugs at his stiff collar, feeling hot even though there is no fire going in the small grate of the fireplace.
“Now, now, young Frank!” George booms good naturedly from the one comfortable seat in the room, an old armchair with thick red velvet button back** upholstery. “No need to be nervous, me lad!”
“Oh, you don’t know why I’m here, Mr. Watsford.” Frank replies, running his right index finger nervously around the inside of his collar.
George chuckles. “I think I can guess, Frank.”
Frank gazes down at Ada’s dainty best blue floral china tea set on the lace draped octagonal table set between the cluster of chairs. A selection of McVitie’s*** biscuits brought home by George from the nearby factory sit in a fluted glass dish.
“Will Mrs. Watsford be long, do you think, Mr. Watsford?”
“I shouldn’t think so, Frank. She’s only gone to boil the kettle and fill the pot.”
As if knowing that she was being spoken about, Ada sweeps through the door of the parlour, holding aloft the glazed teapot in the shape of a cottage with a thatched roof with the chimney as the lid that Edith bought for her as a gift from the Caledonian Markets****. “Here we are then,” she says with a heightened level of exuberance. “Tea for three!” She carefully places the teapot in the centre of the tea table.
“Perfect timing, Ada love.” George replies, and without waiting, reaches across the void between him and the tea table and snatches up a biscuit.
“George!” she chides. “Where are your manners?” She looks askance at her husband, who settles back in his seat, quite unperturbed by his wife’s scolding. “Guests first.” She sweeps her hand across the table towards the biscuits as she lowers herself precariously onto the edge of the other high backed barley twist chair. “Frank?”
“Err… umm…” Frank stutters. “Ahh, no… no thank you, Mrs. Watsford. I… I’m not hungry.”
“Oh well, more for us then, Ada love.” George says cheerfully through a biscuit filled mouth, stretching out his hand to the glass dish again.
“George!” Ada cries, slapping her husband’s hand sharply, the sound echoing around the cluttered parlour.
George retreats in his seat, recoiling and rubbing his chastised hand rather like a dog nurses a limp paw.
“Shall I be mother then*****?” Ada asks rhetorically as she automatically picks up the milk jug. “You take milk, don’t you Frank?”
“Err… yes, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank replies as she slops some milk into his cup before adding a dash to her husband’s and her own.
“And sugar?”
“Err.. two please, Mrs. Watsford.”
“Ahh, a sweet tooth after my own heart.” Ada replies with an indulgent smile, putting two heaped teaspoons of sugar into Frank’s cup before adding one to George’s and two to her own. “Now!” she sighs, taking up the cottage ware teapot pouring tea into the cups. “You wanted to talk to us, Frank?”
“Well…” Frank begins.
“You know it feels jolly funny having you here Frank, but not Edith.” Ada interrupts the young man even as he begins. “I’m quite used to you coming with Edith now.”
“Well, you know… I… I really wanted this to be a conversation that I had alone with you and Mr. Watsford,” Frank indicates to George, still licking his wounds. “Mrs. Watsford. So, I asked Hilda to take Edith out shopping today.”
“And she isn’t missing you, Frank?” Ada queries, as she replaces the pot in the middle of the tea table.
“Err…” Frank blushers, heaving and puffing his cheeks out. “Well, I told Edith a bit of a tall tale. I said that I had to help Giuseppe, my chum with his restaurant in the Islington****** today.”
“Oh yes,” Ada remarks with a tone of distaste as she hands George his cup of tea. “Giuseppe. He was your Italian friend who gave you the wine that we shared that first time we met, wasn’t he?”
Frank blushes red at the painful memory of that first rather awkward Sunday luncheon he had at the Watsfords’ when he and Ada had had a disagreement about some of his beliefs about life. “Yes.”
“My, my.” Ada takes up her own cup of tea and cradles it in her lap as she smiles to herself. “Such subterfuge to be alone with us.”
“You might not enjoy poor Frank’s discomfort quite so readily, Ada.” George pipes up from his seat as he sips his tea, tempering his wife.
“I was merely asking a question, George love.” Ada replies with a smug smile.
“No you weren’t, and you know it.” George retorts. “You were bringing up difficult memories of that awkward first tea we all had together, when you know perfectly well that we have all come a long way from there.” He gives his wife a doleful look. “Stop raking over old coals that don’t need to be raked over.”
