Segaia offers African sunsets and stunning views of a dam on your doorstep - a watering-place where Zebra, Kudu, Impala, warthog and the odd leopard come to drink. Birdlife is prolific, as are large numbers of frogs, both of which treat visitors to their songs. One of the jewels of northern Gauteng, Segaia Bush Retreat offers an escape to the magic of the bush that reminds of areas far more remote. It is the perfect getaway for weary, ‘traffic-jammed’ city dwellers who do not want to spend hours on the road to get to a weekend destination, but require an atmosphere of peace and tranquillity combined with fresh air.

Info source URL: www.sa-venues.com/visit/segaiabushretreat/

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The photo was taken during 2018-08 at Segaia Bush Retreat, Buffelsdrift, Gauteng, South Africa.

University Canada West-UCW, is an innovative business and technology-oriented institution located in the heart of vibrant Vancouver. Established in 2004, UCW offers a range of career-focused programs including the Bachelor of Commerce, Bachelor of Arts in Business Communication, Associate of Arts and Master of Business Administration. Courses are offered at our two downtown Vancouver campuses and online too. Offering courses online brings flexibility to education, allowing those who may not have otherwise had the opportunity to gain respected qualifications. UCW Vancouver is a University with a clear vision—to be a leading, respected independent University in Canada and abroad, known for innovation and effectiveness in preparing motivated students for professional-level careers and societal leadership. UCW Vancouver’s learning environment is dynamic and practical.

 

The City of Vancouver is a coastal, seaport city on the mainland of British Columbia. Located on the western half of the Burrard Peninsula, Vancouver is bounded to the north by English Bay and the Burrard Inlet and to the south by the Fraser River. It has an area of 114 square kilometers (44 square miles) with a population of 631,486 (according to the 2016 census. Vancouver is the largest city in British Columbia, and the eighth largest municipality in Canada; the Greater Vancouver metropolitan area (which includes neighboring cities such as Burnaby, Richmond, and Surrey) is the third largest in Canada. The coordinates: 49° 15' 39.14\" N, 123° 6' 50.23\" W measure from the City Hall. It has the Pacific time zone: GMT -8 as part of the Pacific maritime ecozone and has a huge and famous park called Stanley Park is one of the largest urban parks in North America. A very diverse city with a very high standard of living is also one of the most expensive cities in the world and for sure the most expensive one in North America. It is a beautiful city with water and forest and flowers all over.

 

A cidade de Vancouver é uma cidade costeira e portuária da Colúmbia Britânica, no Canadá. Localizada na metade ocidental da Península Burrard, Vancouver é delimitada ao norte pela English Bay e pela Burrard Inlet e ao sul pelo rio Fraser. Tem uma área de 114 quilômetros quadrados (44 milhas quadradas) com uma população de 631.486 (de acordo com o censo de 2016. Vancouver é a maior cidade da Colúmbia Britânica e o oitavo maior município do Canadá; a área metropolitana da Grande Vancouver (que inclui cidades vizinhas como Burnaby, Richmond e Surrey) é a terceira maior do Canadá. As coordenadas: 49° 15' 39.14\" N, 123° 6' 50.23\" W medem da Prefeitura. Tem o fuso horário do Pacífico : GMT -8 faz parte da ecozona marítima do Pacífico e tem um enorme e famoso parque chamado Stanley Park é um dos maiores parques urbanos da América do Norte. Uma cidade muito diversificada com um alto padrão de vida sendo também uma das mais caras cidades do mundo e com certeza a mais cara da América do Norte, é uma bela cidade com água e floresta e flores por toda parte.

 

La ciudad de Vancouver es una ciudad portuaria costera en la parte de tierra firma de la Columbia Británica. Ubicada en la mitad occidental de la península de Burrard, Vancouver limita al norte con English Bay y Burrard Inlet y al sur con el río Fraser. Tiene un área de 114 kilómetros cuadrados (44 millas cuadradas) con una población de 631,486 (según el censo de 2016). Vancouver es la ciudad más grande de la Columbia Británica y el octavo municipio más grande de Canadá; el área metropolitana del Gran Vancouver (que incluye ciudades vecinas como Burnaby, Richmond y Surrey) es la tercera más grande de Canadá. Las coordenadas: 49° 15' 39.14\" N, 123° 6' 50.23\" W miden desde el Ayuntamiento. Tiene la zona horaria del Pacífico : GMT -8 como parte de la ecozona marítima del Pacífico y tiene un enorme y famoso parque llamado Stanley Park es uno de los parques urbanos más grandes de América del Norte. Una ciudad muy diversa con un nivel de vida muy alto siendo también una de las más caras ciudades del mundo y seguramente la más cara de América del Norte. Es una ciudad hermosa con agua y bosques y flores por todas partes.

 

La ville de Vancouver est une ville portuaire côtière située sur le continent de la Colombie-Britannique. Située sur la moitié ouest de la péninsule Burrard, Vancouver est délimitée au nord par English Bay et Burrard Inlet et au sud par le fleuve Fraser. Il a une superficie de 114 kilomètres carrés (44 miles carrés) avec une population de 631 486 (selon le recensement de 2016. Vancouver est la plus grande ville de la Colombie-Britannique et la huitième plus grande municipalité du Canada; la région métropolitaine du Grand Vancouver (qui comprend villes voisines telles que Burnaby, Richmond et Surrey) est le troisième plus grand au Canada. Les coordonnées : 49° 15' 39.14\" N, 123° 6' 50.23\" W mesurent à partir de l'hôtel de ville. Il a le fuseau horaire du Pacifique : GMT -8 dans le cadre de l'écozone maritime du Pacifique et possède un immense et célèbre parc appelé Stanley Park est l'un des plus grands parcs urbains d'Amérique du Nord.Une ville très diversifiée avec un niveau de vie très élevé étant également l'un des plus chers villes du monde et certainement la plus chère d'Amérique du Nord, c'est une belle ville avec de l'eau, de la forêt et des fleurs partout.

 

La città di Vancouver è una città portuale costiera sulla terraferma della Columbia Britannica. Situata nella metà occidentale della penisola di Burrard, Vancouver è delimitata a nord da English Bay e Burrard Inlet ea sud dal fiume Fraser. Ha un'area di 114 chilometri quadrati (44 miglia quadrate) con una popolazione di 631.486 (secondo il censimento del 2016. Vancouver è la città più grande della Columbia Britannica e l'ottavo comune più grande del Canada; l'area metropolitana di Greater Vancouver (che comprende città vicine come Burnaby, Richmond e Surrey) è la terza più grande del Canada. Le coordinate: 49° 15' 39.14\" N, 123° 6' 50.23\" W misurano dal municipio. Ha il fuso orario del Pacifico : GMT -8 come parte dell'ecozona marittima del Pacifico e ha un enorme e famoso parco chiamato Stanley Park è uno dei più grandi parchi urbani del Nord America.Una città molto diversificata con uno standard di vita molto elevato è anche una delle più costose città del mondo e sicuramente la più cara del Nord America, è una bellissima città con acqua, foreste e fiori dappertutto.

 

De stad Vancouver is een kust-, zeehavenstad op het vasteland van Brits-Columbia. Vancouver, gelegen op de westelijke helft van het schiereiland Burrard, wordt in het noorden begrensd door English Bay en de Burrard Inlet en in het zuiden door de Fraser River. Het heeft een oppervlakte van 114 vierkante kilometer (44 vierkante mijl) met een bevolking van 631.486 (volgens de volkstelling van 2016. Vancouver is de grootste stad in British Columbia, en de achtste grootste gemeente in Canada; het grootstedelijk gebied van Vancouver (dat omvat naburige steden zoals Burnaby, Richmond en Surrey) is de derde grootste in Canada. De coördinaten: 49° 15' 39.14\" N, 123° 6' 50.23\" W meten vanaf het stadhuis. Het heeft de Pacific-tijdzone : GMT -8 als onderdeel van de maritieme ecozone van de Stille Oceaan en heeft een enorm en beroemd park genaamd Stanley Park is een van de grootste stadsparken in Noord-Amerika. Een zeer diverse stad met een zeer hoge levensstandaard die ook een van de duurste is steden in de wereld en zeker de duurste in Noord-Amerika.Het is een prachtige stad met water en bos en bloemen overal.

 

Die Stadt Vancouver ist eine Küsten- und Seehafenstadt auf dem Festland von British Columbia. Vancouver liegt in der westlichen Hälfte der Burrard-Halbinsel und wird im Norden von der English Bay und dem Burrard Inlet und im Süden vom Fraser River begrenzt. Es hat eine Fläche von 114 Quadratkilometern (44 Quadratmeilen) mit einer Bevölkerung von 631.486 (laut Volkszählung von 2016). Vancouver ist die größte Stadt in British Columbia und die achtgrößte Gemeinde in Kanada; die Metropolregion Greater Vancouver (einschließlich Vancouver). Nachbarstädte wie Burnaby, Richmond und Surrey) ist die drittgrößte in Kanada. Die Koordinaten: 49° 15' 39,14\" N, 123° 6' 50,23\" W, gemessen vom Rathaus. Es hat die pazifische Zeitzone : GMT -8 als Teil der pazifischen maritimen Ökozone und hat einen riesigen und berühmten Park namens Stanley Park ist einer der größten städtischen Parks in Nordamerika.Eine sehr vielfältige Stadt mit einem sehr hohen Lebensstandard, die auch eine der teuersten ist Städte der Welt und mit Sicherheit die teuerste in Nordamerika, eine wunderschöne Stadt mit Wasser und Wald und Blumen überall.

 

Η πόλη του Βανκούβερ είναι μια παραθαλάσσια, παραθαλάσσια πόλη στην ηπειρωτική χώρα της Βρετανικής Κολομβίας. Βρίσκεται στο δυτικό μισό της χερσονήσου Burrard, το Βανκούβερ οριοθετείται στα βόρεια από τον κόλπο English Bay και την είσοδο Burrard και νότια από τον ποταμό Fraser. Έχει έκταση 114 τετραγωνικά χιλιόμετρα (44 τετραγωνικά μίλια) με πληθυσμό 631.486 (σύμφωνα με την απογραφή του 2016. Το Βανκούβερ είναι η μεγαλύτερη πόλη στη Βρετανική Κολομβία και ο όγδοος μεγαλύτερος δήμος στον Καναδά· η μητροπολιτική περιοχή του Ευρύτερου Βανκούβερ (η οποία περιλαμβάνει γειτονικές πόλεις όπως το Μπέρναμπυ, το Ρίτσμοντ και το Σάρεϊ) είναι η τρίτη μεγαλύτερη στον Καναδά. Οι συντεταγμένες: 49° 15' 39,14\" Β, 123° 6' 50,23\" μέτρο Δ από το Δημαρχείο. Έχει τη ζώνη ώρας του Ειρηνικού : GMT -8 ως μέρος της θαλάσσιας οικοζώνης του Ειρηνικού και έχει ένα τεράστιο και διάσημο πάρκο που ονομάζεται Stanley Park είναι ένα από τα μεγαλύτερα αστικά πάρκα στη Βόρεια Αμερική. Μια πόλη με πολύ μεγάλη ποικιλία με πολύ υψηλό βιοτικό επίπεδο είναι επίσης μια από τις πιο ακριβές πόλεις στον κόσμο και σίγουρα η πιο ακριβή στη Βόρεια Αμερική.Είναι μια όμορφη πόλη με νερό και δάσος και λουλούδια παντού.

 

مدينة فانكوفر هي مدينة ساحلية ساحلية تقع على البر الرئيسي لكولومبيا البريطانية. تقع فانكوفر في النصف الغربي من شبه جزيرة بورارد ، ويحدها من الشمال خليج إنجليش ومدخل بورارد ومن الجنوب نهر فريزر. تبلغ مساحتها 114 كيلومترًا مربعًا (44 ميلًا مربعًا) ويبلغ عدد سكانها 631،486 نسمة (وفقًا لتعداد عام 2016. فانكوفر هي أكبر مدينة في كولومبيا البريطانية ، وثامن أكبر بلدية في كندا ؛ منطقة العاصمة الكبرى فانكوفر (التي تشمل المدن المجاورة مثل برنابي وريتشموند وساري) هي ثالث أكبر مدن كندا. الإحداثيات: 49 ° 15 '39.14 \ "شمالاً ، 123 ° 6' 50.23 \" غربًا من قاعة المدينة. بها المنطقة الزمنية للمحيط الهادئ : GMT -8 كجزء من منطقة المحيط الهادئ البحرية وبها حديقة ضخمة وشهيرة تسمى حديقة ستانلي وهي واحدة من أكبر المنتزهات الحضرية في أمريكا الشمالية. مدينة متنوعة للغاية مع مستوى معيشي مرتفع للغاية وهي أيضًا واحدة من أغلى مدن في العالم وبالتأكيد أغلى مدينة في أمريكا الشمالية ، إنها مدينة جميلة بها مياه وغابات وأزهار في كل مكان.

 

バンクーバー市は、ブリティッシュコロンビア州本土にある沿岸の港湾都市です。バラード半島の西半分に位置するバンクーバーは、北はイングリッシュベイとバラード入り江に、南はフレーザー川に囲まれています。面積は114平方キロメートル（44平方マイル）で、人口は631,486人です（2016年の国勢調査によると、バンクーバーはブリティッシュコロンビア州で最大の都市であり、カナダで8番目に大きい自治体です。バーナビー、リッチモンド、サリーなどの近隣の都市は、カナダで3番目に大きい都市です。座標：市庁舎から北緯49度15分39.14インチ、西経123度6分50.23インチ。太平洋のタイムゾーンがあります。 ：太平洋海事エコゾーンの一部としてのGMT -8で、スタンレーパークと呼ばれる巨大で有名な公園があります。これは北米で最大の都市公園の1つです。非常に多様な都市であり、生活水準も非常に高く、最も高価な都市の1つです。世界の都市、そして確かに北米で最も高価な都市です。それは水と森と花がいたるところにある美しい都市です。

 

वैंकूवर शहर ब्रिटिश कोलंबिया की मुख्य भूमि पर एक तटीय, बंदरगाह शहर है। बर्रार्ड प्रायद्वीप के पश्चिमी भाग में स्थित, वैंकूवर उत्तर में इंग्लिश बे और बर्रार्ड इनलेट और दक्षिण में फ्रेजर नदी से घिरा है। इसका क्षेत्रफल 631,486 (2016 की जनगणना के अनुसार) की आबादी के साथ 114 वर्ग किलोमीटर (44 वर्ग मील) है। वैंकूवर ब्रिटिश कोलंबिया का सबसे बड़ा शहर है, और कनाडा में आठवीं सबसे बड़ी नगरपालिका है; ग्रेटर वैंकूवर महानगरीय क्षेत्र (जिसमें शामिल है) पड़ोसी शहर जैसे बर्नाबी, रिचमंड, और सरे) कनाडा में तीसरा सबसे बड़ा है। निर्देशांक: 49° 15' 39.14\" N, 123° 6' 50.23\" W सिटी हॉल से मापता है। इसमें प्रशांत समय क्षेत्र है : जीएमटी -8 प्रशांत समुद्री इकोज़ोन के हिस्से के रूप में और स्टेनली पार्क नामक एक विशाल और प्रसिद्ध पार्क है, जो उत्तरी अमेरिका के सबसे बड़े शहरी पार्कों में से एक है। एक बहुत ही विविध शहर जिसमें उच्च जीवन स्तर भी सबसे महंगे में से एक है दुनिया में शहर और निश्चित रूप से उत्तरी अमेरिका में सबसे महंगा। यह एक सुंदर शहर है जिसमें पानी और जंगल और फूल हैं।

 

溫哥華市是不列顛哥倫比亞省大陸的沿海海港城市。溫哥華位於伯拉德半島的西半部，北接英吉利灣和伯拉德灣，南接弗雷澤河。面積 114 平方公里（44 平方英里），人口 631,486 人（根據 2016 年人口普查。溫哥華是不列顛哥倫比亞省最大的城市，加拿大第八大城市；大溫哥華都會區（包括本拿比、里士滿和素裡等鄰近城市是加拿大第三大城市。坐標：49° 15' 39.14\" N, 123° 6' 50.23\" W 從市政廳測量。它有太平洋時區: 格林威治標準時間 -8 作為太平洋海洋生態區的一部分，擁有一個名為斯坦利公園的巨大而著名的公園，是北美最大的城市公園之一。一個非常多樣化的城市，生活水平很高，也是最昂貴的城市之一世界上最貴的城市，當然也是北美最貴的城市。它是一個美麗的城市，有水、森林和鮮花。

 

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My earlier photo, during the day, made me long for more. The Point offers you a wonderful view. So, I picked the blue hour for the second shot.

The bundle of light on the left side is a Brittany’s ferry slowly passing by; coming in from Bilbao, Spain. Sailing time is 24 hours.

 

Portsmouth (a.k.a. Pompey) is a port city and naval base on England’s south coast, situated on the Portsea Island. It’s known for its maritime heritage and Portsmouth historic dockyards.

 

Here you see the Spinnaker Tower, as part of the urban re-development of what had once been HM Gunwharf, Portsmouth. This was one of several such facilities which were established around Britain and the Empire by the Board of Ordnance, where cannons, ammunition and other armaments were stored, repaired and serviced ready for use on land or at sea. Later known as HMS Vernon, the military site closed in 1995. It opened to the public as Gunwharf Quays after six years of reconstruction; which included the restoration of some of the surviving 18th and 19th-century Gun Wharf buildings. The landmark Spinnaker Tower opened on October 2005 a few years later.

 

The Spinnaker Tower is a 170 metres (560 ft) landmark observation tower. Being taller than London Eye, Blackpool Tower and Big Ben, the Spinnaker Tower has established itself as one of the national icons of Britain. Its shape was chosen by Portsmouth residents from a selection of entries. The tower, designed by local architectural firm called “HGP Architects” and engineering consultants Scott Wilson. It was built by Mowlem. Obviously, it reflects Portsmouth's maritime history through its modelled sail; a spinnaker.

 

Not close up!

Gunwharf Quays is now a waterfront outlet shopping center. Although, there are no gates, notices/signs or a visible entrance, it is not a public space. Private company rules apply. And one of them is that is not allowed to take pictures with the help of a three legged thing. Security is pretty strict about this. The many CCTV cams smell you from miles away. Although I was approached by a nice and very understanding security guard (who let me finish 1 or 2 photos during his lecture on the rules), I finally opted for an angle a bit further away; from The Point.

 

Technical stuff

This HDR consisting of one photo. The shot was done at 250ISO, f20, 30 seconds and 18mils. That I only used 30 seconds was motivated by the fact that the ferry at a longer exposure would no longer be recognisable as a ship but just white lines 😉.

De HDR process was done with the help of Aurora HDR 2018. Further post-production was done in Adobe Lightroom CC. It included, balancing the lighting, giving the image a bit more umph by using the curve tool, sharpening the image with the use of a High Pass tool and highlighting the dynamic nature of the ferry. Finally I added some small copyright signs. The latter is, alas, there to stay due to the frequent copying of my photos. So, don't bother commenting on that.

 

Thank you for taking the time to view fave & possibly make a comment. Your view on my images & my narrative is always appreciated. Thank you. Happy Days Happy Ways Happy weekend to one & all 🙏

Larceny Barrel Proof offers a new opportunity to experience our acclaimed wheated Bourbon mashbill in its purest form: non-chill filtered and bottled at full barrel proof. Released three times per year in January, May, and September, each offering is a bold yet balanced special Small Batch Bourbon rich with depth and distinction. Much like Larceny Small Batch and Old Fitzgerald Bottled-in-Bond, Larceny Barrel Proof is a welcome reminder of just how good wheated Bourbons can be.

 

Tasting Notes

Color: Dark sepia

Aroma: Toasted bread, with maple and cinnamon

Taste: Rich molasses coats the tongue, with notes of fig and hazelnut

Finish: Nuanced flavor fades into lingering warmth

heavenhilldistillery.com/larceny-barrel-proof.php

 

Whisky Tasting, 03/23/2024, Nashville, TN

 

Canon EOS-1DS

EF 35.0 mm ƒ/1.4 L

ƒ/1.4 35.0 mm 1/30 400

 

Instagram in B&W Only | wheremyrunningshoestakeme | Instagram in Color | Lens Wide-Open

 

Cuba, near Viñales, a tobaco farmer whom we visited, picked three large dried tobaco leaves, rolled a single sigar and offered us. Proudly confirming us the best tobacos in the world are grown here in this location.

The Forest Glade Gardens are well established European inspired landscaped gardens of six hectares that are to be found on the Mount Macedon Road in the hill station town of Mount Macedon.

 

The Forest Glade Gardens are just shy of one hundred years old. The gardens were originally two adjoining properties that comprised orchards and lush grazing paddocks. In 1941 local family the Newtons purchased and extended the property and set about creating one of Mount Macedon's most stunning gardens.

 

In 1971 the Forest Glade Gardens were acquired by Melbourne property developer Mr. Cyril Stokes who together with his partner Trevor Neil Bell, developed the gardens even further. Cyril was a great collector of European antiques, and his love of European antiquity is reflected in the gardens, particularly in the many classical marble and bronze statues dotted about the grounds.

 

Unfortunately the Forest Glade Gardens were partly destroyed by the tragic Ash Wednesday bushfires of 1983. However, after many years of hard labour put in by Cyril and Trevor, The Forest Glade Gardens were reborn from the ashes. The gardens are built on a sloping block and consist of a range of terraces all of which offer wonderful vistas. A garden designed to give pleasure all year round, the Forest Glad Gardens contain several heritage listed trees and are made up of smaller themed gardens including; the Italian Garden, the Japanese Garden, the Daffodil Meadow, the Peony Walk, Hydrangea Hill, the Topiary Gardens, the Bluebell Meadow, the Fern Gully and the Laburnum Arch.

 

In 2011 the property was gifted to a registered charity - The Stokes Collection Limited - with the intention of keeping the Forest Glade Gardens maintained and open to the public.

 

The Mount Macedon township is located east of the Mount Macedon summit, which is approximately 60 km north-west of Melbourne.

 

The name of Mount Macedon is apparently derived from Philip II, who ruled Macedon between 359 and 336BC. The mountain was named by Thomas Mitchell, the New South Wales Surveyor General.

 

Settled in the 1850s by gold miners and timber cutters, the railway arrived at the Mount Macedon township in 1861, providing a vital connection to Melbourne, and sealing the town's future as a 'hill station' resort for wealthy Melburnians escaping the summer heat in the 1870s. With the land deforested, large blocks were sold and beautiful and extensive gardens were planted around the newly built homes. The rich soil and good rainfall also made the area suitable for large orchards and plant nurseries who could send fruit and flowers back to Melbourne. Newspaper owner, David Syme, built a house, "Rosenheim" in 1869. It was acquired in 1886 for Victorian Governors to use as a country retreat, making Mount Macedon an attractive destination for the well heeled of Melbourne society. A primary school was built in Mount Macedon in 1874, and as the decades progressed, hotels, guest houses, shops, a Presbyterian Church and Church of England were built. In 1983, Mount Macedon was devastated by the Ash Wednesday Bush Fires. A large portion of the town was raised, and a number of lives were lost. However, like a phoenix from the ashes, Mount Macedon has risen and rebuilt. Today it is still a popular holiday destination, particularly during spring time when the well established gardens flourish with flowers and in autumn when the exotic trees explode in a riot of reds and yellows.

During the festival of Makar Sankranti Hindus offer food to birds

Boasting the widest beach in Aruba and famous for its pristine and soft white sands, Eagle Beach offers beautiful Caribbean ocean views, ample parking, shaded areas, some beach huts, and a variety of water sports.

Eagle Beach is home to two of the most photographed and renowned fofoti trees in Aruba, with its trademark silhouette pointing in the direction of the Caribbean. These trees have been starring in various Aruba advertising campaigns as unique and highly recognizable features.

Several of the Aruba low rise hotels are nearby or just across the road. Some provide cabanas and lounges for their guests.

 

Localizada ao longo da costa oeste da ilha, este trecho intocado de 0,7 milhas de areia branca e fina atrai visitantes e moradores locais por sua beleza natural e cena gastronômica animada. No entanto, a praia, também a mais larga da ilha, continua sendo um santuário tranquilo com muito espaço para que todos possam tomar sol, brincar ou passear. Mesmo se você não estiver hospedado em uma das propriedades à beira-mar, há muito estacionamento gratuito se você estiver dirigindo aqui durante o dia, e o acesso à praia é gratuito. E enquanto Aruba é notoriamente ventosa por causa dos ventos alísios que sopram em toda a ilha, a água em Eagle Beach é calma, sem algas ou rochas e é excelente para natação e atividades aquáticas. Embora não haja formações de corais ou recifes, há uma abundância de peixes coloridos e caranguejos nadando na água.

 

An der Westküste der Insel gelegen, zieht dieser unberührte, 1,1 km lange, puderweiße Sandstrand Besucher und Einheimische gleichermaßen wegen seiner natürlichen Schönheit und lebhaften Restaurantszene an. Der Strand, auch der breiteste der Insel, bleibt jedoch ein ruhiger Zufluchtsort mit viel Platz für alle zum Sonnenbaden, Spielen oder Spazierengehen. Auch wenn Sie nicht in einem der Strandhotels übernachten, gibt es viele kostenlose Parkplätze, wenn Sie für den Tag hierher fahren, und der Zugang zum Strand ist kostenlos. Und während Aruba wegen der Passatwinde, die über die Insel wehen, bekanntermaßen windig ist, ist das Wasser am Eagle Beach ruhig, ohne Algen oder Felsen und eignet sich hervorragend zum Schwimmen und für Wasseraktivitäten. Obwohl es keine Korallenformationen oder Riffe gibt, gibt es eine Fülle von bunten Fischen und Krebsen, die im Wasser schwimmen.

 

Gelegen langs de westkust van het eiland, trekt dit ongerepte 1,1 mijl lange stuk poederachtig wit zand zowel bezoekers als de lokale bevolking vanwege de natuurlijke schoonheid en de levendige eetcultuur. Het strand, ook het breedste van het eiland, blijft echter een rustig toevluchtsoord met genoeg ruimte voor iedereen om te zonnebaden, te spelen of een wandeling te maken. Zelfs als u niet in een van de accommodaties aan het strand verblijft, is er voldoende gratis parkeergelegenheid als u hier een dagje naartoe rijdt, en de toegang tot het strand is gratis. En terwijl Aruba bekend staat om de wind vanwege de passaatwinden die over het eiland waaien, is het water op Eagle Beach kalm zonder zeewier of rotsen en uitstekend geschikt voor zwemmen en wateractiviteiten. Hoewel er geen koraalformaties of riffen zijn, zwemt er een overvloed aan kleurrijke vissen en krabben in het water.

 

Ubicado a lo largo de la costa oeste de la isla, este prístino tramo de 0.7 millas de arena blanca atrae a visitantes y lugareños por igual por su belleza natural y su animada escena gastronómica. Sin embargo, la playa, también la más ancha de la isla, sigue siendo un santuario tranquilo con mucho espacio para que todos puedan tomar el sol, jugar o dar un paseo. Sin embargo, incluso si no se hospeda en una de las propiedades frente a la playa, hay mucho estacionamiento gratuito si conduce aquí durante el día, y el acceso a la playa es gratuito. Y aunque Aruba es famosa por el viento debido a los vientos alisios que soplan en la isla, el agua en Eagle Beach es tranquila, sin algas ni rocas, y es excelente para nadar y realizar actividades acuáticas. Aunque no hay formaciones de coral o arrecifes, hay una gran cantidad de peces de colores y cangrejos nadando en el agua.

 

Situato lungo la costa occidentale dell'isola, questo tratto incontaminato di 0,7 miglia di sabbia bianca e polverosa attira visitatori e gente del posto per la sua bellezza naturale e la vivace scena gastronomica. Tuttavia, la spiaggia, anche la più ampia dell'isola, rimane un tranquillo santuario con tanto spazio per prendere il sole, giocare o fare una passeggiata. Anche se non alloggi in una delle proprietà sulla spiaggia, tuttavia, c'è un ampio parcheggio gratuito se guidi qui per la giornata e l'accesso alla spiaggia è gratuito. E mentre Aruba è notoriamente ventosa a causa degli alisei che soffiano sull'isola, l'acqua di Eagle Beach è calma senza alghe o rocce ed è eccellente per nuotare e fare attività acquatiche. Anche se non ci sono formazioni coralline o barriere coralline, c'è un'abbondanza di pesci colorati e granchi che nuotano nell'acqua.

 

Située le long de la côte ouest de l'île, cette étendue immaculée de 0,7 mile de sable blanc poudreux attire les visiteurs et les habitants pour sa beauté naturelle et sa scène gastronomique animée. Cependant, la plage, également la plus large de l'île, reste un sanctuaire tranquille avec beaucoup d'espace pour que chacun puisse bronzer, jouer ou se promener. Même si vous ne séjournez pas dans l'une des propriétés en bord de mer, il y a beaucoup de places de parking gratuites si vous conduisez ici pour la journée, et l'accès à la plage est gratuit. Et tandis qu'Aruba est célèbre pour ses vents en raison des alizés qui soufflent sur l'île, l'eau d'Eagle Beach est calme, sans algues ni rochers et est excellente pour la baignade et les activités nautiques. Même s'il n'y a pas de formations coralliennes ou de récifs, il y a une abondance de poissons colorés et de crabes nageant dans l'eau.

 

島の西海岸に沿って位置する、この手付かずの 0.7 マイルのパウダー状の白い砂浜は、その自然の美しさと活気のあるダイニング シーンのために観光客や地元の人々を魅了します。しかし、島で最も広いビーチは、誰もが日光浴をしたり、遊んだり、散歩したりするのに十分なスペースがあり、静かな聖域のままです。ただし、ビーチフロントの宿泊施設に滞在していなくても、ここを 1 日運転している場合は無料の駐車場がたくさんあり、ビーチへのアクセスは無料です。アルバ島は貿易風が吹くため風が強いことで知られていますが、イーグル ビーチの水は海藻や岩がなく穏やかで、水泳やウォーター アクティビティに最適です。サンゴ礁やサンゴ礁はありませんが、水中には色とりどりの魚やカニが泳いでいます。

 

يقع على طول الساحل الغربي للجزيرة ، هذا الامتداد البكر الذي يبلغ طوله 0.7 ميل من الرمال البيضاء البودرة يجذب الزوار والسكان المحليين على حد سواء لجمالها الطبيعي ومشهد تناول الطعام المفعم بالحيوية. ومع ذلك ، يظل الشاطئ ، وهو أيضًا الأوسع في الجزيرة ، ملاذًا هادئًا مع مساحة كبيرة للجميع لأخذ حمام شمس أو اللعب أو التنزه. حتى إذا كنت لا تقيم في أحد العقارات المواجهة للشاطئ ، فهناك الكثير من مواقف السيارات المجانية إذا كنت تقود سيارتك هنا طوال اليوم ، والوصول إلى الشاطئ مجاني. وبينما تشتهر أروبا بالرياح بسبب الرياح التجارية التي تهب عبر الجزيرة ، فإن المياه على شاطئ إيجل هادئة مع عدم وجود أعشاب بحرية أو صخور وممتازة للسباحة والأنشطة المائية. على الرغم من عدم وجود تكوينات مرجانية أو شعاب مرجانية ، إلا أن هناك وفرة من الأسماك الملونة وسرطان البحر تسبح في الماء.

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

 

Today however we are not in Lettice’s flat. Instead, we have followed Lettice south-west, through the neighbouring borough of Belgravia to the smart London suburb of Pimlico and its rows of cream and white painted Regency terraces. There, in a smart red brick Edwardian set of three storey flats on Rochester Row, is the residence of Lettice’s latest client, recently arrived American film actress Wanetta Ward. It is here that Lettice adds the remaining finishing touches to her redecoration of what was once a tired and dated interior.

 

Knocking loudly on the front door of the flat, Gerald turns the knob and finds the door opens, just as Lettice said it would. “Lettice?” he calls.

 

“Gerald, is that you?” comes Lettice’s voice from somewhere deep within the flat.

 

Gerald gasps as he steps across the threshold into the central hallway of the Pimlico flat. He looks about in delight at the beautiful gilded Japanese inspired wallpaper, stylish oriental furniture and sparking chandeliers, all of which are reflected in several long, bevelled mirrors which trick the eye into thinking the vestibule is more spacious than it actually is. “I say, Lettuce Leaf,” he utters in a rapturous voice. “This is divine!”

 

A soft thump against his thigh breaks his reverie. Looking down he finds the culprit: a long round white embossed satin bolster lies at his feet on the carpet. He stoops to pick it up.

 

“Stop calling me that, Gerald!” Lettice stands in the doorway to his right, her arms stretched across the frame, arrayed in a smart pale yellow day dress with a lowered waist and handkerchief point hem of his own making. “You know I don’t like it.”

 

“I know, but I just can’t help it darling! You always rise to the bait.”

 

“You’re just lucky I only hit you with a bolster, Gerald!” She wags her lightly bejewelled finger at him in a mock warning as she smiles at her old childhood friend.

 

“And you’re just lucky I didn’t drop the parcel you asked me to pick up from your flat.” He holds up a parcel wrapped up in brown paper, tied with string. “By the way, you look as divine as your interiors, darling.”

 

“In your design, of course, Gerald.”

 

“Of course! That’s why you look so divine, Lettice darling!”

 

“Of course!” She saunters over, her louis heels sinking into the luxurious oriental rug that covers most of the vestibule floor. “May I have my parcel, please Gerald?” She holds out her hands towards the package.

 

With a sigh of mock frustration, he hands it to her. “Anything else, milady?” He makes an exaggerated bow before her, like a toadying courtier or servant.

 

“Yes, you can make yourself useful by picking up that errant bolster and follow me.”

 

“You deserve this and a good deal more for bossing me about!” Gerald playfully picks up the bolster and thwacks it through the air before it lightly connects with Lettice’s lower back, making her squeal. “I come to your aid yet again, as you forget a vital finishing touch for your interior designs.”

 

Lettice giggles as she turns back to her friend and kittenishly tugs on the bolster, which he tussles back. “I know Gerald! I can’t believe how scatterbrained I was to leave this,” She holds the parcel aloft, hanging from her elegant fingers by the bow of string on the top. “Behind at Cavendish Mews! There has just been so much to organise with this interior design. I’m so pleased that there was a telephone booth I could use on the corner. The telephone has arrived here but hasn’t been collected to the exchange yet.”

 

“And isn’t it lucky that my fortunes seem to be changing with the orders from Mrs. Middle-of-the-Road-Middle-Class Hatchett and her friends paying for the installation of a telephone, finally, in my frock shop.”

 

“All the more reason not to deride Mrs. Hatchett, or her friends.”

 

“And,” Gerald speaks over his friend, determined not to be scolded again about his names for Mrs. Hatchett by her. “Wasn’t it lucky that I was in Grosvenor Street to take your urgent call.”

 

“It was!” she enthuses in a joking way.

 

“And the fact that I just happen to have the Morris*…”

 

She cuts his sentence off by saying with a broad smile, “Is the icing on the cake, Gerald darling! You are such a brick! Now, be honest, you’ve been longing to see this interior. You’ve been dropping hints like briquettes for the last week!”

 

Gerald ignores her good-natured dig at his nosiness. “Of course! I’m always interested in what my dearest friend is doing to build up her business.” Looking around again, a feeling of concern clouds his face. “I just hope this one pays, unlike some duchesses I could mention. This looks rather luxurious and therefore, costly I suspect.”

 

“Don’t worry Gerald, this nouveau riche parvenu is far more forthcoming with regular cheques to cover the costs, and never a quibble over price.”

 

“That’s a mercy! I suppose there is that reliability about the middle-classes. Mr. Hatchett always settles my account without complaint, or procrastination. Indeed, all her friends’ husbands do.” He looks again at the brown paper parcel in Lettice’s hand. “I see that comes from Ada May Wong. What’s inside.”

 

“Come with me, darling Gerald, on the beginning of your tour of Miss Ward’s flat,” she beckons to her friend with a seductive, curling finger and a smile. “And all will be revealed.”

 

Gerald follows Lettice through a boudoir, which true to her designs was a fantasy of oriental brocade and gilded black japanned furniture, and into a smaller anti-room off it.

 

“Miss Wanetta Ward’s dressing room.” Lettice announces, depositing the box on a small rosewood side table and spreading her arms expansively.

 

“Oh darling!” Gerald enthuses breathlessly as she looks about the small room.

 

Beautiful gold wallpaper embossed with large flowers and leaves entwining cover the walls, whilst a thick Chinese rug covers the parquetry floor. Around the room are furnishings of different eras and cultures, which in the wrong arrangement might jar, but under Lettice’s deft hand fit elegantly together. Chinese Screens and oriental furniture sit alongside select black japanned French chinoiserie pieces from the Eighteenth Century. White French brocade that matches the bolster Gerald holds are draped across a Japanese chaise lounge. Satsuma and cloisonné vases stand atop early Nineteenth Century papier-mâché tables and stands.

 

“So, you like it then?” Lettice asks her friend.

 

“It’s like being in some sort of divine genie’s bottle!” Gerald exclaims as he places the bolster on the daybed where it obviously belongs and clasps his hands in ecstasies, his eyes illuminated by exhilaration at the sight. “This is wonderful!”

 

“And not too gauche or showy?”

 

Gerald walks up to the chinoiserie dressing table and runs his hands along its slightly raised pie crust edge, admiring the fine painting of oriental scenes beneath the crystal perfume bottles and the gold dressing table set. “You know, when you suggested using gold wallpaper, I must confess I did cringe a little inside. It sounds rather gauche, but I also thought that might suit an up-and-coming film actress.”

 

“I remember you telling me so.” Lettice acknowledges.

 

“However, I must now admit that this is not at all what I was expecting. It’s decadent yes, but not showy. It’s elegant and ever so luxurious.” He traces a pattern of a large daisy’s petal in the raised embossing of the wallpaper. “This must have cost a fortune, Lettice!”

 

“There is a reason why this is the only room decorated with this paper, Gerald.”

 

“So, what’s in the box that is the finishing touch for in here?” Gerald asks, looking around. “As far as I can tell, there isn’t anything lacking.” He looks at the silvered statue of a Chinese woman holding a child on the right-hand back corner of the dressing table, her face and the child’s head nuzzled into his mother’s neck reflected in the black and gilt looking glass. “It seems you’re even providing Miss Ward with dressing table accessories.”

 

“Ah, yes,” Lettice remarks as she takes a pair of scissors and cuts the string on the parcel. “Well, that was Miss Ward’s request, not mine. She wanted a dressing table set to match the dressing room. She says that she will keep her existing set in her dressing room at Islington Studios**. The bottles of perfume she had sent over the other day. Which brings me to what’s in the parcel!”

 

Lettice removed the brown paper wrapping, the paper tearing noisily. Opening the box inside, she rummages through layers of soft whispering tissue paper and withdraws a large, lidded bowl with an exotic bird on the lid and a pattern of flowers around the bowl.

 

“It’s Cantonese Famille Rose,” she explains to her friend. “And it will serve as Miss Ward’s new container for her trademark bead and pearl necklaces.”

 

She walks across the small space to the dressing table and places it on the back left-hand corner. Standing back, she sighs with satisfaction, pleased with her placement of it.

 

“Now, let me give you a tour of the rest of the flat, Gerald.” Lettice says happily.

 

“Oh!” her companion remarks suddenly, a hand rising to his mouth anxiously. “I almost forgot!”

 

“Forgot what, Gerald?”

 

“This.” Gerald reaches into the pocket of his black coat and withdraws a small buff coloured envelope which he hands over to Lettice. “Edith gave it to me to give to you since I was coming over here. She thought it might be important.”

 

Lettice looks quizzically at the envelope. “A telegram?”

 

“Apparently, it arrived a quarter of an hour after you left this morning.”

 

Lettice uses the sharp blade of the scissors to slice the thin paper of the envelope. Her face changes first to concentration as she reads the message inside, and then a look of concern clouds her pretty features as she digests what it says.

 

“Not bad news, I trust.”

 

“It’s from the Pater.” Lettice replies simply as she holds it out for Gerald to read.

 

“Lettice,” Gerald reads. “Come to Glynes*** without delay. Prepare to stay overnight. Do not procrastinate. Father…”

 

“I wonder what he wants?” Lettice ponders, gnawing on her painted thumbnail as she accepts the telegram back with her free hand.