“I agree, George.” Ada replies calmly. “We have come a long way; however, I was merely reminding Frank that in spite of that, we still have some concerns about his philosophies about life.”
“You have concerns, Ada love. I don’t.”
“Well one of us has to, if Frank has come here asking for Edith’s hand.” Ada turns her attentions to their young guest. “That is why you are here, isn’t it, Frank?”
“Well… I…” Frank stammers.
“Of course it is, Ada love. Frank?” George asks, sitting up in his seat.
“Well yes, Mr. Watsford. That’s what I came for. I came to formally ask for Edith’s hand in marriage.”
George leaps from his seat, dropping his half drunk cup of tea into the tea table noisily, sloshing tea into the saucer in his haste, before he bustles around the small black japanned cane table on which a vase of flowers stands before patting Frank on the back. “Of course! Of course! We’d be delighted, wouldn’t we Ada?” He turns and beams at his wife before turning quickly back to Frank without waiting for a reply. “What took you so long, Frank my boy?”
“Well Mr. Watsford, I know Edith and I have been stepping out for a while now,” Frank explains, sighing with relief and smiling at George’s exuberant acceptance of his request for Edith’s hand. “But I wanted to have a few things in place before I asked you.”
“Jolly good! Jolly good!” George chuckles delightedly. “Have you got a ring yet?”
“I’m not quite there yet, Mr. Watsford, but I’m getting there. I… I also wanted to assure you that my intentions are genuine. I… I love Edith and I don’t want anyone else.”
“Well, of course you don’t, lad!” George puffs, rubbing the young man’s right shoulder comfortingly. “We knew the moment we saw you together, that you two were made for each other, didn’t we Ada?”
Ada doesn’t reply immediately.
“Oh, this is wonderful, Frank!” George shakes Frank’s hands, barely able to contain his joy. “Welcome to the family!”
“Now just hang on for a moment.” Ada’s voice cuts in, slicing the joy with its sharp edge. “Let’s not rush into this without a few clarifying things first.”
“What?” George asks. He snorts preposterously. “Whatever do mean, Ada love? Frank’s just said his intentions are good. I don’t need anything more than that.”
“Well I do.” Ada replies calmly.
“What… what is… is it, Mrs. Watsford?” Frank asks, his voice quavering with nerves.
“Now, if you’d both just sit down for a moment,” Ada says, replacing her cup on the table, indicating for the two men to resume their seats.
Deflated, both Frank and George return to their respective seats.
“Now, Frank,” Ada starts, leaning forward in her seat. “I would just like to say that in principle, I am as pleased as my husband is that you’re asking for Edith’s hand in marriage.”
“Then Ada…?” George begins, but his wife silences him by holding up the palm of her hand to him.
She goes on. “I’d already had words with Edith about the two of you eloping.”
“Oh I’d never do that to you, Mr. Watsford or my Gran, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank assures her, looking earnestly into her unreadable face.
“Yes, I’m glad to hear it, as it confirms what Edith said, which was the same as you.” Ada turns to her husband. “Prospects?”
George looks quizzically at his wife. “Prospects?”
“Yes, prospects!” Ada’s eyes grow wide as she looks knowingly at him. She lowers her voice and whispers, “Remember, we discussed this?” When he looks uncomprehendingly at her again, she adds in a hiss, “When I said you’d go all doolally******* over Frank’s proposal, which you have?”
“Oh!” George pipes up. “Oh yes!” He sits up in his seat and turns to Frank. “Now young man, Both you and Edith have told us that you’re trying to improve your lot in life.” Ada scoffs from her seat. Ignoring her, he asks, “What are your prospects for Edith, once you’re married?”
“Well, it is true that I am trying to improve my circumstances. It’s one of the reasons why I have held off asking for Ediths hand until now. Like I said, I wanted to get a few things in place before I did.”
“Such as?” George’s bushy eyebrow arches over his right eye as he asks.
“Well, as you both know, I’ve been doing extra duties at Mr. Willison’s to build up my skills. I don’t want to be a delivery boy all my life.”
“No of course not, lad!” George pipes up.
“George!” Ada exclaims. “Let the boy finish. I want to hear what he has to say, not you.”
“Err… no, of course not.” George blusters. “Go on, Frank.”