 

“Only your father would use a word like procrastinate in a telegram. It must be important if he wants you to go down without delay.” Gerald ruminates.

 

“And we were going to the Café Royal**** for dinner tonight!” Lettice whines.

 

“I’m the one who should be complaining, darling. After all you are my meal ticket there! Don’t worry, the Café Royal will still be here when you get back from Wiltshire, whatever happens down there. I’ll be waiting here too. I’d offer to drive you down tomorrow, but I have several dress fittings booked for tomorrow, including one for Margot’s wedding dress.”

 

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” Lettice flaps Gerald’s offer away with her hand. “I’ll take the train and have Harris pick me up from the railway station in the village.” She folds the telegram back up again and slips it back into the envelope before depositing it into one of the discreet pockets Gerald had designed on the front of her dress. “Come, let’s not let this spoil the occasion.” She smiles bravely at her friend, although he can still see the concern clouding her eyes. “Let me give you a guided tour of the rest of the flat.”

 

“Lead the way!” Gerald replies, adding extra joviality to his statement, even though he knows that it sounds false.

 

The pair leave Miss Ward’s dressing room as Lettice begins to show Gerald around the other rooms.

 

*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.

 

**Islington Studios, often known as Gainsborough Studios, were a British film studio located on the south bank of the Regent's Canal, in Poole Street, Hoxton in Shoreditch, London which began operation in 1919. By 1920 they had a two stage studio. It is here that Alfred Hitchcock made his entrée into films.

 

***Glynes is the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie.

 

****The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.

 

Luxurious it may be, but this upper-class interior is not all that it seems, for it is made up entirely of items from my 1:12 miniatures collection. Some of the pieces I have had since I was a child, whilst others I have acquired in the subsequent years from specialist doll house stockists and online artisans and retailers.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The beautiful black japanned and gilded chinoiserie dressing table which is hand decorated with on its surface with an oriental scene, was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

On the dressing table’s surface there is a gilt pewter dressing table set consisting of comb, hairbrushes and hand mirror, the latter featuring a real piece of mirror set into it. This set was given to me as a gift one Christmas when I was around seven years old. These small pieces have survived the tests of time and survived without being lost, even though they are tiny.

 

There is a selection of sparkling perfume bottles on Wanetta’s dressing table too, which are handmade by an English artisan for the Little Green Workshop. Made of cut coloured crystals set in a gilt metal frames or using vintage cut glass beads they look so elegant and terribly luxurious.

 

The Cantonese Famille Rose export ware lidded jar I have had since I was a teenager. I bought it from a high street dolls house specialty shop. It has been hand painted and decorated, although I am not sure as to whom the artist is that created it. Famille rose, (French: “rose family”) group of Chinese porcelain wares characterized by decoration painted in opaque overglaze rose colours, chiefly shades of pink and carmine. These colours were known to the Chinese as yangcai (“foreign colours”) because they were first introduced from Europe (about 1685).

 

The stylised silvered statue of a Chinese woman carrying her child is an unusual 1:12 artisan figurine, which I acquired along with a range of other metal statues from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The looking glass hanging on the wall, whilst appearing to be joined to the Bespaq chinoiserie table, is another piece from my childhood. It is actually a small pink plastic framed looking glass. The handle broke off long ago, and I painted in black and gilded it to give it a Regency look. I think it matches the table very nicely, as I’m sure Lettice would have thought too!

 

The blue and gold vase featuring lilac coloured wisteria on the far left of the photo is really a small Satsuma export ware vase from the late Nineteenth or early Twentieth Century. It is four centimetres in height and was the first piece of Satsuma ware I ever owned. I have had it since I was eight. Satsuma ware (薩摩焼, Satsuma-yaki) is a type of Japanese pottery originally from Satsuma Province, southern Kyūshū. Today, it can be divided into two distinct categories: the original plain dark clay early Satsuma (古薩摩, Ko-Satsuma) made in Satsuma from around 1600, and the elaborately decorated export Satsuma (京薩摩, Kyō-Satsuma) ivory-bodied pieces which began to be produced in the nineteenth century in various Japanese cities. By adapting their gilded polychromatic enamel overglaze designs to appeal to the tastes of western consumers, manufacturers of the latter made Satsuma ware one of the most recognized and profitable export products of the Meiji period.

 

The oxblood cloisonné vase with floral panels to the left of the dressing table I bought, along with its pair, from the Camberwell Market in Melbourne many years ago. The elderly woman who sold them to me said that her father had bought them in Peking before he left there in the 1920s. She believed they were containers for opium. The stoppers with tiny, long spoons which she said she remembered as a child had long since gone missing. Cloisonné is an ancient technique for decorating metalwork objects. In recent centuries, vitreous enamel has been used, and inlays of cut gemstones, glass and other materials were also used during older periods. The resulting objects can also be called cloisonné. The decoration is formed by first adding compartments (cloisons in French) to the metal object by soldering or affixing silver or gold wires or thin strips placed on their edges. These remain visible in the finished piece, separating the different compartments of the enamel or inlays, which are often of several colours. Cloisonné enamel objects are worked on with enamel powder made into a paste, which then needs to be fired in a kiln. The Japanese produced large quantities from the mid Nineteenth Century, of very high technical quality cloisonné. In Japan cloisonné enamels are known as shippō-yaki (七宝焼). Early centres of cloisonné were Nagoya during the Owari Domain. Companies of renown were the Ando Cloisonné Company. Later centres of renown were Edo and Kyoto. In Kyoto Namikawa became one of the leading companies of Japanese cloisonné.

 

The Chinese folding screen to the left of the photo I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was. Reflected in the mirror is a matching screen with different patterns on it, in this case vases of stylised Japanese flowers, which I recently acquired through a seller on E-Bay.

 

Also reflected in the mirror is a wooden Chinese dragon chair. It is one of a pair, which together with their matching low table I found in a little shop in Singapore whilst I was holiday there. They are beautifully carved from cherrywood.

 

The gold embossed wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend who encouraged me to use it as wallpaper for my 1:12 miniature tableaux.

Boasting the widest beach in Aruba and famous for its pristine and soft white sands, Eagle Beach offers beautiful Caribbean ocean views, ample parking, shaded areas, some beach huts, and a variety of water sports.

Eagle Beach is home to two of the most photographed and renowned fofoti trees in Aruba, with its trademark silhouette pointing in the direction of the Caribbean. These trees have been starring in various Aruba advertising campaigns as unique and highly recognizable features.

Several of the Aruba low rise hotels are nearby or just across the road. Some provide cabanas and lounges for their guests.

 

Localizada ao longo da costa oeste da ilha, este trecho intocado de 0,7 milhas de areia branca e fina atrai visitantes e moradores locais por sua beleza natural e cena gastronômica animada. No entanto, a praia, também a mais larga da ilha, continua sendo um santuário tranquilo com muito espaço para que todos possam tomar sol, brincar ou passear. Mesmo se você não estiver hospedado em uma das propriedades à beira-mar, há muito estacionamento gratuito se você estiver dirigindo aqui durante o dia, e o acesso à praia é gratuito. E enquanto Aruba é notoriamente ventosa por causa dos ventos alísios que sopram em toda a ilha, a água em Eagle Beach é calma, sem algas ou rochas e é excelente para natação e atividades aquáticas. Embora não haja formações de corais ou recifes, há uma abundância de peixes coloridos e caranguejos nadando na água.

 

An der Westküste der Insel gelegen, zieht dieser unberührte, 1,1 km lange, puderweiße Sandstrand Besucher und Einheimische gleichermaßen wegen seiner natürlichen Schönheit und lebhaften Restaurantszene an. Der Strand, auch der breiteste der Insel, bleibt jedoch ein ruhiger Zufluchtsort mit viel Platz für alle zum Sonnenbaden, Spielen oder Spazierengehen. Auch wenn Sie nicht in einem der Strandhotels übernachten, gibt es viele kostenlose Parkplätze, wenn Sie für den Tag hierher fahren, und der Zugang zum Strand ist kostenlos. Und während Aruba wegen der Passatwinde, die über die Insel wehen, bekanntermaßen windig ist, ist das Wasser am Eagle Beach ruhig, ohne Algen oder Felsen und eignet sich hervorragend zum Schwimmen und für Wasseraktivitäten. Obwohl es keine Korallenformationen oder Riffe gibt, gibt es eine Fülle von bunten Fischen und Krebsen, die im Wasser schwimmen.

 

Gelegen langs de westkust van het eiland, trekt dit ongerepte 1,1 mijl lange stuk poederachtig wit zand zowel bezoekers als de lokale bevolking vanwege de natuurlijke schoonheid en de levendige eetcultuur. Het strand, ook het breedste van het eiland, blijft echter een rustig toevluchtsoord met genoeg ruimte voor iedereen om te zonnebaden, te spelen of een wandeling te maken. Zelfs als u niet in een van de accommodaties aan het strand verblijft, is er voldoende gratis parkeergelegenheid als u hier een dagje naartoe rijdt, en de toegang tot het strand is gratis. En terwijl Aruba bekend staat om de wind vanwege de passaatwinden die over het eiland waaien, is het water op Eagle Beach kalm zonder zeewier of rotsen en uitstekend geschikt voor zwemmen en wateractiviteiten. Hoewel er geen koraalformaties of riffen zijn, zwemt er een overvloed aan kleurrijke vissen en krabben in het water.

 

Ubicado a lo largo de la costa oeste de la isla, este prístino tramo de 0.7 millas de arena blanca atrae a visitantes y lugareños por igual por su belleza natural y su animada escena gastronómica. Sin embargo, la playa, también la más ancha de la isla, sigue siendo un santuario tranquilo con mucho espacio para que todos puedan tomar el sol, jugar o dar un paseo. Sin embargo, incluso si no se hospeda en una de las propiedades frente a la playa, hay mucho estacionamiento gratuito si conduce aquí durante el día, y el acceso a la playa es gratuito. Y aunque Aruba es famosa por el viento debido a los vientos alisios que soplan en la isla, el agua en Eagle Beach es tranquila, sin algas ni rocas, y es excelente para nadar y realizar actividades acuáticas. Aunque no hay formaciones de coral o arrecifes, hay una gran cantidad de peces de colores y cangrejos nadando en el agua.

 

Situato lungo la costa occidentale dell'isola, questo tratto incontaminato di 0,7 miglia di sabbia bianca e polverosa attira visitatori e gente del posto per la sua bellezza naturale e la vivace scena gastronomica. Tuttavia, la spiaggia, anche la più ampia dell'isola, rimane un tranquillo santuario con tanto spazio per prendere il sole, giocare o fare una passeggiata. Anche se non alloggi in una delle proprietà sulla spiaggia, tuttavia, c'è un ampio parcheggio gratuito se guidi qui per la giornata e l'accesso alla spiaggia è gratuito. E mentre Aruba è notoriamente ventosa a causa degli alisei che soffiano sull'isola, l'acqua di Eagle Beach è calma senza alghe o rocce ed è eccellente per nuotare e fare attività acquatiche. Anche se non ci sono formazioni coralline o barriere coralline, c'è un'abbondanza di pesci colorati e granchi che nuotano nell'acqua.

 

Située le long de la côte ouest de l'île, cette étendue immaculée de 0,7 mile de sable blanc poudreux attire les visiteurs et les habitants pour sa beauté naturelle et sa scène gastronomique animée. Cependant, la plage, également la plus large de l'île, reste un sanctuaire tranquille avec beaucoup d'espace pour que chacun puisse bronzer, jouer ou se promener. Même si vous ne séjournez pas dans l'une des propriétés en bord de mer, il y a beaucoup de places de parking gratuites si vous conduisez ici pour la journée, et l'accès à la plage est gratuit. Et tandis qu'Aruba est célèbre pour ses vents en raison des alizés qui soufflent sur l'île, l'eau d'Eagle Beach est calme, sans algues ni rochers et est excellente pour la baignade et les activités nautiques. Même s'il n'y a pas de formations coralliennes ou de récifs, il y a une abondance de poissons colorés et de crabes nageant dans l'eau.

 

島の西海岸に沿って位置する、この手付かずの 0.7 マイルのパウダー状の白い砂浜は、その自然の美しさと活気のあるダイニング シーンのために観光客や地元の人々を魅了します。しかし、島で最も広いビーチは、誰もが日光浴をしたり、遊んだり、散歩したりするのに十分なスペースがあり、静かな聖域のままです。ただし、ビーチフロントの宿泊施設に滞在していなくても、ここを 1 日運転している場合は無料の駐車場がたくさんあり、ビーチへのアクセスは無料です。アルバ島は貿易風が吹くため風が強いことで知られていますが、イーグル ビーチの水は海藻や岩がなく穏やかで、水泳やウォーター アクティビティに最適です。サンゴ礁やサンゴ礁はありませんが、水中には色とりどりの魚やカニが泳いでいます。

 

يقع على طول الساحل الغربي للجزيرة ، هذا الامتداد البكر الذي يبلغ طوله 0.7 ميل من الرمال البيضاء البودرة يجذب الزوار والسكان المحليين على حد سواء لجمالها الطبيعي ومشهد تناول الطعام المفعم بالحيوية. ومع ذلك ، يظل الشاطئ ، وهو أيضًا الأوسع في الجزيرة ، ملاذًا هادئًا مع مساحة كبيرة للجميع لأخذ حمام شمس أو اللعب أو التنزه. حتى إذا كنت لا تقيم في أحد العقارات المواجهة للشاطئ ، فهناك الكثير من مواقف السيارات المجانية إذا كنت تقود سيارتك هنا طوال اليوم ، والوصول إلى الشاطئ مجاني. وبينما تشتهر أروبا بالرياح بسبب الرياح التجارية التي تهب عبر الجزيرة ، فإن المياه على شاطئ إيجل هادئة مع عدم وجود أعشاب بحرية أو صخور وممتازة للسباحة والأنشطة المائية. على الرغم من عدم وجود تكوينات مرجانية أو شعاب مرجانية ، إلا أن هناك وفرة من الأسماك الملونة وسرطان البحر تسبح في الماء.

Not the great splash of color that some sunsets offer up but still an beauty!! Some rays of hope to end the day a bit of gold to warm the soul!! Photo taken at El Franco Lee Park!! Want to take this time to wish all of my Flickr friends a Happy Thanksgiving!! I know that it is really an American Holiday but we pause and give thanks for the many blessings that we have received this year!! In spite of the difficulties that we have had this year we still have so much to be thankful for!! Most of all am thankful for the many friends that I have both here on Flickr and those that stand by me when times get tough!! I am blessed to live in a place where we have such an abundance! A huge thank you for each and every one of my Flickr friends for your support and for your comments! Have a wonderful and blessed day!

 

Some of you will know that I am no fan of Explore and so make no big deal about it!! I take each photo one at a time and find many more photos that should be recognized!! I would normally change the settings so that most people can't see the photo but since it is Thanksgiving I'll let it be this one time! Happy Thanksgiving once again!!

 

DSC07909uls

two for one special offer

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.

 

With a loud buzz, the electric doorbell announces the unexpected arrival of someone at the front door. Putting down the piece of table silver she is polishing, Edith, Lettice’s maid, goes to answer the front door, all the while wondering who is calling. Lettice usually advises Edith of any clients, existing or potential, who may be visiting, particularly because Edith needs to make sure that there are cakes and biscuits in the pantry to offer to them. Walking across the thick Chinese silk rug in the flat’s hallway, she can hear her mistress speaking animatedly on the telephone to a representative of Jeffrey and Company* from whom she is ordering papers for the dining room of her friend Minnie Palmerston. Lettice agreed to redecorate it before Christmas after Minnie asked her to, and work is now underway.

 

Edith opens the door to the dashing figure of Selwyn Spencely, the only son of the Duke of Walmsford, whom Lettice has been stepping out with, when their busy social diaries allow, since meeting him at her parent’s Hunt Ball last year. In his hands he holds a thick bunch of roses, a usual accessory every time he crosses the Cavendish Mews threshold.

 

“Good day, Edith. Is Miss Chetwynd home?”

 

“Mr. Spencely!” she gasps in surprise. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Yes, do come in.” She closes the front door and shuts out the cold January in the process. “It’s freezing out there. She’s just speaking with someone on the telephone in the drawing room, Sir, but I’ll announce you’re here.”

 

Shrugging out of his thick and expertly cut navy blue barathea coat, damp around the shoulders and down the back due the downpour outside, he lets it fall into Edith’s waiting arms. “Oh, don’t bother, Edith. I know my way. But if you could put these in some water for Miss Chetwynd.” He hands her the deep red roses which release a sweet fragrance as he does.

 

“Of course, Sir.” Edith replies, dropping a curtsey to her mistress’ guest.

 

As she turns to go, Selwyn calls after her, “Oh Edith! There will be a man with a large package knocking at the servants’ entrance shortly. When he does, just show him into the drawing room, will you?”

 

“Well yes, Sir.” Edith answers, her brow furrowing slightly. “But I…”

 

“It’s a surprise for Miss Chetwynd,” Selwyn interrupts her, giving her a winning smile and ending the conversation.

 

“Now just to confirm, it is the red dioxide metallic you are ordering, not the gold. Is that right?” Lettice asks in clearly enunciated tones down the telephone receiver as she sits at her Hepplewhite desk. “I don’t want the gold. It is rather expensive paper, and I’d hate for you to make a costly error.” She listens to the representative of Jeffrey and Company at the other end as he assures her that he has the correct details for her order. “Very well. And you’ll let me know when it arrives?” She listens again. “Very good. Good afternoon then.”

 

Lettice hangs up the receiver of the telephone with a half frustrated and half relieved sigh. In response the telephone utters a muffled ting of its bell as she hangs up. She begins scribbling notes in her black leather notebook with her silver fountain pen and with a rasp of nib against paper, she crosses off several things from her list for Minnie Palmerston’s dining room redecoration.

 

“I do like to see my favourite society interior designer, hard at work.” Selwyn pronounces, announcing his presence.

 

“Selwyn!” Lettice spins around in her chair, her eyes wide with shock as she sees him comfortably settled in one of her round white upholstered ebonised wood tub chairs. “What on earth are you doing here?” She self consciously pats the side of her elegantly marcelled** blonde hair and brushes her manicured fingers across the Peter Pan collar*** of her navy blue frock. “I wasn’t expecting you. What a delightful surprise!”

 

“Yes, your charming little maid was saying just the same thing not a moment ago when she answered the door to me.” Selwyn says, rising to his feet as Lettice rises to hers. “I just happened to be in the neighbourhood, and I thought I’d pop in, just on the off chance that you were here, to see how you are, my Angel. After all, I haven’t seen you since before Christmas.” He smiles warmly at his sweetheart who blushes prettily under his observant eye. “So I wanted to wish you all the very best for the season.”

 

“Oh yes!” Lettice breathes. “Happy 1923, Selwyn darling!” She stands up. “Are you stopping for long?”

 

“For a little while, my Angel.” he replies with an amused smile.

 

“Shall I ring for tea then?”

 

“Tea would be capital, my Angel. Thank you.”

 

Lettice depresses the servant’s call bell by the fireplace which she can hear echoing distantly in the kitchen. Edith appears moments later carrying a bulbous white vase containing the red roses Selwyn brough for Lettice as a gift.

 

“Oh Selwyn!” Lettice gasps. “Are these from you?” When he nods in acknowledgement, she adds. “They’re gorgeous!”

 

“Where would you like them, Miss?” she asks.

 

“Oh, on the telephone table, I think, Edith.” Lettice pronounces, as she picks up the telephone from her desk and walks it across the room, dragging the flex behind her, back to where it belongs.

 

“Very good, Miss.” Edith busily removes the vase of slightly withered yellow lilies and roses that were sitting on the table and replaces them with the roses. Picking up the other vase from where she placed it in the polished parquet floor she remarks, “There’s plenty of life left in these. I’ll pick through them and rearrange them in a smaller vase for you.”

 

“Oh no, you keep them, Edith. It will help brighten the kitchen up.” Lettice replies.

 

“That’s very kind of you, Miss. Thank you.”

 

“Oh, and could you please bring us some tea.”

 

“Yes Miss,” Edith answers with a bob curtsey. “Oh, and Mr. Spencely, that gentleman you mentioned is here. He’s in the kitchen at present. Shall I send him through?”