“Well, I’ve been doing a bit of window dressing and arranging of products for Mr. Willison. I’ve also been taking a correspondence course on bookkeeping, which Edith doesn’t know about.”
“Why not?” Ada snaps.
“Because I wanted to complete it first and show that I’ve applied the skills before I told her: rather like a surprise, Mrs. Watsford.”
“Alright Frank.” Ada softens. “And have you?”
“Well, it’s a bit hard to get Mrs. Willison to relinquish anything about the shop’s books, but I did manage to do a bit of bookkeeping earlier this month when she was poorly and in bed. Technically she gave the task to her daughter, Miss Henrietta, but she wanted to do other things in her spare time, so it was reasonably easy to convince her to give it over to me to do, and Mrs. Willison did admit that I did a good job of it.”
“Well that’s something, isn’t it Ada?”
Ada nods in agreement with her husband, but keeps looking at Frank with an observant stare.
Frank continues. “And I’ve been tapped on the shoulder by friends of mine who are part of a trades union.” An uncomfortable look begins to cloud Ada’s features at the mention of unions. “And they tell me that soon there might be an opening or two in one of the suburban grocers for an assistant manager position, which would lead eventually to a position where I’d be running my own corner grocer.”
“In Metroland********?” George splutters. “My daughter all the way out there?”
“It’s not so bad, Mr. Watsford. The Chalk Hill, Grange and Cedars Estates are all built along the railway line not too far from Wembley Park, so Edith would be able to visit you easily, and you’d be able to come and visit us too. We’d live in a nice little flat above the shop with indoor plumbing and all electrified.” Ada tuts at the mention of electricity, but Frank continues to paint a vision of his and Edith’s rosy future. “The children we have, your grandchildren can grow up attending local schools and getting lots of fresh air.”
“Well, since you put it like that, I guess it’s not so bad, is it Ada?”
“Well,” Ada purses her lips. “I’m sure that Edith has told you that I hold no faith in that newfangled electricity, but living in Cavendish Mews she seems to have become a convert.”
“And a lovely new estate is far healthier for any children that we have, Mrs. Watsford. It’s far better than living in a house in Clapham Junction.”
“And how much will this flat of yours cost?” Ada asks seriously.
“Around five shillings a week for a two-up two down******** semi********* in the Chalk Hill Estate, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank says, gaining strength in his convictions, filling his voice with a new boldness and surety. “And, if we were to live in a flat above the grocers’ shop, it would be even less, and we’d still have all the modern conveniences like hot and cold running water and an inside privy.”
“Nothing wrong with an outdoor privy.” remarks George.
“Nothing wrong with an indoor one, either, Mr. Watsford. I only the best for Edith and our children.”
“Alright, young Frank.” George backs down.
“Now, going back to what I had eluded to before, Frank,” Ada continues. “You’re a good lad, Frank Leadbetter, and I can see that by your thoughtfulness and your manners. I know you love our Edith, and you obviously treat her very well…”
“As she deserves, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank assures her.
“I know, Frank.” Ada tempers him. “However, the vehemence with which you spurn your new ideas around is still a bit frightening to me.”
“Oh, there’s nothing to be frightened of Mrs. Watsford.”
“But these labour unions of yours…” Ada’s voice trails off.
“I can assure you, Mrs. Watsford, the unions aren’t bad, and I am not a Communist.” Frank defends himself. “As I said just before, I only want the best for Edith and for the family I hope we will have together. I just want a better world for all of us, and the unions will help with that. However, I swear that I’m not associated with any of those militant factions that popped up after the Russian Revolution. I believe in peaceable actions, discussion and compromise.” Frank looks earnestly at Ada. “I would never put Edith in any danger. I’m a hard working man who just wants a good future. Some of the finer details of it may be different to yours and Mr. Watsford’s, Mrs. Watsford, but at the end of the day, our ideals are the same, and whatever I do, Edith and her wellbeing is central in everything I do, and everything I have planned.”
Ada sighs and smiles. “Alright Frank. So long as she is, I can only give you my blessing too.”
“Oh thank you, Mrs. Watsford!” Frank exclaims, standing up and walking over to Ada who rises from her seat and embraces Frank kindly.
“Good lad!” George says, standing up as well and beaming over his wife’s shoulder, winking at Frank.
He reaches down and snatches up two more biscuits from the fluted glass bowl on the tea table.
“George!” Ada scolds, not quick enough to catch him this time.
He smiles back at her gormlessly.
“At this rate I’m going to have to let out that vest of yours, George Wastford!” Ada remarks.
George turns to Frank. “Are you sure you want the joy of these moments of wedded bliss, Frank my boy?” he asks jokingly.
*Originating in Seventeenth Century England, the term pin money first meant “an allowance of money given by a husband to his wife for her personal expenditures. Married women, who typically lacked other sources of spending money, tended to view an allowance as something quite desirable. By the Twentieth Century, the term had come to mean a small sum of money, whether an allowance or earned, for spending on inessentials, separate and in addition to the housekeeping money a wife might have to spend.
**Button back upholstered furniture contains buttons embedded in the back of the sofa or chair, which are pulled tightly against the leather creating a shallow dimple effect. This is sometimes known as button tufting.
***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 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.
*****The meaning of the very British term “shall I be mother” is “shall I pour the tea?”
******The Italian quarter of London, known commonly today as “Little Italy” is an Italian ethnic enclave in London. Little Italy’s core historical borders are usually placed at Clerkenwell Road, Farringdon Road and Rosebery Avenue - the Saffron Hill area of Clerkenwell. Clerkenwell spans Camden Borough and Islington Borough. Saffron Hill and St. Peter’s Italian Catholic Church fall within the Camden side. However, even though this was the traditional enclave for Italians, immigrants moved elsewhere in London, bleeding into areas like Islington and Soho where they established bars, cafes and restaurants which sold Italian cuisine and wines.
*******Doolally is British and Irish slang for a person who is eccentric or has gone mad. It originated in the military.
*******Metroland is a name given to the suburban areas that were built to the north-west of London in the counties of Buckinghamshire, Hertfordshire and Middlesex in the early part of the Twentieth Century that were served by the Metropolitan Railway. The railway company was in the privileged position of being allowed to retain surplus land; from 1919 this was developed for housing by the nominally independent Metropolitan Railway Country Estates Limited (MRCE). The term "Metroland" was coined by the Met's marketing department in 1915 when the Guide to the Extension Line became the Metro-land guide. It promoted a dream of a modern home in beautiful countryside with a fast railway service to central London until the Met was absorbed into the London Passenger Transport Board in 1933.
********Two-up two-down is a type of small house with two rooms on the ground floor and two bedrooms upstairs. There are many types of terraced houses in the United Kingdom, and these are among the most modest. The first two-up two-down terraces were built in the 1870s, but the concept of them made up the backbone of the Metroland suburban expansions of the 1920s with streets lined with rows of two-up two-down semi-detached houses in Mock Tudor, Jacobethan, Arts and Crafts and inter-war Art Deco styles bastardised from the aesthetic styles created by the likes of English Arts and Crafts Movement designers like William Morris and Charles Voysey.
*********A semi-detached house (known more commonly simply as a semi) is a house joined to another house on one side only by a common wall.
This cluttered and old fashioned, yet cosy front parlour may look realistic to you, however it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.
You may think that by 1926 when this story is set, that homes would have been more modern and less Victorian, and many were. However, there were a lot of people during this era who grew up and established their homes during the reign of Queen Victoria and did not want to update their homes, or could not afford to do so, so an interior like this would not have been uncommon in the 1920s and even in the lead up to and during the Second World War.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The old fashioned high backed Victorian chairs with their barley twist detailing and brass casters were made by Town Hall Miniatures
Ada’s collection of commemorative plates of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee in 1897, the Coronation of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra in 1902 and the Coronation of King George V and Queen Mary in 1911 on the sideboard and the whatnot are all made by the British miniature artist Rachel Munday. The plate of Edward VIII on the far left is a piece of souvenir ware from around 1905 and is made of very finely pressed tin.
The bust of Queen Victoria was made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. It has been hand painted by me.
The Victorian Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII) vase in the centre of the fireplace has been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys.
The Watsford family photos on the mantlepiece 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 from various suppliers, but all are metal.
The church and castle statues at either end of the fireplace are made of resin and are hand painted. They came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.
Sitting on the central pedestal table is the cottage ware teapot Edith gave her mother as a gift a few years ago. 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 rood and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.
Also on the table, the glass dish of biscuits is an artisan piece. The bowl is made from real glass with the biscuits attached and hand painted. It came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The teacups, milk jug and sugar bowl also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.