 

“Man? What man?” Lettice asks, glancing first at Edith and then at Selwyn.

 

“Yes, if you would, Edith. Thank you.”

 

“What man, Selwyn?” Lettice repeats to her beau as Edith retreats through the dining room and disappears through the green baize door into the service part of the flat.

 

Selwyn’s smile grows broader. “All will be revealed shortly, my Angel.” he assures her calmly.

 

The door Edith walked through opens and a workman carrying a large cardboard box steps across its threshold. Dressed in a flat cap damp from the rain outside and taupe coloured apron over a thick dark woollen jumper and black trousers, his face is florid with exertion as he breathes heavily and walks slowly.

 

“Ahh, put it down over here,” Selwyn commands as the deliveryman nears them, pointing with an indicating finger to the floor next to the table where Edith put the roses.

 

“You might ‘ave warned me I was goin’ ta have ta climb four flights of stairs with this, Guv!” the man huffs as he lowers the box onto the floor. He groans as he returns to an upright position and removes his cap. Withdrawing a grubby white kerchief from his pocket he wipes his brow before returning his cap to his head. He dabs his face with his kerchief as he inhales and exhales with laboured, rasping breaths.

 

“Good heavens!” Lettice gasps. “What on earth is in that box that’s so heavy?”

 

“Oh it’s not that ‘eavy, Mum,” the deliveryman pants. “If youse only takin’ it from room ta room.” He wipes the back of his neck with his kerchief. “Only if youse ‘oistin’ it up four flights of stairs!”

 

Selwyn ignores the deliveryman’s protestations as his focuses his attentions solely on Lettice. “I promised you when I had to withdraw from accompanying you to Priscilla’s wedding, that I was going to make it up to you, and this,” He taps the top of the box. “Is it!”

 

“What on earth is it?” Lettice asks with excitement and intrigue.

 

The red faced workman opens the box lid and delves into its interior. Newspaper scrunches noisily as he withdraws a shining lump of burnished brass with three fine finials which he places with a heavy laboured huff onto the telephone console.

 

“It’s a wireless, my Angel!” Selwyn says with a sweeping gesture towards the apparatus gleaming under the light of the chandelier overhead. “Merry Christmas, happy New Year,” He pauses. “And I’m sorry, all in one!”

 

“A wireless!” Lettice gasps. “Oh Selwyn, darling!” She jumps up from her seat next to the wireless and runs around the black japanned coffee table, throwing her arms around his neck. She looks over at the gleaming piece of new machinery with three knobs on the front below an ornamental piece of fretwork protecting some mesh fabric behind it. “How generous! I love it, darling!” She breaks away from Selwyn, her face suddenly clouding. “Oh, don’t you need a licence to have a radio?”

 

“The gent’s already paid fur it, Mum.” the workman says, reaching into the front pocket of his apron and withdrawing a slightly crumpled envelope. “Ten shillin’s, paid for through the General Post Office****.” He hands her the envelope.

 

“Ten shillings!” Lettice looks at Selwyn aghast. “On top of the apparatus itself. It must have cost a fortune!”

 

“Oh, it does, Mum!” the workman begins before being silenced by a sweeping gesture and a steely look from Selwyn. “Sorry, Guv.” He falls silent.

 

Turning back to Lettice, Selwyn continues, “It’s worth it to provide some pleasure to you, my Angel.”

 

“Oh Selwyn darling! You are a brick!” Lettice exhales in delight as she feels his hands pull her closer to him and kisses the top of her head tenderly. “But how does it operate?”

 

“Our good man here can tell you that better than I can, my darling.” Selwyn replies.

 

“Oh its really quite easy, Mum.” the workman assures Lettice. “It runs on a battery, oh, but just be careful! It’s an acid battery,” He points to his apron where his knees are. “So just watch yerself when youse moves it. Better youse ‘n yer maid move it togevva, side by side like, than youse on yer own, Mum.” He adds. “Turn it on ‘n off wiv this knob.” He points to the button on the left-hand side. “Turn the volume up or down wiv this knob.” He turns the button left and right. “And use the middle one to tune the wireless in.”

 

“Tune it in?” Lettice asks.

 

“Yes, Mum. ‘Ere I’ll show yer.” He leans down and turns the left knob to the right and it releases a satisfyingly crisp click. “We’ll just wait for the valves to warm up.” Slowly a quiet crackle begins behind the mesh. “This ‘ere’s the speaker, Mum.” He points to the fretwork covered mesh at the top of the wireless. “Sound‘ll come outta ‘ere.” he continues, feeling the need to clarify.

 

Just as Edith walks into the drawing room with a silver tray laden with tea things, the wireless releases a strangulated roar, making a juddering cacophony of discordant racket.

 

“Good heavens what’s that awful noise?” the young maid gasps, her eyes wide in horror as she allows the tray to clatter roughly onto the surface of the coffee table.

 

“It’s just the wireless warming up, Edith.” Selwyn assures her in a calm voice. “Do stay and watch this marvel of the modern age.”

 

“Marvel of the modern age!” Edith scoffs. “That infernal contraption is more than enough,” She glares at the shiny silver and black Bakelite***** telephone. “Without us having more gadgets around here.”

 

“Oh, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud, Edith.” Lettice chides her maid mildly over the sound of the wireless static.

 

“This, my dear Edith,” Selwyn pronounces with a satisfied sigh. “Is the sign of the new age! Soon everyone will have one of these.”

 

“Heaven help us all then!” Edith rolls her eyes.

 

“And like I says, yer tune it wiv this knob, Mum.”

 

The workman starts to slowly turn the knob to the right, and as he does, the static sounds change, growing momentarily louder and then softer, and then slowly the discordant cacophony of harsh sounds starts to dissipate as music begins to be heard in its place. Very quickly the static is gone and the strains of violins and piano stream through the wireless speaker as ‘Londonderry Air’****** plays.

 

“Well, I never!” gasps Edith. “Its like having your own private band to play for you in that little box!”

 

“That it is, Miss.” agrees the workman.

 

“Oh, it’s wonderful, Selwyn darling!” Lettice exclaims, throwing her arms around his neck before kissing him with delight on the cheek.

 

And just for a little while, Lettice, Selwyn, Edith and the workman all stand and look at the shiny new wireless, enjoying the beautiful music drifting from its speaker.

 

The introduction of a radio, or a wireless as it was then known as, is the first real change we have seen to Lettice’s drawing room since we first met her two years ago, and in many ways it represents the spirit of change that the 1920s have become synonymous with. The British Broadcasting Company, as the BBC was originally called, was formed on the 18th of October 1922 by a group of leading wireless manufacturers including Marconi. Daily broadcasting by the BBC began in Marconi's London studio, 2LO, in the Strand, on November the 14th, 1922. John Reith, a thirty-three-year-old Scottish engineer, was appointed General Manager of the BBC at the end of 1922. Following the closure of numerous amateur stations, the BBC started its first daily radio service in London – 2LO. After much argument, news was supplied by an agency, and music drama and “talks” filled the airwaves for only a few hours a day. It wasn't long before radio could be heard across the nation, especially when radio stations were set up outside of London, like on the 6th of March when the BBC first broadcast from Glasgow via station 5SC.

 

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

 

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

 

***A Peter Pan collar is a style of clothing collar, flat in design with rounded corners. It is named after the collar of Maude Adams's costume in her 1905 role as Peter Pan, although similar styles had been worn before this date. Peter Pan collars were particularly fashionable during the 1920s and 1930s.

 

****With the advent of radio, as of the 18th of January, 1923, the Postmaster General granted the BBC a licence to broadcast. A licence fee of ten shillings was charged per wireless set sold, purchased through the General Post Office. Amateur wireless enthusiasts avoided paying the licence by making their own receivers and listeners bought rival unlicensed sets.

 

*****Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.

 

******The "Londonderry Air" is an Irish air that originated in County Londonderry. It is popular among the North American Irish diaspora and is well known throughout the world. The tune is played as the victory sporting anthem of Northern Ireland at the Commonwealth Games. The song "Danny Boy" uses the tune, with a set of lyrics written in the early Twentieth Century.

 

This 1920s upper-class drawing room is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures, including items from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Central to our story, the brass wireless, which is remarkably heavy for its size, comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Supplies in the United Kingdom.

 

Lettice’s tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The green tinted glass comport on the coffee table , spun from real glass, is also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out.

 

In front of the telephone sits a paperback novel from the late 1920s created by miniature British artisan, Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make these books miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The vase of red roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden chair is a Chippendale design and has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric. The mirror backed back japanned china cabinet is Chippendale too. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child.

 

To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.

 

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

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

 

Today however we are not at Cavendish Mews, although we are still in Mayfair, moving a few streets away to Hill Street, where Edith, Lettice’s maid, and her beau, grocery boy Frank Leadbetter, are visiting Edith’s friend and fellow maid Hilda. It is a beautiful, sunny Sunday and Sundays all three have as days off from their jobs as domestic servants and delivery boy. Taking advantage of this, all three are going to spend the afternoon at Hammersmith Palias de Danse*. As usual, Frank collects Edith from Cavendish Mews and the pair then go to the home of Lettice’s married friends Margot and Dickie Channon, where Hilda works as a live-in maid.

 

Being Hilda’s day off, her employers usually decamp for the day, and today they are visiting their friend Priscilla who recently married American dry goods heir Georgie Carter. The pair have just returned to London from their honeymoon which took in much of Europe before visiting Georgie’s family in Philadelphia. The quartet will dine at the Café Royal**, doubtless at the expense of Georgie since the Channons seem perpetually to have financial difficulties, but as a result, the Channons have invited the Carters back to their Hill Street flat for after supper coffee, which means that Hilda must do one of her most hated jobs: grind coffee beans to make real coffee for Georgie Carter, who is particular about his American style coffee. We find the trio in the kitchen of the Hill Street flat, the ladies’ dancing frocks and Frank’s suit at odds with their surrounds as Hilda grinds the coffee beans sitting in a white china bowl in the large wooden and brass coffee grinder. By preparing the coffee, ready to make before she goes out, it will be easy to serve when her employers and their guests return after dinner, and the beans will still be fresh enough for Georgie’s liking.

 

“You know,” Frank remarks as he stands at Edith’s elbow and watches Hilda turn the handle of the coffee grinder with gusto. “I don’t see why they can’t just drink Camp Coffee*** like the rest of us.”

 

“Oh Frank!” gasps Edith, looking up at her beau and patting his hand with her own as he squeezes her left shoulder lovingly. “You know perfectly well why not, Frank. Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s friend, Mr. Carter is an American gentleman, and just like Miss Wanetta Ward the American moving picture star, he doesn’t like British coffee.”

 

“What rot!” Frank scoffs at the suggestion. “There’s nothing wrong with British coffee! If British coffee isn’t to Mr. Carter’s taste, let him have tea then, and save poor Hilda the effort of having to grind up coffee beans for his lordship.” He slips off the jacket of his smart Sunday blue suit, revealing his crisp white shirt, red tie and smart navy blue vest. He drapes it over the back of the Windsor chair Edith sits in. “Come on old girl,” he says to Hilda as he moves around the deal pine kitchen table. “Give me a go then. Give your arms a chance to recuperate before we go dancing.”

 

“You’re such a Socialist, Frank Leadbetter.” pipes up Hilda as with a grunt, she pushes the handle of the grinder mechanism over a particularly recalcitrant coffee bean.

 

“What?” gasps Frank as he takes over grinding from the grateful maid. “I thought you’d come to my defence, Hilda, especially as I’m being so chivalrous as to grind coffee beans for you.”

 

“Oh I am grateful, Frank, ever so.” Hilda replies, rubbing her aching forearms with her fat, sausage like fingers. “But just because you are being gallant, doesn’t mean I can’t call you a Socialist.”

 

“Because a hard working man like me thinks I’m every bit as good as this friend of your Mr. and Mrs. Channon, I’m now a Socialist?” Frank asks in an appalled voice. “You’re as bad as Edith’s mum.” He nods in his sweetheart’s direction.

 

“Mum thinks Frank might be a Communist.” Edith explains. “Even though we’ve both told her that he isn’t.”

 

“Handsome is as handsome does.” remarks Hilda with a cheeky smile as she glances at Frank winding the red knob topped brass handle of the grinder.

 

“I’m neither, I’ll have you know, Hilda Clerkenwell!” Frank retorts. “I’d prefer to think of myself as more of a progressive thinker when it comes to the rights and privileges of the working man,” He looks poignantly at Hilda. “And woman.”

 

“Same thing.” Hilda retorts matter-of-factly as she starts to straighten the russet grosgrain bandeau**** embellished with gold sequins which has slipped askew whilst she has been grinding coffee beans.

 

“Pardon my ignorance,” Edith begins gingerly. “But what exactly is a Socialist?”

 

“Socialism is a political movement that wants to reform various economic and social systems, transferring them to social ownership as opposed to private ownership.” remarks Hilda as she runs her hands down the back of her hair.

 

“Well done, Hilda!” Frank congratulates her.

 

“You sound surprised, Frank.” Hilda says with a cheeky smile. “Don’t they have smart girls where you come from, present company excluded, Edith!” Hilda adds hurriedly so as not to offend her best friend.”

 

“Oh, you know I’m not very political,” Edith assures Hilda, yet at the same time self consciously toys with her blonde waves as she speaks.

 

“I must confess, Hilda, I am a little surprised.” Frank admits. “I don’t know many girls who are interested in social rights and can give explanations so eloquently.”

 

“I’m so sorry Frank!” Edith defends herself. “I know you’ve tried to teach me, but I can’t help it. I get confused between this ist and the other ist. They all seem the same to me.” She blushes with mild embarrassment at her own ignorance.

 

“No, no, Edith!” Frank assures her as he stops grinding the coffee beans and reaches out his left hand, clasping her right one as it rests on the tabletop and squeezes it reassuringly. “This isn’t a criticism of you! It was a compliment to Hilda. You’re wonderful, and there are things that you understand and are far better at than me.”

 

“Than both of us, Edith.” adds Hilda quickly, the look of concern about her friend taking umbrage clear on her round face.

 

“Yes, inconsequential things.” Edith mumbles in a deflated tone.

 

“No, not at all.” Frank reassures her soothingly as he takes up grinding coffee again. “What good am I to myself if I can’t cook a meal to feed myself.”

 

“And for all my love of reading, Edith, you know I can’t sew a stitch.” Hilda appends. “I could never have made this beautiful frock.” She grasps the edge of the strap of her russet coloured art satin***** dress as she speaks. “Not in a million years. We’re all good at different things, and no-one could say you weren’t smart, Edith.”

 

“That’s right.” Frank concurs, smiling at his sweetheart. “One of the reasons why I’ve always admired you is because you aren’t some silly giggling Gertie****** like some of the housemaids I’ve known. You aren’t turned by just a handsome face, and your head isn’t filled with moving picture stars and nothing else.”

 

“Well, I do like moving picture stars, Frank.” Edith confesses.

 

“Oh I know, Edith, and I love you for that too.” Frank reassures her. “But it’s not all that is in there. You have a good head on your shoulders.”

 

“And a wise one too.” Hilda interjects. “How often do I ask you for advice? I’ve always asked you for your opinion on things for as long as we’ve been friends.”

 

“You are clever, and insightful, and you want a better life for yourself too, and that’s why I really love you. We want the same things from life.” Frank says in a soft and soothing tone full of love as he gazes at Edith. “You are very pretty, and no-one can deny that – not even you,” He holds out an admonishing finger as Edith goes to refute his remark. “But beauty, however glorious will fade. Just look at our Dowager Queen Mother*******. When beauty fades, wit and intelligence remain, and you have both of those qualities in spades, Edith.”

 

“Oh Frank.” Edith breathes softly. “You aren’t ashamed of me then?”

 

“Of course I’m not Edith! How could I ever be ashamed of you? I’m as proud as punch******** to step out with you! You’re my best girl.”

 

Frank winds the gleaming brass coffee grinder handle a few more times before stopping. He pulls out the drawer at the bottom and as he does, the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans fills the air around them, wafting up his, Edith and Hilda’s nostrils. He sighs with satisfaction at a job well done.

 

“Good enough for his American lordship?” Frank asks Hilda.

 

She peers into the drawer. “Good enough.” she acknowledges with another of her cheeky smirks, nodding affirmatively.

 

“I still think he could jolly well grind his own, you know, Hilda!” Frank opines.

 

“Socialist.” she laughs in reply as she walks around Frank, withdraws the drawer of ground coffee and knocks the contents into the small, worn Delftware coffee cannister with careful taps, so as not to spill and waste any of the hard-won grinds.

 

“I bet you, your Wanetta Ward doesn’t grind her own coffee, Edith.” Frank goes on as he walks back around to Edith and slips his jacket on again.

 

“I bet you she does, Frank!” Edith counters.

 

“What? A moving picture star grinding her own coffee? I don’t believe it!”

 

“Miss Ward is a very unorthodox person, Frank, even for an American.” she assures him. “I think she might surprise you if you ever get the pleasure of meeting her one day.”

 

“Maybe.” Frank says doubtfully. “Well now that coffee is ground, we should really get going.” He runs his hands around the back of his jacket collar to make sure it is sitting straight. “The Hammersmith Palais waits for no-one, not even those who slave for undeserving Americans.” He laughs good heartedly. “Shall we go?”

 

“Oh yes!” enthuses Edith as Frank chivalrously pulls out her chair for her as she stands up. “I’ll fetch our coats.”

 

With her pretty blue floral sprigged frock swirling about her figure, Edith hurries over to the pegs by the door where Frank’s, Hilda’s and her own coat and hats hang. She moves lightly across the floor, practicing her dance steps as she goes, silently moving to the music she hears the band playing in her head.

 

“I really wonder why I bother sometimes.” Hilda says despondently as she pulls her brown coat on over the top of the luxurious man-made silk frock that Edith made for her and decorated with lace trimming and small bursts of sequins.

 

“Like I said,” Frank mutters. “He should settle for Camp Coffee like the rest of us, or have tea.”

 

“Not grinding coffee, Frank!” Hilda scoffs in reply. “I mean go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais week after week. What’s the point?”

 

“What do you mean, Hilda?” Edith asks gently, slipping her arms into her own black three-quarter length coat as Frank holds to open for her.

 

“I mean why do I bother going dancing when no man at the Palais ever looks at me, even in this beautiful new frock you made me, Edith.” She picks up the lace trimmed hem of her dance dress and lifts it despondently.

 

Edith and Frank both glance anxiously at one another for a moment. Both know they are thinking exactly the same thing. What Hilda says is true. Whenever the three of them go to the Hammersmith Palais de Danse there are always far more women in attendance than men. The Great War decimated the male population, and almost drove an entire generation of young men into extinction. Sadly, this means that more and more women are finding themselves without a gentleman to step out with, and are deemed surplus to needs by society. In spite of any of his faults, Edith knows how lucky she is to have a young man like Frank. Even the attentions of pretty girls are less in demand with fewer men in circulation desiring their company. Unlike Edith, Hilda is a little on the plump side, enjoying the indulgence of sticky buns from the bakers and an extra serving of Victoria Sponge at the Lyons Corner Shop********* at the top of Tottenham Court Road. Her face is friendly, with soft brown eyes and a warm smile, but she isn’t pretty. Even with the judicious application of a little powder and rouge acquired from the make-up counter of Selfridges********** her skin lacks the fresh gleam that Edith has, and for as long as she has known her, Edith has always found Hilda to have a very pale complexion. When the three of them do go dancing, Frank is often the only man she dances with when he partners her around the dancefloor, and more often than not, Hilda ends up taking the part of the man, dancing with any number of other neglected wallflowers, just to ward of the tedium of waiting for someone to ask her to dance. The plight, for plight it was, of women like Hilda was all too common, in the post-war world of the 1920s.

 

“Perhaps you’re looking in the wrong place, Hilda.” Frank says.

 

“What do mean, Frank?”

 

“Well, a girl with brains like you needs a man who will stimulate her mentally. Perhaps you might find the man of your dreams at a library.”

 

“A library!” Hilda’s mind conjures up images of pale bookish young men in glasses with phlegmatic characters who would much rather shake her hand limply and discuss the benefits of Socialism, rather than sweep her off her feet romantically.

 

“Not at all helpful, Frank!” hisses Edith as she watches her best friend’s face fall.

 

“I was only joking.” Frank shrugs apologetically, unsure what to say.