Ada’s wicker sewing basket, sitting closed to show off its pretty florally decorated top, has knitting needles sticking out of it. The basket was hand made by Mrs. Denton of Muffin Lodge in the United Kingdom.
The fireplace, the whatnot, the central pedestal table, the embroidered footstool by the fireplace, the brass fire irons and the ornate black japanned cane table on which Ada’s sewing box stand also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.
The sideboard is a piece I bought as part of a larger drawing room suite of dolls house furniture from a department store when I was a teenager.
The collection of floral vases on the bottom two tiers of the whatnot came from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay.
The vase of flowers are all beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium and inserted into a real, hand blown glass vase.
The little white vase in the forefront of the photo is mid Victorian and would once have been part of a tiny doll’s tea service. It is Parian Ware. Parian Ware is a type of biscuit porcelain imitating marble. It was developed around 1845 by the Staffordshire pottery manufacturer Mintons, and named after Paros, the Greek island renowned for its fine-textured, white Parian marble, used since antiquity for sculpture. I have had it since I was about ten years old.
The ‘home sweet home’ embroidery and the painting on the wall come from online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures, as does the Art Nouveau vase on the left hand side of the picture.
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Standing boldly at the intersection of 7th and Potrero Avenue, this sleek, contemporary structure exemplifies the next chapter of San Francisco architecture—where innovation, density, and design integrity converge. The building’s distinctive curved façade, clad in vertical silver panels, immediately catches the light and transforms with the shifting sky. Its rhythmic windows and aerodynamic form introduce a subtle softness to the industrial geometry of the surrounding neighborhood, creating a visual dialogue between the city’s manufacturing past and its tech-forward present.
This address, 1010 Potrero, sits at the gateway between Showplace Square and the emerging Mission Bay corridor, two areas long associated with creativity and reinvention. Historically home to warehouses, print shops, and furniture showrooms, the district has evolved into a hub of design studios, production spaces, and mixed-use developments that retain the grit and character of their industrial roots while embracing sustainable modernism. The building’s metal cladding and rounded corner echo this lineage—an homage to the riveted steel and corrugated textures once common here—now refined through minimalist precision.
Designed for both residential and commercial use, the property blends contemporary urban living with public engagement at the street level. The ground-floor restaurant, Ama Mediterranean, invites a sense of neighborhood vibrancy, activating the corner with outdoor seating and warm light that spills onto the sidewalk in the evening. Above, the streamlined façade offers residents expansive views toward Potrero Hill, Twin Peaks, and downtown’s skyline. The design is distinctly urban yet human-scaled, aligning with San Francisco’s shift toward walkable, mixed-use density that prioritizes sustainability and connection.
The building also reflects the architectural optimism shaping post-industrial San Francisco—where form and material are employed not to dominate the skyline, but to harmonize with it. Its aluminum skin mirrors the Bay’s changing light, turning from cool silver at dawn to golden bronze by sunset. The vertical seams create a rhythm reminiscent of the city’s maritime and manufacturing past, yet its silhouette feels undeniably contemporary, expressing San Francisco’s ongoing evolution through design.
Seen from the intersection, with bike lanes, tree-lined sidewalks, and Muni buses threading past, the structure embodies the city’s modern ethos: adaptable, efficient, and alive with movement. This is the new San Francisco—where architecture continues to reinterpret its past while looking confidently toward the future.
the upper Belvedere offers great paintings - photography not allowed, so i took these photos from the web to invite you to visit the Belvedere
The Sally May site on Fossil Creek Wild and Scenic River offers some of the best swimming along the entire creek. There are two parking areas on either side of the bridge, which crosses Sally May Wash, on FR 502 (the Childs Power Road). Each lot has a path leading to separate pools along the creek.
On the east (upstream) side of the bridge, the path leads to a large, deep pool at the base of a steep water feature. Rock shelves and cliff walls provide a lot of great spots for sunbathing and enjoying the canyon views. A smooth rock outcrop makes a great jumping-in spot. A small sandy beach at the far end of the pool offers shallow water entry and a good spot for smaller children to play.