 

Edith hurries over and wraps her arm around Hilda’s slumping shoulders consolingly. “A faint heart never won a fair lady, Hilda.” She pulls Hilda to her lovingly. Hilda looks up at her friend sadly, yet thoughtfully. “And I think it works the same in reverse.”

 

Seeing a way to make amends for his ill-timed joke, Frank pipes up, “That’s exactly right, Hilda. Edith wouldn’t have been anywhere near as attractive to me if she hadn’t had a bit of pluck.”

 

“And you look splendid in the dance frock I made for you, Hilda,” Edith adds. “Really you do.”

 

“Do you really think so, Edith?” Hilda asks, looking at her friend.

 

“Of course I do! I’m a professional seamstress, and you are my best friend. I wouldn’t make something that didn’t suit you!”

 

“No, no of course not.” Hilda replies.

 

“And didn’t Mrs. Minkin say that russet satin would suit your colourings?”

 

“She did.”

 

“Well then,” Edith replies matter-of-factly. “There is nothing more to be said.”

 

“That’s right.” agrees Frank, and without further ado, he sweeps Hilda into his arms.

 

With the ease of a natural dancer, Frank begins to waltz his partner carefully across the black and white chequered linoleum floor of the Channon’s kitchen, guiding her around the kitchen table and the chairs gathered around it, past the black and white stove and the dresser cluttered with crockery and provisions.

 

“Oh Frank!” Hilda says, laughing joyously as she allows herself to be swept away. “You really are a one!”

 

Edith smiles as she sees a light return to her best friend’s eyes, and a smile appear upon her pert lips. She considers herself so fortunate not just because she has a chap to step out with, but because Frank is so kind and considerate. Not just any man would understand or appreciate Edith’s wish to include Hilda in their excursions to the Hammersmith Palais de Danse, and not every man would be as willing to take a turn with her on the dancefloor, as has been proven. Then again, Frank is no ordinary man, and as time goes on and she gets to know him better, the more she is becoming aware that her sweetheart is a very special man indeed. She laughs as Frank dips Hilda, making her squeal in delight, before raising her up again and restoring her to her feet.

 

“There!” Frank says with a huff as he catches his breath. “Now that your feet are suitably warmed up, you’re ready to go, Miss Clerkenwell. We’ll have no more talk of you not wanting to come dancing with us.”

 

“Today might be the day you meet someone, Hilda. Don’t give up on the chance.” Edith enthuses.

 

“Oh alright you two!” Hilda acquiesces. “I give up. Let’s go then.”

 

“That’s the spirit, Hilda!” Frank says. “That pluck will win you a fine and handsome gentleman with a brain that you deserve.”

 

“I can hardly battle both of you, can I?” Hilda laughs as she carefully places her floppy brimmed brown velvet and copper faille poke-style bonnet decorated with a beige rose and leaves atop her head.

 

The three friends walk out of the kitchen door that leads out onto the flat’s back stairs and begin to descend to the street. Hilda locks the door behind her and the coffee grinder and the as of yet to be ground coffee beans sit on the table, ready for when she returns later that day to serve to Margot, Dickie and their friends Priscilla and Georgie Carter.

 

*The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.

 

**The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.

 

***Camp Coffee is a concentrated syrup which is flavoured with coffee and chicory, first produced in 1876 by Paterson & Sons Ltd, in Glasgow. In 1974, Dennis Jenks merged his business with Paterson to form Paterson Jenks plc. In 1984, Paterson Jenks plc was bought by McCormick & Company. Legend has it (mainly due to the picture on the label) that Camp Coffee was originally developed as an instant coffee for military use. The label is classical in tone, drawing on the romance of the British Raj. It includes a drawing of a seated Gordon Highlander (supposedly Major General Sir Hector MacDonald) being served by a Sikh soldier holding a tray with a bottle of essence and jug of hot water. They are in front of a tent, at the apex of which flies a flag bearing the drink's slogan, "Ready Aye Ready". A later version of the label, introduced in the mid-20th century, removed the tray from the picture, thus removing the infinite bottles element and was seen as an attempt to avoid the connotation that the Sikh was a servant, although he was still shown waiting while the kilted Scottish soldier sipped his coffee. The current version, introduced in 2006, depicts the Sikh as a soldier, now sitting beside the Scottish soldier, and with a cup and saucer of his own. Camp Coffee is an item of British nostalgia, because many remember it from their childhood. It is still a popular ingredient for home bakers making coffee-flavoured cake and coffee-flavoured buttercream. In late 1975, Camp Coffee temporarily became a popular alternative to instant coffee in the UK, after the price of coffee doubled due to shortages caused by heavy frosts in Brazil.

 

****A bandeau is a narrow band of fabric worn round the head to hold the hair in position. Although bandeaus existed long before the 1920s, there was a resurgence in popularity for embroidered grosgrain ribbons to be worn around the head across the forehead in the 1920s, and they are synonymous with 1920s flapper fashion.

 

*****The first successful artificial silks were developed in the 1890s of cellulose fibre and marketed as art silk or viscose, a trade name for a specific manufacturer. In 1924, the name of the fibre was officially changed in the U.S. to rayon, although the term viscose continued to be used in Europe.

 

******Although obscure as to its origin, the term “giggling Gertie” is of English derivation and was often used in a derisive way to describe silly children and young people, usually girls, who were deemed as being flippant and foolish.

 

*******Queen Alexandra was Queen of the United Kingdom and the British Dominions, and Empress of India, from the twenty-second of January 1901 to the sixth of May 1910 as the wife of King-Emperor Edward VII. Daughter of King Christian IX of Denmark, at the age of sixteen Alexandra was chosen as the future wife of Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, the son and heir apparent of Queen Victoria. When she arrived in England she was famed for her beauty and her style of dress and bearing were copied by fashion-conscious women. From Edward's death, Alexandra was queen mother, being a dowager queen and the mother of the reigning monarch. Alexandra retained a youthful appearance into her senior years, but during the Great War her age caught up with her. She took to wearing elaborate veils and heavy makeup, which was described by gossips as having her face "enamelled".

 

********Although today we tend to say as “pleased as punch”, the Victorian term actually began as “proud as punch”. This expression refers to the Punch and Judy puppet character. Punch's name comes from Punchinello, an Italian puppet with similar characteristics. In Punch and Judy shows, the grotesque Punch is portrayed as self-satisfied and pleased with his evil actions.

 

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

 

********** Selfridges, also known as Selfridges & Co., is a chain of upscale department stores in the United Kingdom that is operated by Selfridges Retail Limited, part of the Selfridges Group of department stores. It was founded by Harry Gordon Selfridge in 1908. Harry Gordon Selfridge, Sr. was an American-British retail magnate who founded the London-based department store. His twenty year leadership of Selfridge’s led to his becoming one of the most respected and wealthy retail magnates in the United Kingdom. He was known as the 'Earl of Oxford Street'.

 

***********Faille is a type of cloth with flat ribs, often made in silk. It has a softer texture than grosgrain, with heavier and wider cords or ribs. Weft yarns are heavier than warp, and it is manufactured in plain weaving. It was especially popular in the Nineteenth Century, and its popularity, although somewhat dwindling, did carry through into the early decades of the Twentieth Century.

 

This cosy domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

 

On Hilda’s deal table stands her coffee grinder with its brass handle, wooden base and drawer, and red knobs. It comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The little Delftware canister and the white china bowl also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. The coffee beans in the bowl are really black carraway seeds. The vase of flowers comes from an online shop on E-Bay.

 

Hilda’s Windsor chair is a hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniature which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat, but it is definitely an unmarked artisan piece.

 

In the background you can see a very modern and up-to-date 1920s gas stove. It would have been expensive to instal at the time, and it would have been the cook’s or maid’s pleasure to cook on and in. It would have included a thermostat for perfect cooking and without the need of coal, it was much cleaner to feed, use and easier to clean. It is not unlike those made by the Roper Stove Company in the 1920s. The Roper Stove Company previously named the Florence-Wehrle Company among other names, was founded in 1883. Located in Newark, Ohio, the company was once the largest stove producer in the world. Today, the Roper Stove Company is a brand of Whirlpool.

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.

 

Tonight however, we are at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand*, near Covent Garden and the theatre district of London’s West End. Here, amidst the thoroughly English surrounds of wooden panelling, beautifully executed watercolours of British landscapes and floral arrangements in muted colours, men in white waistcoats and women a-glitter with jewels are ushered into the dining room where they are seated in high backed chairs around tables dressed in crisp white tablecloths and set with sparkling silver and gilt china. The large room is very heavily populated with theatre patrons enjoying a meal before a show and therefore it is full of vociferous conversation, boisterous laughter, the clink of glasses and the scrape of cutlery against crockery as the diners enjoy the traditional English repast that Simpson’s is famous for. Seated at a table for two along the periphery of the main dining room, Lettice and Selwyn are served their roast beef dinner by a carver. Lettice is being taken to dinner by Selwyn to celebrate the successful completion of his very first architectural commission: a modest house built in the northern London suburb of Highgate built for a merchant and his wife. Lettice has her own reason to celebrate too, but has yet to elaborate upon it with Selwyn.

 

“I do so like Simpson’s.” Lettice remarks as the carver places a plate of steaming roast beef and vegetables in front of her. Glancing around her, she admires the two watercolours on the wall behind her and the jolly arrangement of yellow asters and purple and yellow pansies on the small console to her right.

 

“I’m glad you approve.” Selwyn laughs, smiling at his companion.

 

“I’m always put in mind of Mr. Wilcox whenever it’s mentioned, or I come here.”

 

“Who is Mr. Wilcox?” Selwyn asks, his handsome features showing the signs of deep thought.

 

“Oh,” Lettice laughs and flaps her hand, the jewels on her fingers winking gaily in the light. “No-one. Well, no one real, that is.” she clarifies. “Mr. Wilcox is a character in E. M. Forster’s novel, ‘Howard’s End’**, who thoroughly approves of Simpson’s because it is so thoroughly English and respectable, just like him.”

 

“I can’t say I’ve read that novel, or anything by him.” Selwyn admits as the carver places his serving of roast beef and vegetables before him. “My head has been too buried in books on architecture.” Selwyn reaches into the breast pocket of his white dinner vest and takes out a few coins which he slips discreetly to the man in the crisp white uniform and chef’s hat.

 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the carver says, tapping the brim of his hat in deference to the Duke of Walmsford’s son before placing the roast beef, selection of vegetables in tureens and gravy onto the crisp white linen tabletop, and then wheeling his carving trolley away.

 

Lettice giggles as she picks up the gravy boat and pours steaming thick and rich dark reddish brown gravy over her dinner.

 

“Well, what’s so funny, my Angel?” Selwyn asks with a querying look as he accepts the gravy boat from Lettice’s outstretched hands and pours some on his own meal.

 

“Oh you are just like Mr. Wilcox.”

 

“You know,” He picks up his silver cutlery. “And please pardon me for saying this, but I didn’t take you for reading much more than romance novels.”

 

“Oh!” Lettice laughs in mild outrage. “Thank you very much, Selwyn!”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Selwyn defends himself, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter onto the fluted gilt edged white dinner plate.

 

“Then what do you mean?” Lettice asks, trying to remain serious as she looks into the worried face of her dinner companion, which makes her want to reach out and stroke his cheek affectionately and smile.

 

“I… I merely meant that most ladies of your background have had very little education, or inclination to want to read anything more than romance novels.”

 

“Well,” Lettice admits. “I must confess that I do quite enjoy romance novels, and I wouldn’t be as well read if it weren’t for Margot.”

 

“Aha!” Selwyn laughs, popping some carrots smeared in gravy into his mouth.

 

“But,” Lettice quickly adds in her defence. “I’ll have you know that my father is a great believer in the education of ladies, and so was my grandfather, and I applied myself when I studied, and I enjoyed it.”

 

“It shows my Angel,” Selwyn assures her. “You are far more interesting than any other lady I’ve met in polite society, most of whom haven’t an original thought in their heads.”

 

“I take after my Aunt Egg, who learned Greek amongst other languages, which served her well when she decided to go there to study ancient art. Although Mater insisted that I not go to a girl’s school, so I would not become a bluestocking*** and thereby spoil my marriage prospects by demonstrating…”

 

“That’s what I was implying,” Selwyn interrupts in desperate defence of his incorrect assumptions about Lettice. “Most girls I have met either feign a lack of intelligence, or more often genuinely are dim witted. Admittedly, it’s not really their fault. With mothers like yours, who believe that the only position for a girl of good breeding is that of marriage, they seldom get educated well, and their brains sit idle.”

 

“Well, I have a brain, and I know how to use it. Pater and Aunt Egg drummed into me the importance of intelligence as well as good manners and looks in women of society.”

 

“Well, there are a great many ladies whom I have met who could take a leaf out of your book. I know you have a mind of your own, my Angel,” Selwyn purrs. “And that’s one of the many attributes about you that I like. Having a conversation with you about art, or my passion of architecture, is so refreshing in comparison to speaking about floral arrangements or the weather, as I shall soon have to when I start escorting my cousin Pamela for the London Season.”

 

Lettice cannot help but shudder silently at the mention of Selwyn’s cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers, for she is immediately reminded of what Sir John Nettleford-Hughes said to her at the society wedding of her friend Priscilla Kitson-Fahey to American Georgie Carter in November. He pointed out to her that Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, plans to match Selwyn and Pamela. From his point of view, it was already a fait accompli.

 

“I like my cousin,” Selwyn carries on, not noticing the bristle pulsating through Lettice. “But like so many of the other debutantes of 1923, she is lacking interests beyond the marriage market and social gossip and intrigues. You, on the other hand, my Angel, are well informed, and have your own opinions.”

 

“Well, you can thank Pater for instilling that in me. He hired some very intelligent governesses to school my sister and I in far more than embroidery, floral arranging and polite conversation.”

 

“And I’m jolly glad of it, my darling.”

 

“And Aunt Egg told me that I should never be afraid to express my opinion, however different, so long as it is artfully couched.”

 

“I like the sound of your Aunt Egg.”

 

“I don’t think your mother would approve of her, nor of me having a brain, Selwyn. Would she? I’m sure she would prefer you to marry one of those twittering and decorous debutantes.” She tries her luck. “Like your cousin Pamela, perhaps?”

 

“Oh, come now, Lettice darling!” Selwyn replies. If she has thrown a bone, he isn’t taking it as he rests the heels of his hands on the edge of the white linen tablecloth, clutching his cutlery. He chews his mouthful of roast beef before continuing. “That isn’t fair, even to Zinnia. She’s a very intelligent woman herself, with quite a capacity for witty conversation about all manner of topics, and she reads voraciously on many subjects.”

 

“I was talking to Leslie about what his impressions of your mother were when I went down to Glynes**** for his wedding in November.”

 

“Were you now?” Selwyn’s eyebrows arch with surprise over his widening eyes.

 

“Yes,” Lettice smirks, taking a mouthful of roast potato drizzled in gravy which falls apart on her tongue. Chewing her food, she feels emboldened, and sighs contentedly as she wonders whether Sir John was just spitting sour grapes because she prefers Selwyn’s company rather than his. Finishing her mouthful she elucidates, “Leslie is a few years older than us, and of course, I only remember her as that angry woman in black who pulled you away after we’d played in the hedgerows.”

 

“Well, she obviously left a lasting impression on you!” Selwyn chortles.

 

“But it isn’t a fair one, is it?” she asks rhetorically. “So, I asked Leslie what he remembered of her from time they spent together in the drawing room whilst you and I were tucked up in bed in the nursery.”

 

“And what was Leslie’s impression of Zinnia?”

 

“That, as you say, she is a witty woman, and that she liked to hold men in her thrall with her beauty, wit and intelligence.”

 

“Well, he’s quite right about that.”

 

“But that she didn’t much like other ladies for company, especially intelligent ones who might draw the gentlemen’s attention away from her glittering orbit.”

 

Selwyn chews his mouthful of dinner and concentrates on his dinner plate with downcast, contemplative eyes. He swallows but remains silent for a moment longer as he mulls over his own thoughts.

 

After a few moments of silence, Lettice airs an unspoken thought that has been ruminating about her head ever since Selwyn mentioned her. “You know, I’d love to meet Zinnia.”

 

Selwyn chuckles but looks down darkly into his glass of red wine. “But you have met her, Lettice darling. You just said so yourself. She was that angry woman yelling at you as I was dragged from the hedgerows of your father’s estate.”

 

“I know, but that doesn’t count! We were children. No, I’ve heard of her certainly over the years, but now that I’ve become reacquainted with you as an adult, and now that we are being serious with one another.” She pauses. “We are being serious with one another, aren’t we Selwyn?”

 

“Of course we are, Lettice.” Selwyn replies, unable to keep his irritation at her question out of his voice. “You know we are.” Falling back into silence, he runs his tongue around the inside of his cheek as he retreats back into his own inner most thoughts.

 

“Then I’d so very much like to meet her. You have met my toadying mother. Why shouldn’t I meet yours?”

 

“Be careful what you wish for, my Angel.” he cautions.

 

“What do you mean, Selwyn darling?”

 

Selwyn doesn’t answer straight away. He absently fiddles with the silver salt shaker from the cruet set in front of him, rolling its bulbous form about in his palm, as if considering whether it will give him an answer of some kind.

 

“Selwyn?” Lettice asks, leaning over and putting a hand on her companion’s broad shoulder.

 

“Just that you may not like her when you meet her.” He shrugs. “That’s all. Toadying is certainly not a word I would associate with Zinnia on any given day, that’s for certain.”

 

“Or you might be implying she might not like me.” Lettice remarks downheartedly. “Is that it?”

 

Softening his tone, Selwyn assures her, “I like you, and I’m sure she will too. You will get to meet her soon enough, Lettice darling. I promise. But not yet.” He suddenly snaps out of his contemplations and starts to cut a piece off his roast beef, slicing into the juicy flesh with sharp jabs of his knife. “We have plenty of time for all that. Let’s just enjoy us for now, and be content with that.”

 

“Oh of course, Selwyn darling,” Lettice stammers. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean, now.”

 

“I know you didn’t may angel.” He sees the look of concern she is giving him as she stiffens and sits back in her straight backed chair, afraid that she has offended him. “I just like it being just us for now, without the complication of Zinnia.”

 

“Is she complicated?”

 

“More than you’ll ever know, my angel. Aren’t most mothers?”

 

“I suppose.”

 

“Anyway, enough about Zinnia! I don’t want this evening to be about Zinnia! I want it to be about us. So not another word about her. Alright?” When Lettice nods shallowly, he continues, “I’m here to celebrate the success of Mr. and Mrs. Musgrave of Highgate being happy with their newly completed home.”

 

“Oh yes! Your first architectural commission completed and received with great success!” Lettice enthuses. “Let’s raise a toast to that.” She picks up her glass of red wine, which gleams under the diffused light of the chandeliers in Simpson’s dining room. “Cheers to you Selwyn, and your ongoing success.”

 

Their glasses clink cheerily.

 

“And what of Bruton?”

 

“Oh, Gerald is doing very well!” Lettice assures Selwyn, returning her glass to the tabletop. “His couture business is really starting to flourish.”

 

“It’s a bit of rum business*****, a chap making frocks for ladies, isn’t it?” Selwyn screws up his nose in a mixture of a lack of comprehension and distaste.

 

“It’s what he’s good at,” Lettice tugs at the peacock blue ruched satin sleeve of her evening gown as proof, feeling proud to wear one of her friend’s designs. “And he’s hardly the first couturier who’s a man, is he, Selwyn Darling?”

 

“I suppose not. Zinnia does buy frocks from the house of Worth******, and he was a man.”

 

“Exactly.” Lettice soothes. “And who would know what suits a lady better than a man?”

 

“Yes, and I must say,” Selwyn says, looking his companion up and down appreciatively in her shimmering evening gown covered in matching peacock blue bugle beads. “You do look positively ravishing in his creation.”

 

“Thank you, Selwyn.” Lettice murmurs, her face flushing at the compliment.

 

“We never see him at the club any more. I think the last time I saw him was the night I met you at your parents’ Hunt Ball, and that was almost a year ago.”

 

“Oh well,” Lettice blusters awkwardly, thinking quickly as to what excuse she can give for her dearest friend. She knows how dire Gerald’s finances are, partially as a result of his father’s pecuniary restraints, and she suspects that this fact is likely the reason why Gerald doesn’t attend his club any longer, even if he is still a member. Even small outlays at his club could tilt him the wrong way financially. However she also knows that this is a fact not widely known, and it would embarrass him so much were it to become public knowledge, especially courtesy of her, his best friend. “Running a business, especially in its infancy like Gerald’s and mine, can take time, a great deal of time as a matter of fact.”

 

“But you have time, my Angel, to spend time with me.” He eyes her. “Are you covering for Bruton?”

 

Lettice’s face suddenly drains of colour at Selwyn’s question. “No… no, I.”

 

Lowering his voice again, Selwyn asks, “He hasn’t taken after his brother and found himself an unsuitable girl, has he?”

 

Lettice releases the breath she has held momentarily in her chest and sighs.

 

“I know Gerald wouldn’t go for a local publican’s daughter, like Roland did, but being artistic like he is, I could imagine him with a chorus girl, and I know if news of that ever got back to Old Man Bruton, there would be fireworks, and it would be a bloody******* time for Bruton. Poor chap!”

 

“No, no, Selwyn darling!” Lettice replies with genuine relief. “I can assure you,” And as she puts her hand to her thumping heart, she knows she speaks the truth. “Gerald hasn’t taken up with a chorus girl. He genuinely is busy with his couture business. Establishing oneself, as you know only too well, isn’t easy, even for a duke’s son, much less a lower member of the aristocracy without the social profile. And my business is ticking along quite nicely now, so I don’t need to put in as much effort as Gerald does.”

 

“But how selfish of me, my Angel!” Selwyn exclaims, putting his glass down abruptly and looking to his companion. “What a prig I’m being, aggrandising myself and bringing up Bruton, when you said that you had something to celebrate tonight too. What is it?”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing like you’ve done, by finishing a house for someone.” Lettice says, flapping her hand dismissively.

 

“Well, what is it, Lettice darling?” Selwyn insists. “Tell me!”

 

Lettice looks down at her plate for a moment and then remarks rather offhandedly, “It was only that I had a telephone call from Henry Tipping******** the other day, and received confirmation that my interior for Dickie and Margot Channon’s Cornwall house ‘Chi an Treth’ will be featured in an upcoming edition of Country Life.”

 

“Oh may Angel!” Selwyn exclaims. “That’s wonderful!” He leans over and kisses her affectionately, albeit with the reserve that is expected between two unmarried people whilst dining in a public place, but with no less genuine delight for her. “That’s certainly more than nothing, and is something also worth celebrating!” I say, let’s raise a toast to you.” He picks up his glass of red wine again. “Cheers to you Lettice, and may the article bring you lots of recognition and new business.”

 

The pair clink glasses yet again and smile at one another.

 

*After a modest start in 1828 as a smoking room and soon afterwards as a coffee house, Simpson's-in-the-Strand achieved a dual fame, around 1850, for its traditional English food, particularly roast meats, and also as the most important venue in Britain for chess in the Nineteenth Century. Chess ceased to be a feature after Simpson's was bought by the Savoy Hotel group of companies at the end of the Nineteenth Century, but as a purveyor of traditional English food, Simpson's has remained a celebrated dining venue throughout the Twentieth Century and into the Twenty-First Century. P.G. Wodehouse called it "a restful temple of food"

 

**Howards End is a novel by E. M. Forster, first published in 1910, about social conventions, codes of conduct and relationships in turn-of-the-century England. Howards End is considered by many to be Forster's masterpiece. The book was conceived in June 1908 and worked on throughout the following year; it was completed in July 1910

 

***The term bluestocking was applied to any of a group of women who in mid Eighteenth Century England held “conversations” to which they invited men of letters and members of the aristocracy with literary interests. The word over the passing centuries has come to be applied derisively to a woman who affects literary or learned interests.

 

****Glynes is the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie.

 

*****Rum is a British slang word that means odd (in a negative way) or disreputable.

 

******Charles Frederick Worth was an English fashion designer who founded the House of Worth, one of the foremost fashion houses of the Nineteenth and early Twentieth centuries. He is considered by many fashion historians to be the father of haute couture. Worth is also credited with revolutionising the business of fashion. Established in Paris in 1858, his fashion salon soon attracted European royalty, and where they led monied society followed. An innovative designer, he adapted 19th-century dress to make it more suited to everyday life, with some changes said to be at the request of his most prestigious client Empress Eugénie. He was the first to replace the fashion dolls with live models in order to promote his garments to clients, and to sew branded labels into his clothing; almost all clients visited his salon for a consultation and fitting – thereby turning the House of Worth into a society meeting point. By the end of his career, his fashion house employed 1,200 people and its impact on fashion taste was far-reaching.

 

*******The old fashioned British term “looking bloody” was a way of indicating how dour or serious a person or occasion looks.

 

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

 

Comfortable, cosy and terribly English, the interior of Simpson’s-in-the-Strand may look real to you, but it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.

 

The dining table is correctly set for a four course Edwardian dinner partially ended, with the first course already concluded using cutlery, from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. The delicious looking roast dinner on the dinner plates, the bowls of vegetables, roast potatoes, boat of gravy and Yorkshire puddings and on the tabletop have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The red wine glasses bought them from a miniatures stockist on E-Bay. Each glass is hand blown using real glass. The silver cruet set in the middle of the table has been made with great attention to detail, and comes from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The silver meat cover you can just see in the background to the left of the photo also comes from Warwick Miniatures.

 

The table on which all these items stand is a Queen Anne lamp table which I was given for my seventh birthday. It is one of the very first miniature pieces of furniture I was ever given as a child. The Queen Anne dining chairs were all given to me as a Christmas present when I was around the same age.

 

The vase of flowers in the background I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The wood panelling in the background is real, as I shot this scene on the wood panelled mantle of my drawing room. The paintings hanging from the wooden panels come from an online stockist on E-Bay.

Solitude offers a joy in dance, too. No audience needed, you know the moves by heart.

 

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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 have left the hustle and bustle of London, travelling southwest to the pretty Cornish town of Penzance. A short drive out of the town, friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot, encouraged by her father Lord de Virre who will foot the bill, has commissioned Lettice to redecorate a few of the principal rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’. In the lead up to the wedding, Lord de Virre has spent a great deal of money making the Regency house habitable after many years of sitting empty and bringing it up to the Twentieth Century standards his daughter expects, paying for electrification, replumbing, and a connection to the Penzance telephone exchange. With their honeymoon over, Dickie and Margot have finally taken possession of their country house gift and invited Lettice to come and spend a Friday to Monday with them earlier in the year so that she might view the rooms Margot wants redecorating for herself and could start formulating some ideas as to how modernise their old fashioned décor.

 

After gaining approval from Margot for her designs, Lettice has returned alone to ‘Chi an Treth’ for two days. Margot in her desire to turn ‘Chi an Treth’ from a dark Regency house to a more modern country house flooded with light, has instructed Lettice to dispose of some of the darker historical pieces of furniture from the house and replace them with newer, lighter pieces. This idea rather upset Lettice, who has a very strong sense of history. Fortunately, her dear friend Gerald came up with the idea that she can repaint and re-purpose a few pieces, thus satisfying Margot’s desires for lighter and newer pieces, whilst also keeping the history of furnishings intact within ‘Chi an Treth’. And that is why Lettice is back in Penzance. She has selected several rather nice pieces for repurposing, reupholstering and repainting or re-staining, and already they are on their way back to London in the back of a lorry which arrived at ‘Chi an Treth’ this morning. Lettice will deal with the selection of pieces when she returns to the capital later in the day.

 

Whilst in the vicinity, Lettice has decided to spend a leisurely afternoon in and around Penzance before travelling back to London by train, exploring the town’s sights. Not driving a motor car, Mr. Trevethan, one of ‘Chi an Treth’s’ caretakers and its only gardener, has put himself and his pony trap at Lettice’s disposal. With his knowledge of the area, having been born and bred in Penzance, Lettice has taken in some of the area’s churches, including the St. Pol de Leon Church in Paul with its recently installed Arts and Crafts Movement memorial window to Lieutenant William Torquil Macleod Bolitho, designed by Robert Anning Bell, the Gulval Parish Church, St. Mary the Virgin Church, and St. Hilary Church. Mr. Trevethan has also shown her Lanyon Quoit*.

 

Going home to ‘Chi an Treth’ for his dinner** and to collect Lettice’s luggage to then deliver to the Penzance railway station, Mr. Trevethan has left Lettice in town so that she can amuse herself and take luncheon at her leisure before walking down to the station in time to catch her afternoon train to London. Wandering along Penzance’s Chapel Street with its interesting huddles of mish-mashed Victorian, Georgian and older single and two storey buildings, whilst looking for a small café to take tea and a light early afternoon meal, she walks past a Georgian glass window full of interesting bits and pieces that catches her eye and distracts her from her search.

 

“Mrs. Trevithick’s Treasures.” she reads aloud from the sign painted in an elegant cursive script above the window and then bursts out laughing. “Goodness, is everyone in Penzance a Tre-something?”

 

Looking again in the window she spies through her own ghostly and distorted reflection some old and rather ornate Victorian vases, a green glass water jug decorated with flowers, two Staffordshire dogs, some horse brasses, a set of fire irons and some blue and white pottery amongst many other things crammed in together. The interesting array of items, placed in a deliberate, yet at the same time a higgledy-piggledy fashion suggests to Lettice that Mrs. Trevithick might indeed have some treasures, if only you took the time to explore.

 

She glances at the dainty gold wrist watch on her left hand, a gift from her Aunt Eglantine when she turned eighteen. “Oh well, there is a dining car on the train,” she assures herself. “I’ll forego luncheon in town.”

 

Ignoring her stomach’s gently rumbling protestations, she pushes open the door to Mrs. Trevithick’s Treasures and wanders in.

 

A bell above the door clangs noisily as Lettice steps across the threshold, announcing her presence. For a moment she is plunged into darkness as her eyes adjust from the bright spring sunshine outside to the dimmer interior of the curiosity shop. A comforting smell, a mixture of bees’ wax polish and old paper, reminds her of the premises of the cabinet maker and upholsterer that she employs in London. The shop is quiet, with only the sound of ticking clocks, and the muffled sound of passing foot traffic and gulls outside breaking the soft silence. As her sight returns, she discovers a large and wide low ceilinged room decorated with William Morris wallpaper which, like the window, is full to bursting with a haphazard arrangement of interesting and mismatched items. Chintz covered armchairs that would suit a cosy seaside cottage jostle for space with high backed Victorian dining chairs with ornate barley twist decoration. Tables of all sorts of shapes and sizes cluster about, covered in embroidered doilies, decorative china and tableware, figurines, novelty teapots and pieces of silver plate. The walls are covered in everything from clocks and paintings of differing shapes and sizes to an impressive stuffed deer’s head.

 

“Can I help you, dear?” a Cornish accented female voice pipes up from somewhere deep within the shop’s interior.

 

Lettice turns towards a cabinet full of brightly coloured glass which is where the voice appears to have originated from. It is then she sees the woman hunched over a desk covered in open books and papers, peering up at her through a pair of rather thick spectacles.

 

“Mrs. Trevithick, I presume?” Lettice asks.

 

“I am dear. Can I help you?” She smiles cheerily, revealing a set of lovely white teeth. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

 

Lettice considers Mrs. Trevithick for a moment. She is much younger than she assumed a proprietor of such a shop would be, possibly being only a little older than she herself, with pale almost translucent skin, alert brown eyes and raven black hair set in a Marcelled wave***. She is a doughy woman with thick limbs and a burgeoning stomach stretching the cheap fabric of a gaily floral spring frock. Green and red glass beads cascade down her front, the strands pushed together by her heavy breasts.

 

“Ah,” Lettice hesitates. “No. No thank you. I’m just having a browse. Thank you.”

 

“Very good dearie,” Mrs. Trevithick replies happily as she settles back down over the desk where she resumes sorting paperwork. “Just let me know if you do.”

 

Lettice wanders away, pausing momentarily to admire a rather nice chess set put out on an inlaid chess table before moving along to peer into a large cabinet set against a wall, its glass front covered in Art Nouveau fretwork.

 

“It’s a lovely piece that.” Mrs, Trevithick pipes up from her desk, causing Lettice to gasp and jump at the shattering of the shop’s silence. “It comes from a very nice house here in Penzance. A very good quality piece from a nice family.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice acknowledges. “I’m sure it is. It’s very fine.”

 

She quickly moves on, and glances at an old and dark wooden screen.

 

“That came from an old widow’s cottage,” Mrs. Trevithick calls again from her seat at her desk. “Lots of history in that one.”

 

“Quite.” Lettice’s clipped reply slice sharply through the musty fug of the shop as she hurriedly steps away from the screen, slightly unnerved by the proprietor’s keen interest in her every move around the shop.

 

“Yes,” Mrs. Trevithick continues, groaning as she heaves herself up from her seat, the beads down her front tinkling and clunking as they knock together with her movement. “Poor old dear, she died of the influenza a few years back, before she could tell me it’s whole provenance.” The bulging figure of the female proprietor is now full revealed as she waddles out from behind the desk, her curvaceous hip narrowly missing a rather pretty fluted cranberry glass vase with a gilded lip. “But I think it might be mid Victorian.”

 

Lettice cannot help herself. “I think you’ll find it’s probably Georgian,” she corrects the shopkeeper.

 

“Oh?” Mrs. Trevithick’s face narrows slightly as her mouth goes round in surprise, obviously unused to being told by potential customers the age of her pieces. “Know something about antiques do you, dearie?”

 

“Yes. I’m an interior designer.” Lettice says proudly.

 

Yet even as she speaks, Lettice realises her mistake, for Mrs. Trevithick’s dark eyes sparkle as she catches on to that little piece of information and clings to it, rather like a fisherman expertly hooking a prize catch of a fat fish.

 

“You’re not from around these parts, are you?” Mrs. Trevithick notes, moving closer.

 

“Ahh, no.” Lettice replies noncommittally as she distractedly picks up a rather ugly and garishly painted teapot in the shape of Queen Victoria.

 

“From London?” the shopkeeper persists, her tongue running along the inside of her teeth.

 

“Yes.” Lettice replies laconically as she replaces the unattractive squat piece of vulgar Victorian pottery to its place atop a prettily embroidered doily.

 

“A friend of the new master and mistress of ‘Chi an Treth’ then?” Mrs. Trevithick asks. “They come from London. Well at least Mrs. Channon does. Of course, Mr. Channon is the Marquess of Taunton’s son. However, you must know that, being their friend.”

 

Lettice sighs, realising that now she has given herself away a little, her battle for anonymity is all but lost under the gently lilting, yet persistent interrogation of an expert town gossip like Mrs. Trevithick. No doubt Mrs. Trevethan, or even her husband would have spread the gossip of the newlyweds arriving, followed closely by their two fine friends from London, through Penance via the shops they frequented or in Mr. Trevethan’s case, one of the town’s pubs. Lettice remembers what the parochial village gossip at Glynes**** is like. Whilst Penzance is significantly larger than the village of Glynes, evidently the insatiable desire for attractive gossip, especially from out-of-towners like Lettice, is just as rampant.

 

“Would you perchance happen to be the young woman from London commissioned to redecorate some of the principle rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’ then?” the proprietor’s sausage like fingers steeple in front of her heavy breasts as she moves even more closely to Lettice, like a hunting dog hot on the trail of its prey. Mrs. Trevithick’s voice is thick with expectant delight, and she sighs with undisguised pleasure when Lettice affirms that she is indeed the woman whom she refers to. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise then isn’t it?”

 

“Is it?” Lettice feigns a lack of concern as she eyes a rather nice wall clock with a shining brass pendulum, the face set to the wrong time, doubtless on purpose by Mrs. Trevithick to confuse her browsers and help them forget the time so they will delay longer in her shop and perhaps buy something.

 

“Yes.” the shopkeeper enthuses, her lashes batting slightly as she speaks. “For as you can see, I am a purveyor of old things that their former owners no longer wanted.”

 

Lettice’s eyes grow wide with shock at the blatant attempt the other woman has made to acquire pieces from ‘Chi an Treth’s’ interior furnishings through her. Fortunately, her back is turned to Mrs. Trevithick, so she cannot see Lettice’s repugnance of her. “I… I don’t quite follow,” Lettice pretends misunderstanding, turning to face the shop proprietor with her own lids lowered slightly so as not to engage with her intense stare.

 

“Oh well,” Mrs, Trevithick elucidates in an oily fashion. “I believe Mrs. Channon is wanting more up-to-date décor, something more suited to a fashionable London lady, and has advised Mrs. Trevethan to prepare to remove several offending furnishings from the house. If you are looking to sell those pieces, please look no further. I will give you the best prices for them in Penance.”

 

Lettice smiles, the triumph in what she is about to say teasing the edges of her finely painted lips upwards. “Oh I’m so sorry Mrs. Trevithick, but you have been misinformed.”

 

“I… I have?” she stutters.

 

“Or rather your informant is not in full possession of the facts,”

 

“She… she isn’t?”

 

“No.” Lettice carries on, a superior lilt sharpening her already well pronounced words. “You see, it is true that Mrs. Channon has commissioned me to update several of her principal rooms. However, like me, she respects the history of ‘Chi an Treth’ and wishes me to repurpose some of the, as you put it, offending pieces of furniture, rather than fling them all out. In fact, “ Lettice turns her head away, hiding behind the lilac velvet brim of her hat decorated with white lace and imitation violets. “They left for London on the back of a lorry just a few hours ago.”

 

As she speaks, Lettice’s eyes fall upon several rather pretty silhouettes hanging above a table covered in Staffordshire pottery and domed Victorian seashell specimens, to either side of a barley twist shadow cabinet full of pretty china trios. Housed in round ivory frames, three are of gentlemen and one of a woman, and as Lettice stares at them, she notices how finely they have been executed.

 

“However, you are correct about one thing, Mrs. Trevithick.”

 

“Yes?” the other woman asks, hope adding an upwards lilt to her question of Lettice.

 

Lettice turns back. “We can do a little business. You see, I rather like these four silhouettes in the oval frames.” She smiles politely at Mrs. Trevithick. “They appear to be fifteen shillings each, so that’s three pounds in total. If you’d kindly wrap them up for me, I’ll take them with me now, as I am to catch the afternoon train back to London shortly.”

 

“Of course, dearie.” Mrs. Trevithick replies, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.

 

Mrs. Trevithick moves forward and carefully unfastens the wires suspending the pictures from the hooks on the wall before waddling back to her desk, where she carefully wraps each one in tissue paper. As she does, Lettice stands by the desk and watches as the pretty silhouettes up.

 

“I have one more question, madam.” the shopkeeper asks coolly, using the more formal title rather than her initial friendly endearment.

 

“Yes, Mrs. Trevithick?” Lettice replies.

 

“I take it you were the lady who found the missing painting of Miss Elowen Rosevear?” She folds tissue neatly around a black frame, her thick fingers remarkably adept at wrapping neatly. When Lettice nods affirmatively, she continues. “Is she really as beautiful as Mrs Trevethan says?”

 

Lettice looks at the crestfallen woman, her shoulders slumped, and feels sorry for her. “I’m not sure how Mrs, Trevethan described her, Mrs, Trevithick. I will say that she is very beautiful indeed with dark hair and an enigmatic smile.”

 

“Mrs. Trevethan says that Mr. and Mrs. Channon took her up to London with them when they left.”

 

“You surely don’t propose to buy her, do you Mrs. Trevithick?” Lettice bursts out laughing. “She may be a Winterhalter*****, which will probably put her out of the acquisition of a provincial high street curiosity shop.”

 

“Oh no,” the shopkeeper assures her, raising her hands from her work in defence of her words. “I was just wondering if she was coming home.”

 

“If?” Lettice queries.

 

“Well,” Mrs. Trevithick looks around her, as if suspecting the walls of her cluttered shop to have ears. “I shouldn’t say this, but I imagine that if you are friends with Mr. Channon, that this will be of no surprise.”

 

“Are you about to be indiscreet?”

 

“Probably. But I want to ask anyway.”

 

“Very well, Mrs, Trevithick. I’ll keep your confidences,” Lettice looks at her, cocking her eyebrows questioningly.

 

“Well, it is common knowledge that the Marquess has squandered quite a lot of money, and Mrs. Trevethan is concerned that if the painting really is a valuable one, it may not be returned to ‘Chi an Treth’, as the Marquess might sell it.”