On the west (downstream) side of the bridge, there's a large open area above the parking lot that makes a great spot for a family picnic. The path to the creek leads to another swimming hole at the base of beautiful water feature. There are rocky banks to relax on, and a shallow sandy entry point not far downstream near a gravel-bottomed section of creek that is a great place to wade and splash. A bit of the creek's history remains along the banks here, structures from the days the Childs-Irving hydroelectric power plants used the creek to generate power for nearby mining communities like Jerome, Arizona.
Increasing popularity has led to the Coconino and Tonto National Forests to implement a parking permit reservation system in 2016. As of 2017, permits are required April 1 to October 1. Visit Fossil Creek Wild and Scenic River for current information and to reserve a permit.
Photo taken by Deborah Lee Soltesz, April 10, 2017. Credit USFS Coconino National Forest. Learn more about visiting Fossil Creek Wild and Scenic River managed by the Coconino National Forest.
This attractive young lady offers some perspective to the size of this radio controlled hydroplane. It measures 50 inches in length, 24 inches in width, 10 inches high at the engine, and 17 inches from the bottom of the rudder to the top of the tail fin. It is powered by a custom gas-burning air-cooled V8 engine designed and built by Mr. Storoz in the mid 1950’s. The engine measures about 11 inches long, 8 inches wide, and six inches high, has a bore of about 1-1/8 inch and a stroke of about 7/8 inch making the total capacity 7.2 cubic inches. It is equipped with a radio controlled throttle and spark advance and sports a chain drive to the prop shaft.
John was a tool and die maker for the auto industry in the Detroit area and began this project in 1954. First he fabricated the patterns and molds and cast the crankcase in his home shop; he spent about three years designing and machining the parts necessary to finish the engine. We believe he started to design and build the hydro in 1958 and he completed the entire project in 1961. Mr. Storoz fabricated everything except the spark plugs, fasteners, sprockets and chain, and the radio control unit.
See More Model Boat Engines at: www.flickr.com/photos/15794235@N06/sets/72157641089388694/
See More V8 engines at: www.flickr.com/photos/15794235@N06/albums/72157663468409191
See Our Model Engine Collection at: www.flickr.com/photos/15794235@N06/sets/72157602933346098/
Visit Our Photo Sets at: www.flickr.com/photos/15794235@N06/sets
Courtesy of Paul and Paula Knapp
Miniature Engineering Museum
Leica offers the M9 in both Black and Steel Grey so it was only fitting that I skinned the other iPhone 4 to match as well.
And while my plans of offering up the files where thwarted there will be a how-to published soon from photographing your camera, to editing it to fit the dimensions to fit the phone, then sending it to the printers to finally installing it.
Also to all those that have emailed me, sorry I couldn't respond to each an everyone of you hang tight. Soon you'll be able to roll your own.
More photos of the phone/camera can be found here.
The European-market Civic (FK/FN) was offered as three and five-door hatchbacks and produced in Swindon, United Kingdom. It has a different appearance compared to the sedan and coupe Civics.
Tthe exterior of the European model more aggressively styled; the sweeping front arc is maintained and a perspex cover resembling a lamp cluster replaces the grille. The rear tail lights are also similarly styled. Triangular accents are found front and back, with triangular fog-lamps in front and dual triangle exhaust tips at the back. The rear glass is split into two levels, divided by a spoiler lip and the fuel filler cap is a race-inspired exposed metal effect cap. For the 5-door models, the rear door is hidden away with the door handles tucked away at the corners of the rear windows, creating the illusion of a two-door coupe.
Mechanically, the European-market Civic differs from the sedan and coupe variants in that it uses a simpler torsion beam suspension system for the rear wheels compared to the double-wishbone system in the sedan and coupe versions.
Honda debuted a Type R concept for the European Civic at the 2006 Geneva Motor Show; the Type R, basing on the three-door hatchback developed for the European market, has a 2.0-litre 201 bhp (150 kW) at 7800 rpm inline 4 cylinder engine. The suspension uses MacPherson struts up front and a torsion beam in the back.
As I was shooting here, I ran into another photographer who offered to lend me his 8-15mm Canon fisheye lens for a few shots. How lucky am I?
Background:
These redwood trees were first introduced to the Great Otway National Park back in the 1930s as part of a logging experiment. In part due to the superb water supply and extreme fertility of the soil, these redwoods have exploded out of the ground. Experts believe they may double in size in the next 70 years, which would make them contenders for the title of the worlds tallest tree (currently 115 metres).