 

“Why didn’t Mrs. Trevethan ask me this question herself, Mrs. Trevithick?”

 

The shopkeeper chuckles bitterly to herself. “Because, as you’ve noted already, madam, I am perhaps less discreet than she is. She would never ask such a question of her master and mistress, or any of their friends. That’s why she can work successfully in service, and I can’t. I lost more than one position in service before the war because I like gossip too much. I don’t wish the war we had on anyone, but it enabled me to take up factory work, and that was where I met my husband, and with our wages from factory work during the war, we were able to set up this shop. Mrs. Trevethan feels terrible that such a beautiful piece of the house’s history, a house that she loves and that has been her home for more than forty years, might now be lost.”

 

“Does she wish I hadn’t found Miss Rosevear’s portrait, Mrs. Trevithick?” Lettice asks.

 

“She hasn’t said that to me, madam, but I suspect it does grieve her a little. After all, Mrs. Trevethan is the caretaker of ‘Chi an Treth’. To lose such a treasure, for it to be sold up in London and to never see it again, would be most upsetting. I’m sure you can understand that.”

 

“I can, Mrs. Trevithick.”

 

“Then?” The shopkeeper recommences her wrapping, a final wrap of tissue paper hissing as it gets folded about the frames before being tied with string. “Then is Miss Rosevear’s painting coming home.”

 

“Well Mrs. Trevithick,” Lettice sighs. “Mrs. Channon wants Miss Rosevear’s portrait hanging in pride of place in the drawing room at ‘Chi an Treth’. I’ve been friends with Margot for quite a few years now, and I can say that she is used to getting her way. Therefore, no matter what the Marquess, or even Mr, Channon might wish,” Lettice winks conspiratorially. “I think Miss Rosevear will most certainly be coming home after being authenticated in London.”

 

As Mrs. Trevithick ties the last of the string in place to secure the four silhouettes and passes the neatly wrapped parcel across the counter, she smiles gratefully at Lettice. Lettice wonders if she has done the right thing by saying what she has to the shopkeeper. She knows that as soon as she leaves the shop, or not much after that, Mrs. Trevithick will put a closed sign across the door and scuttle away, possibly to ‘Chi an Treth’ to tell Mrs. Trevethan the good news. Although she believes her pronouncement for the most part, Gerald’s voice echoes at the back of her mind, worrying her, for he predicts that the Marquess will sell Miss Rosevear at auction if she is found to be a genuine Winterhalter. Reasonably, who could blame him if his own family coffers are empty and he wishes to maintain a certain level of gracious living to which he and his wife have always been accustomed. The Marquess and Marchioness of Taunton are not the only aristocrats in straitened circumstances with the demise of the Gilded Age thanks in part to the war, and many noble families are faced with the idea of marrying in a young American heiress to the family, or sell an old master. Lettice is only grateful that her family is not one of them, perhaps more owing to luck and he eldest brother Leslie’s influence rather than outright planning.

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Trevithick.” Lettice says politely as she opens the door, the clanging bell ringing loudly overhead.

 

“Goodbye, dearie.” the shopkeeper waves, having reverted back to her warmer term of endearment.

 

Lettice, her parcel settled neatly under her left arm, walks back out onto the street and starts her journey along Chapel Street, before turning right into Market Jew Street and heading towards the Penance railway station where her London bound train awaits her.

 

*Lanyon Quoit is believed to be a burial chamber or a mausoleum from prehistoric times, this well-known Cornish quoit collapsed during a storm in 1815, breaking some stones, and was re-erected several years later.

 

**It was not uncommon in lower-class households for luncheon to be the main meal of the day, and thus, even though it was had in the middle of the day, it was often referred to as dinner. A lighter meal taken in the evening was often referred to as tea, rather than dinner, often because it was had with a cup of tea, and in some very poor households might only have consisted of a slice of thin bread and dripping.

 

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

 

****Glynes is the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. The village of Glynes, named after the house, sprung up on one edge of the Chetwynd’s estate.

 

*****Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805 – 1873) was a German painter and lithographer, known for his flattering portraits of royalty and upper-class society in the mid-19th century. His name has become associated with fashionable court portraiture. Among his best known works are Empress Eugénie Surrounded by her Ladies in Waiting (1855) and the portraits he made of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1865).

 

This busy shop floor is a little different to what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The four silhouettes in round ebonised frames are taken from real Victorian and Regency silhouettes and were made by hand by Lady Mile Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The two miniatures of a nightwatchman and a sweep came from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The furnishings in Mrs. Trevithick’s shop include a floral armchair, Art Nouveau fretwork cabinet and leather topped Chippendale desk made by the high-end miniature furniture manufacturers, Bespaq, a Victorian dining chair made by Town Hall Miniatures a wooden screen made by Shackleton Miniatures and a Queen Anne lamp table that I have had since I was about seven years old.

 

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

 

On the Chippendale desk stand a selection of Staffordshire pieces including two Staffordshire dogs, a fox family, a pastille burner in the shape of a cottage (also called a “cottage orné”) and a cabbage bowl, all of which have been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. Also on the desk to either end stand shell and seaweed displays beneath a glass cloches. Vintage miniature pieces, the shells and seaweed are real. Their bases are stained wood and the cloche is real glass. These I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The cabinet to the left of the photograph is full of teapots and jugs made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.

 

The tea set on the centre of the image and the cups and saucers in the shadow box on the wall (also acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom) all come from various online miniature stockists on E-Bay.

 

The clock on the wall and the painting of horses also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The cranberry glass vase in the foreground has been hand blown from real cranberry glass and gilded. It comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The Queen Victoria teapot in the extreme foreground is a hand painted miniature by an unknown artist which I acquired from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The beautiful 1:12 size chess set is an artisan piece. To give you an idea of size, the pawns are only two millimetres in height! There are two wooden drawers beneath the board to house the pieces when not in use, and what is really wonderful is that the chess board surface is magnetic, which holds each metal piece nicely in place until moved!

 

The Persian carpet beneath the furniture is hand made by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia.

 

The wallpaper on the cluttered walls is William Morris’ “Sweet Briar” paper that I have printed.

Niagara USA offers a breathtaking view of one of nature’s marvels and an experience that will last a life time.

The Niagara Falls are the most powerful waterfalls in North America. These voluminous waterfalls are situated on the Niagara River, which drains Lake Erie into Lake Ontario and forms the international border between the Canadian province of Ontario and the U.S. state of New York and forms the southern end of the Niagara Gorge.

Offer an almost abstract sight.

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

 

Today however we have left the hustle and bustle of London, travelling southwest to a stretch of windswept coastline just a short drive the pretty Cornish town of Penzance. Here, friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot, encouraged by her father Lord de Virre who will foot the bill, has commissioned Lettice to redecorate a few of the principal rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’. In the lead up to the wedding, Lord de Virre has spent a great deal of money making the Regency house habitable after many years of sitting empty and bringing it up to the Twentieth Century standards his daughter expects, paying for electrification, replumbing, and a connection to the Penzance telephone exchange. Now, with their honeymoon over, Dickie and Margot have finally taken possession of their country house gift and have invited Lettice to come and spend a Friday to Monday with them so that she might view the rooms Margot wants redecorating for herself and perhaps start formulating some ideas as to how modernise their old fashioned décor. As Lettice is unable to drive and therefore does not own a car, Margot and Dickie have extended the weekend invitation to one of their other Embassy Club coterie, Lettice’s old childhood chum, Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. Gerald owns a Morris*, so he can motor both Lettice and himself down from London on Friday and back again on Monday. After the retirement of the housekeeper, Mrs. Trevethan, from the main house to the gatekeeper’s cottage the previous evening, the quartet of Bright Young Things** played a spirited game of sardines*** and in doing so, potentially solved the romantic mystery of ‘Chi an Treth’ after discovering a boxed up painting, long forgotten, of a great beauty.

 

Now we find ourselves in ‘Chi an Treth’s’ Regency breakfast room with views through the French doors, overlooking the wild coast on a remarkably sunny day for this time of year. Dickie, Margot and Gerald are all seated around the table in their pyjamas and robes enjoying breakfast, some with more gusto than others, as Lettice stumbles into the room and joins them at the table.

 

“All hail the discoverer of lost treasures and the solver of mysteries!” cries Dickie dramatically as he doffs an invisible hat towards his friend.

 

“Oh!” gasps Gerald, raising his right hand gingerly to his temple. “Must you be so loud Dickie? Is he always like this in the mornings, Margot darling?”

 

“He is, Gerald,” Margot sighs from her seat opposite him at the breakfast table as she takes a slice of thinly sliced toast and spreads marmalade across it with as little noise as possible.

 

“Morning Dickie!” Lettice returns Dickie’s welcome, walking up to him and placing a kiss firmly on the top of his head amidst his sleep tousled sandy hair. “Good morning, Margot. Good morning, Gerald.” Stumbling down the room and reaching her seat at the table opposite Dickie she picks up her glass tumbler and then turns to Gerald to adds. “It could be worse.”

 

“What could be?” Gerald asks, taking the pot from Margot’s outstretched hand and proceeding to plop a generous spoonful of marmalade on his own toast slices.

 

“Dickie’s frightfully jolly morning personality trait.” she replies, walking back the way she came to the sideboard, where she helps herself to orange juice. “His cousin, the Earl McCrea, plays the bagpipes every morning to wake the guests when he’s on his Scottish estate.”

 

“How frightful,” Gerald winces at the thought before continuing in a withering voice. “After a night of champagne like we had last night, that’s the last thing I should want.”

 

“Apparently the Prince of Wales quite likes it though**** when he visits.” Margot adds. “Coffee, Lettice darling?”

  

“Tea,” Lettice replies laconically before turning her attention to the lidded chaffing dishes on the sideboard. Lifting one, she quickly drops it when she sees and smells what lies beneath it with a loud clatter that elicits a groan from Gerald, Margot and herself.

 

“Mrs. Trevethan’s kedgeree,” Margot remarks without looking up as she pours tea from a silver teapot into Lettice’s teacup.

 

“Ugh,” mutters Lettice.

 

“It takes some getting used to.” adds Margot.

 

“Is an acquired taste, I’d say.” observes Gerald wryly, looking about the plates at the table. “Since no-one appears to be having any.”

 

“I think my stomach will settle for a boiled egg and an apple.” Lettice places her glass of orange juice gingerly on the tabletop and reaches across to grab an apple from the glass comport in the centre of the table. She then sits before reaching for an egg from the cruet proffered by Margot.

 

“Freshly boiled by Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot says with a smile.

 

“What’s taking that woman so long to bring me a bloody aspirin?” quips Gerald.

 

“God how much did we drink last night?” Lettice asks.

 

“Before, or after you found the Winterhalter*****?” Dickie asks.

 

“That explains why my head is fit for cracking, just like an egg, this morning then.” Lettice rubs her own temples and winces. “I think I could do with a couple of aspirin too.”

 

“Surely they have heard of aspirin down here.” Gerald grumbles, his train of thought about his own sore head undisturbed by the conversation around him.

 

“It is only Cornwall, Gerald darling,” Margot gives him an aghast look. “Not the middle of the Sahara Desert or the Antarctic, you know.”

 

“I might have more luck getting some aspirin in the Sahara.”

 

“Now Gerald, there’s no need to be cantankerous, just because your hangover is purportedly worse than ours.” Margot quips.

 

“Was Mrs. Trevethan cross with the mess, we,” Lettice pauses, blushes and corrects herself. “I… made last night in the storeroom?”

 

“Not at all, dear girl!” Dickie pipes up cheerily, deliberately hitting his own egg with gusto to break the shell, eliciting a scowl from Gerald which he returns with a teasing smile. “Margot and Gerald did a capital job of tidying most of the mess up, and I think the old dear is rather pleased to have people to look after again.”

 

“She can’t care that much about us if it takes this long to fetch me an aspirin.”

 

“Oh do shut up, Gerald old boy,” Dickie barks, surprising even himself at the sudden change to his usual affable self. Taking a few deep breaths, he looks across the coffee pot, teacups and marmalade pot to his friend and continues in laboured syllables. “Look, we all need the bloody aspirins this morning, and they will get here when Mrs. Trevethan gets them to us. Alright, old boy?”

 

Gerald shrinks back in his seat, whilst both Margot and Lettice smirk at one another.

 

“I do like your bed jacket, Lettice darling.” Margot remarks. “It suits you. Did Gerald make it for you?”

 

“This?” Lettice pulls on the burnt orange brocade of her jacket, making the marabou feather trim quiver prettily about her pale face. “No. I actually bought this at Marshall and Snelgrove’s****** because I saw it and I liked the colour.”

 

“And what shall we do today?” Dickie asks the table, casting Gerald a warning look that makes Gerald think twice about saying that his head feels too poorly to do anything.

 

“Well,” Lettice remarks, turning around in her seat to peer through the French doors across the lawn and the windswept tree line. “It’s a fine day today. It might be nice to take advantage of the good weather and go exploring down along the cove.” She turns back. “That’s if no-one else has any other more appealing ideas of course.”

 

Margot smiles and starts nodding. “That sounds splendid, Lettice darling! You could bring your paints with you. There’s a rather nice vista featuring an old lighthouse that I know you would enjoy painting.”

 

“Capital idea, old girl!” Dickie agrees. “The bracing sea breeze will be a perfect way to dust off the fuzzy heads from last night.”

 

Gerald quietly sinks further back in his seat but says nothing.

 

At that moment, the door to the breakfast room creaks open and Mrs. Trevethan shuffles in, wearing the same rather tatty apron over another old fashioned Edwardian print dress of a rather muddy brown colour, carrying a silver tray on which she has several tumblers and a small jar of aspirin. When her eyes fall upon Lettice, she smiles broadly. “Metten daa******* Miss Chetwynd.” she says, dropping a bob curtsey.

 

“Good morning Mrs Trevethan.” Lettice replies.

 

The old woman shuffles across the room and around the oval breakfast table where she removes a glass and the jar of tablets and deposits them in front of Gerald. “Your aspirins, sir.”

 

Dickie gives him a knowing smile, and Gerald mutters a thank you in reply.

 

“I am sorry about the mess we made last night, Mrs, Trevethan.” Lettice apologises to the old Cornish woman as she places a glass tumbler on the table before her, feeling the heat of a fresh blush rising up her throat and into her cheeks as she speaks. “It really was an accident.”

 

“Oh!” scoffs the woman with a dismissive wave of her hand as if shooing a sand fly away. “That’s quite alright. It’s nice to have young people, any people, about the house again after so long. You did make a fine mess, but you cleaned it up pretty well.”

 

“Oh, that was Margot and Gerald’s doing, not mine.” she looks sheepishly to her two friends at either side of her at the table as she sips her orange juice. “I was quite shaken by the whole incident.”

 

“Well, that was quite a pile of things you brought down,” Mrs. Trevethan laughs as she looks down upon the slight girl before her. “Especially for one your size! But look at what hidden treasure you uncovered with it!”

 

“That’s true, Lettice old girl!” Dickie remarks. “If it weren’t for you, that Winterhalter might have sat there another century, evading would-be treasure hunters.”

 

“If it’s a Winterhalter, Dickie,” tempers Lettice. “It may not be. It may not be her.”

 

“Who?” Gerald asks, perplexed, passing Lettice the aspirin bottle after taking out two tablets for himself. “Winterhalter was a man.”

 

“The captain’s lost love of course, Gerald!” scoffs Lettice. “Don’t be dim.”

 

“Sorry, it’s the hangover.”

 

“Oh that’s Miss Rosevear in the painting,” Mrs. Trevethan remarks. “There is no doubt of that.”

 

Lettice eyes the old Cornish woman up and down. Even with her weather-beaten face and white hair indicating that she is of an advanced age, a quick calculation in her still slightly muffled head suggests that she cannot be so old as to have known the lady when the portrait was painted.

 

Mrs. Trevethan starts laughing again as she observes the changes on Lettice’s face, betraying her thoughts. “No dear, I’m not that old, but I still knew Miss Rosevear when I was young, and she was older, and even then, she was still a beauty. It’s her face make no mistake.”

 

“Really Mrs. Trevethan?” Margot gasps, sitting forward in her chair, her half finished cup of coffee held aloft as she sits in the older woman’s thrall. “How?”

 

“What was she like?” Lettice adds excitedly.

 

“Is there truth to the legend?” Dickie asks.

 

“Well, Mrs. Channon, I was a maid for the Rosevears when I was a girl and first went into service.” The old woman’s eyes develop a far away sheen as she reminisces. “Mr. Rosevear had a beautiful old manor about half-way between here and Truro. Burnt down now of course, but you can still see the ruins from the train, if you know where to look. There’s even an old halt******** where the house used to be: Rosevear Halt. My first ride on a train was taken from Rosevear Halt up to London when I was taken with a few of the other maids to clean Mr. Rosevear’s rented London house for the Season.”

 

“And Miss Rosevear?” Lettice asks with trepidation, hoping to glean information about the mysterious beauty in the painting and from the legend.

 

“Oh, Miss Elowen was the youngest of the three Rosevear daughters. They were all beautiful, but she was the loveliest, in my opinion anyway. She could dance and play the spinet, and she had a voice that could have charmed the angels from the heavens.” A wistful look crosses her face. “And she was blithe, or had been before my time at the house, I was told by some of the other maids. Her elder sisters were far more serious than she: set upon always wearing the most fashionable clothing and focussing upon good marriages, whereas the youngest Miss Rosevear, she just took life as it came to her without complaint. Although, she always had an air of sadness about her when I knew her.”

 

“Without complaint? What happened to her, Mrs. Trevethan?” Dickie asks, swept up in the tale as much as his wife and Lettice. “Why didn’t she marry my ancestor of sorts, the captain?”

 

“I don’t rightly know, sir, why she didn’t marry him. As I said, this all happened before my time with the Rosevears, but there were others amongst the older household staff who were witness to what happened, so I have some inkling. I think Mr. Rosevear took against the captain because,” Mrs. Trevethan pauses, lowering her eyes as she speaks. “And you’ll pardon me for speaking out of turn, sir.”

 

“Yes,” replies Dickie. “Go on.”

 

“Well, I think he took against the captain because he wasn’t a legitimate son of the Marquis of Taunton. The Rosevears were an old family you see, and well respected in the district. It might not have looked proper for someone of her family’s standing to marry the illegitimate son of the Marquis, even if he was a naval hero and well set up by his father. However,” She pauses again. “I don’t think things would have gone so badly for him, if it wasn’t for the other two Miss Rosevears.”

 

“What do you mean, Mrs, Trevethan?” asks Margot.

 

“Well, I said that Miss Elowen was the prettiest of all three, and I stand by that. Even when she was in her forties when I first met her, she had a look that could stop idle chatter in a room. Her two sisters weren’t so fortunate, and their looks had begun to fade by the time she met the captain, may God rest his soul. Miss Doryty, the eldest was ten years her little sister’s senior, and for all her plotting and planning for a good marriage, a good marriage never found her, nor her sister, Miss Bersaba. Miss Doryty was her father’s favourite as to look at one, you would like to see the other in appearance and temperament. I think she took against the captain because her little sister was likely to marry before her two siblings and Miss Doryty wasn’t going to have that any more than Miss Bersaba was. Miss Doryty was the eldest and felt it her right to marry first, and Miss Bersaba wanted Miss Doryty married off so that then she could get wed herself. Even when I worked for the Rosevears, both ladies still talked about her would-be suitors up in London, yet not a one ever materialised, and I never knew of them ever going to London. Miss Doryty always was bitter, and a bully. I think she swayed her father’s opinion on the captain. I also know, because I heard her say it often enough within my earshot, that she was of the opinion that it was Miss Elowen’s responsibility as the youngest daughter to care for her father and unmarried sisters into their dotage, since their mother had been in the churchyard many a year already.”

 

“And did she?” Lettice asks sadly, her hand rising to her mouth in upset.

 

“Like I said, Miss Chetwynd, Miss Elowen took whatever life dealt her with forbearance. She never complained, even though her sisters obviously treated her in a lesser way than they should their own kin.”

 

“And, she never married?” asks Margot.

 

“None of the Miss Rosevears did, Mrs. Channon. They lived alone in the Big House. I was still in service there after Mr. Rosevear died. The ladies continued to do good deeds in the district, and they used the house for tombolas and fetes to raise money for the poor. Then I met and married Mr. Trevethan and I had to leave the Rosevears’ service. I heard from friends who stayed on after I’d gone, that the house slowly fell into disrepair, but I was in Penzance with my own family, so I never went back to see for myself.”

 

“And you say there was a fire at the house?” Dickie asks.

 

“There was, sir.”

 

“How did it start, do you know?” continues Dickie.

 

“I couldn’t say for certain sir, but I’d imagine it started from a fallen log. The Rosevears had ever so many fireplaces without fireguards. It's why I won’t have Mr. Trevethan light a fire in any of the fireplaces here that don’t have fireguards. All you need is for a smouldering log to fall on a carpet, and before you know it… whoosh!” The old woman gesticulates dramatically interpreting the way of wild flames.

 

“And did Miss Rosevear die in the fire?” Margot asks. “How thrilling if she did.”

 

“And you say I love dramatics,” Gerald grumbles, looking at Dickie.

 

“What a terrible thing to say, my love.” Dickie looks at his wife with horrified eyes.

 

“Oh yes, but wouldn’t it be terrifically romantic?” gushes Margot in reply.

 

“None of the Rosevears died it the fire, Mrs. Channon. In fact, no one died in it, thank God! But the family lost a great deal of standing with the loss of the Big House and all its contents, and the sisters moved to Truro and lived in much reduced circumstances, I’m told. And that’s where they died. I don’t know who died first, Miss Bersaba or Miss Doryty, but my friend who used to help char for them after they moved to Truro said that the two elder sisters health declined dramatically, and Miss Elowen fulfilled the destiny predicted by her eldest sister, and she spent her life looking after her sisters.”

 

“Do you know if, after her sisters died, whether Elowen ever saw the captain again, Mrs. Trevethan?” Lettice asks tentatively.

 

“I can’t say for certain, Miss Chetwynd,” the old woman replies. “But almost certainly no, to my knowledge. Taking care of her sisters, Miss Rosevear became something of a recluse in Truro, and after Miss Doryty and Miss Bersaba had joined their parents in the churchyard, it was too late for Miss Elowen. She was set in her ways and lived as she had for many a year prior, alone and hidden from the world. The captain too. Mr. Trevethan and I only served him for about five years before he died, and he never left the property once during that time. He barely left the house. And I’d lived in Penzance my whole married life and we all knew about the sea captain in the house on the hill by the cove, and I never once heard of him coming to town. So, miss, I’d say he was much the same, a recluse. And so ends my tale.”

 

“Well, “ Dickie announces, releasing a pent up breath he didn’t realise he had been holding on to. “Thank you so much for sharing it with us, Mrs. Trevethan. I shall know who to come to the next time I want to know anything about local history.”

 

“I should be getting back now, sir. I have to reorganise that storeroom, and then there’s lunch to prepare.”

 

“Oh, we’ve decided to go down to the cove today so Miss Chetwynd can paint the landscape.” Margot announces with a smile. “Could you pack us a picnic luncheon to take with us, rather than having us eat it here, Mrs. Trevethan?”

 

“Oh, pur dha********* Mrs. Channon.” replies Mrs. Trevethan before dropping a quick bob curtsey and shuffling out through the breakfast room door again.

 

“Well, what a tragic tale!” enthuses Margot, taking up a slice of marmalade covered toast and taking a bite.

 

“Not so much tragic as just sad, my love.” Dickie replies.

 

“I say again,” Gerald grumbles. “You say I’m the one who loves drama.”

 

“Well you do, Gerald,” Lettice chimes in, stirring extra sugar into her almost forgotten cup of tea. “And we love you for it.” She assures him. “But I happen to agree with Margot. It is a tragic tale, more so than just sad. Sad is too… too…”

 

“Insipid?” Gerald offers.

 

“Thank you, Gerald. Yes, too insipid a word for it. The loss of youth and true love makes this a tragic tale.”

 

Dickie chuckles and shakes his head. “Well, I wouldn’t doubt that there was a little bit of wax lyrical about Mrs. Trevethan’s version of the story, as it would be with any local legend. However, what I think is important about the story is that it tells us exactly who the lady is in the Winterhalter painting. It gives us provenance, which makes it all the more valuable.”

 

“If it’s a Winterhalter, Dickie!” Lettice reminds him again. “It may not be.”

 

“Well, whether it is or it isn’t,” Margot adds in. “All this talk won’t get us out into this unseasonable sunshine and down to the cove so Lettice can paint the lighthouse. Let’s finish up breakfast and get ready to go out.”

 

*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.

 

**The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London.

 

***Sardines is an active game that is played like hide and go seek — only in reverse! One person hides, and everyone else searches for the hidden person. Whenever a person finds the hidden person, they quietly join them in their hiding spot. There is no winner of the game. The last person to join the sardines will be the hider in the next round. Sardines was a very popular game in the 1920s and 1930s played by houseguests in rambling old country houses where there were unusual, unknown and creative places to hide.

 

****As a youth the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VIII and then Duke of Windsor) became a proficient player of the highland bagpipe, being taught by William Ross and Henry Forsyth. He frequently, until his later years, played a tune round the table after dinner, sometimes wearing a white kilt. He was also known to wake the guests at his house on the Windsor Great Park, Fort Belvedere, with a rousing rendition of a tune on the bagpipes.

 

*****Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805 – 1873) was a German painter and lithographer, known for his flattering portraits of royalty and upper-class society in the mid-19th century. His name has become associated with fashionable court portraiture. Among his best known works are Empress Eugénie Surrounded by her Ladies in Waiting (1855) and the portraits he made of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1865).

 

******Marshall & Snelgrove was an up-market department store on the north side of Oxford Street, London, on the corner with Vere Street founded by James Marshall. The company became part of the Debenhams group.

 

*******“Metten daa” is Cornish for “good morning”.

 

********A halt, in railway parlance in the Commonwealth of Nations and Ireland, is a small station, usually unstaffed or with very few staff, and with few or no facilities. A halt station is a type of stop where any train carrying a passenger is scheduled to stop for a given period of time. In Edwardian times it was not unusual for wealthy families with large houses close to the railway line to have their own halt stop for visiting guests or mail and other deliveries.

 

*********”Pur dha” is Cornish for “very good”.

 

Contrary to what your eyes might tell you, even though the food looks quite edible, this upper-class Regency country house domestic scene is actually made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures, some of which come from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The Royal Doulton style tea set featuring roses on the breakfast table came from a miniature dollhouse specialist on E-Bay, whilst the silver teapot on the left hand size of the picture comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom, as does the jam pot to the right of the toast rack. The toast rack, egg cruet set, cruet set and coffee pot were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The eggs and the toast slices come from miniature dollhouse specialists on E-Bay. The apples in comport on the centre of the table are very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The comport in which they stand is spun of real glass and was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England as is the glass of orange juice on the table, the jug of orange juice and the bunch of roses on the sideboard at the back of the photograph. The remaining empty glass tumblers are all hand made of spun glass and came from a high street dolls’ specialist when I was a teenager.

 

The Queen Anne dining table, chairs and Regency sideboard were all given to me as birthday and Christmas presents when I was a child.

 

The fireplace in the background of the photo comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The two candelabra on it were made by Warwick Miniatures, and the Georgian Revival clock on the mantlepiece is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by Hall’s Miniature Clocks, supplied through Doreen Jeffries Small Wonders Miniatures in England. The vases came from a miniatures specialist on E-Bay.

 

All the paintings around the drawing room in their gilded or black frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

All images available for licensing via me. I offer commercial and editorial pet photography on a commissioned basis. And with a pet picture database with thousands of hand-picked images of dogs, cats, as well as horses, I might already have what you are looking for. All pictures here can be licensed.

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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.

 

Concerned about her beau, Selwyn Spencely’s, true affections for her, and worried about the threat his cousin and 1923 debutante, Pamela Fox-Chavers, posed to her own potential romantic plans with Selwyn, Lettice concocted a ruse to spy on Pamela and Selwyn at the Royal Horticultural Society’s 1923 Great Spring Show*. As luck would have it, Lettice ran into Pamela and Selwyn, quite literally in the latter’s case, and they ended up having tea together. Whilst not the appropriate place to talk about Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, whom Lettice suspects of arranging a match between Selwyn and Pamela, who are cousins, Selwyn has agreed to organise a dinner with Lettice where they can talk openly about the future of their relationship and the interference of Lady Zinnia. However, whilst Lettice waits for the dinner to be arranged, she has a wonderful distraction to take her mind off things.

 

That is why today we are far from London, returning to Wiltshire, where Lettice grew up at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his new wife Arabella. However, we are not at Glynes, but rather in Glynes Village at the local village hall where a much loved annual tradition is taking place. Every year the village have a summer fête, run by the local women and overseen by Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, to help raise money for a worthy cause in the village. The summer fête is one of the highlights of the village and country calendar as it always includes a flower show, a cake stand, stalls run by local famers’ wives selling homemade produce, games of hoopla, a coconut shy, a tombola and a jumble sale, a white elephant stall and a fortune teller – who is always local haberdasher Mrs. Maginot who has a theatrical bent and manages the Glynes theatrical players as well as her shop in the village high street. All the stalls and entertainments are held either in the village hall or the grounds surrounding it. Not only do the citizens of the village involve themselves in the fête, but also the gentry, and there is always much excitement when matriarch of the Brutons, Lady Gwyneth – Gerald’s mother, and Lady Isobel Tyrwhitt – Arabella’s mother, attend. Neither lady have been well over the last few years with Lady Gwyneth suffering a spate of bronchial infections and Lady Isobel receiving treatment for cancer, so it is a rare treat to have both in attendance. This year’s summer fête is a special one for Arabella in particular, for as the newly minted Mrs. Leslie Chetwynd, she now joins the effort to help run the Glynes summer fête for the first time and has been given the second-hand clothing stall to run as part of the jumble sale.

 

The Glynes village hall is a hive of activity, and the cavernous space resounds with running footsteps, voluble chatter from the mostly female gathering, hammering and children’s laughter and tears as they run riot around the adults as they set up their stalls. Mr. Lovegrove, who runs the village shop, climbs a ladder which is held by the elderly church verger Mr. Lewis and affixes the brightly coloured Union Jacks and bunting that have been used every year since the King’s Coronation in 1911 around the walls. Lady Sadie casts a critical eye over the white elephant stall, rearranging items to put what she considers the best quality items on more prominent display, whilst removing a select few pieces which she thinks unsuitable for sale, which she passes to Newman, her ladies maid, to dispose of. Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler arranges and categorises books for the second-hand book stall, perhaps spending a little too much time perusing some of the titles. Mrs. Elliott who runs the Women’s Institute manages the influx of local women bringing in cakes with regimental efficiency. And amongst all the noise, activity and excitement, Arabella busies herself unpacking boxes of old clothes and tries her best to make her trestle an attractive addition to the summer fête. Lettice perches on an old bentwood chair, offering suggestions to her sister-in-law whilst pulling faces as she lifts up various donations before depositing them in disgust where they had been beforehand.

 

“Here we are then,” Gerald announces as he walks across the busy floor of the hall bearing a wooden tray containing several teacups and a plate of cupcakes from the refreshments stand, narrowly avoiding Mrs. Lovegrove’s two youngest children as they chase one another around his legs. The sound of his jolly call and his footsteps joining all the other cacophony of setting up going on around him. “Refreshments for the hard workers,” he looks at Arabella. “And the not-so-hard-workers.” he looks at Lettice.

 

“Don’t be cheeky!” Lettice says to him with a hard stare, letting a limp stocking fall from her hand and collapse into a wrinkled pool on the trestle table’s surface.

 

Gerald puts the three tea cups down where he can find a surface on Arabella’s trestle table, followed by a long blue and gilt edged platter on which sit three very festive cupcakes featuring Union Jacks made of marzipan sticking out of white clouds of icing.

 

“Mrs. Casterton’s special cupcakes.” he announces proudly with a beaming smile.

 

“How on earth did you get those, Gerald?” gasps Lettice in surprise, eyeing the dainty cakes greedily. “Mrs. Casterton hasn’t let me take food from her kitchen since I started dining at the table with the rest of the family, never mind pinch anything from her stall for the fundraiser!”

 

“It helps when you aren’t her employer’s indulged youngest child.” Gerald says, tapping his nose knowingly.

 

“I was not an indulged child!” Lettice defends, raising her hand to the boat neckline of her frock and grasping her single strand of creamy white pearls hanging about her neck. “You were more indulged by Aunt Gwen than I ever was by Mater or Pater.”

 

“Oh, just ignore him, Tice!” laughs Arabella from her place behind the trestle. “You know Gerald has always had the ability to charm anything from anyone when he wants to.”

 

“That’s true,” Lettice replies, eyeing Gerald with a cocked eyebrow and a bemused smile as she picks up her magenta and gilt rimmed cup and sips her tea. “I had forgotten that.”

 

“What can I say?” laughs Gerald proudly with a shrug of his shoulders.

 

“It’s not so much what you can say as what you can do, Gerald.” mutters Arabella with a frustrated sigh.

 

“I am at your service, my lady?” Gerald replies, making a sweeping bow before Arabella and Lettice, who both laugh at his jester like action.

 

“Be careful what you promise, Gerald.” giggles Lettice.

 

“Bella would never expect too much from me, Lettice.” Gerald retorts with a smile. “She’s known me all her life and she knows what my limitations are.”

 

“Well, I was hoping you could help me by working some magic on my second hand clothing stall.” Arabella remarks with another frustrated sigh as she tugs at the old fashioned shirtwaister** blouse with yellowing lace about the collar. “I’ve tried and tried all morning, but nothing I seem to do helps make anything look more modern and more attractive to buy.”

 

Lettice and Gerald look around at Arabella’s stall. The shirtwaister outfit with its pretty, albeit slightly marked, lace, tweed skirt and leather belt with a smart, yet old fashioned Art Nouveau buckle really is the most attractive piece that she has on display. Around it on the surface of her trestle are a jumble of yellowing linen napkins complete with tarnished napkin rings, a selection of embroidered, tatted*** and crocheted doilies, mismatched pairs of leather and lace gloves and several rather worn looking hats that are really only suitable for gardening now, rather than being worn to church services on Sunday.

 

“I warned you Gerald.” Lettice says with a knowing wink.

 

“Don’t you remember how much we all felt sorry for whomever ran the second-hand clothing stall at the fête each year as children, Bella?” Gerald asks.

 

“It was always the short straw.” Lettice adds.

 

“Yes, being stuck under the piercing stare of His Majesty.” Gerald indicates to the portrait of King George V, dating back to the pre-war years when the King still had colour in his hair.

 

“The worst stall to have because none of the villagers ever seem to have anything nice or remotely fashionable to donate, even for a good cause like new books for the village school.” Lettice picks up a pretty primrose yellow napkin. “These are nice at least.”

 

“Except there are only three of them.” points out Arabella with a disappointed air. “I can’t seem to find a fourth.” She picks up a red dyed straw hat in the vain hope that it will be there, even though she has searched beneath it three times already. “And I’ve looked everywhere.”

 

“Tea for two, perhaps?” Gerald suggests hopefully as he picks up his own teacup and takes a sip of tea.

 

“Oh, you two are no help!” scoffs Arabella. “I’ve a right mind to stick you both with these!” She grasps a pair of knitting needles complete with some rather dreadfully made rows of incomplete knitting and a ball of wool and thrusts them through the air between she, Lettice, and Gerald. “They’ll get you working.”

 

“Even if they do, Bella, we aren’t miracle workers.” remarks Gerald.

 

All three of them laugh good heartedly.

 

“Oh I must make the best of it,” Arabella sighs resignedly as she tugs at the left leg-of-mutton sleeve**** of the shirtwaister. “After all, this is my first year as Leslie’s wife, and the first jumble sale I am actively helping to run to help raise funds for the village. I must make this stall a success no matter what.” The steely determination in her voice surprises her as she speaks. “I’m a Chetwynd now, and I can’t disappoint the villagers with a poor show.”

 

“Nor Mater.” adds Lettice, taking another sip of tea.

 

“No indeed!” agrees Gerald. “Lady Sadie will be judging you from afar, Bella, rest assured. If your stall isn’t a great success, you’ll hear about it.”

 

“In a dozen little quips.” Lettice adds.

 

“More like a hundred.” corrects Gerald.

 

“Tearing delicately phrased strips off you.” agrees Lettice.

 

“Inflicting as much pain for as long as possible.” adds Gerald with seriousness.

 

“Oh stop, Gerald!” laughs Arabella. “She isn’t anywhere near as much of a dragon as you and Tice paint her to be.”

 

“You’ve only been married to the family for a little while now,” Lettice counters, looking at her sister-in-law over the magenta and gilt painted rim of her cup. “And you and Leslie have your own lives and are left pretty much to your own devices down in the Glynes Dower House from what I can gather. We’ll give you a little while longer to find out the truth about your wicked mother-in-law.” She smiles cheekily.

 

“I have grown up alongside you, going in and out of your house, Tice,” Arabella replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. “So it’s not like Sadie is an unknown quantity to me.”

 

“But you’ve never been a recipient of her acerbic tongue either, I’ll wager.” adds Gerald dourly. “You’re far too sweet and compliant a young daughter-in-law for that, but both Lettice and I have.”

 

“I still don’t know,” Lettice queries, turning her attention to Gerald. “What was it you said to Mater that night of Hunt Ball that set her so against you, Gerald? I’ve never known her to take against anyone so vehemently, except perhaps poor Aunt Egg who can never do any right in her eyes.”

 

Gerald blushes, remembering the altercation he had with Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, at the ball. In a slightly inebriated state he told her that neither she nor Lettice had any sway over Selwyn Spencely’s choice of a wife, any more than Selwyn did himself, explaining that it was his mother, the Duchess of Mumford, Lady Zinnia, who would choose a wife for him. “I keep telling you, darling girl. I really don’t remember,” he replies awkwardly, covering his tracks as best as he can. “If you remember, I was rather tight***** that night on your father’s champagne.”

 

“Well,” Arabella says with a sigh. “I’m determined not to incur her wrath, even though I’m sure it’s nowhere near as awful as you two suggest.”

 

“Oh-oh!” Gerald mutters under his breath to Lettice. “In coming.”

 

“Oh no.” moans Lettice quietly in return behind the painted smile she places on her face as she, Gerald and Arabella are suddenly set upon by the Miss Evanses, the two spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village.

 

The trio smile benignly as the two sisters twitter to one another in crackling voices that sound like crisp autumn leaves underfoot as they approach them.

 

“Well, twice in as many weeks, Miss Chetwynd!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses in delight, a joyous smile spreading across her dry, unpainted lips. “Last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, and now here! How very blessed we are to see you again.”

 

“How do you do, Miss Evans, Miss Evans,” Lettice acknowledges them both with a curt nod from her seat. She glances at the two old women, who must be in their seventies at least, both dressed in a similar style to when she saw them last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, in floral gowns of pre-war Edwardian era length, their equally old fashioned whale bone S-bend corsets****** forcing their breasts into giant monobosoms down which sautoirs******* of glittering Edwardian style beads on gold chains cascade. Wearing toques with feather aigrettes jutting out of them atop their waved white hair they look like older versions of Queen Mary.

 

“I’m afraid you are a little early for the jumble sale, Miss Evans and Miss Evans,” Arabella remarks sweetly. “We are still setting up.”

 

“Oh, thank you! We know, Mrs. Chetwynd.” twitters the elder of the Miss Evanses, surprising Arabella a little as she still gets used to being referred to by her new married name. “I was just remarking to Henrietta this very morning over breakfast that we do so much look forward to the village fête every year.”

 

“Yes, it’s a nice way for us to be able to support the local community in our own small way, isn’t that right Geraldine?” enthuses her sister, raising her white lace glove clad hand to her wrinkled and dry mouth as she giggles in a rather unseemly girlish way.

 

“Indeed yes, Henrietta. It is to aid the school this year, is it not?”

 

“It is Miss Evans.” Arabella confirms. “To help buy new books for the children.”

 

“A very fine cause, I must say,” the younger of the Miss Evanses remarks indulgently. “Helping the young ones to read and develop their fertile minds. Rather like gardening, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“It is not even remotely like gardening!” quips her sister. “Stop talking such nonsense Henrietta.”

 

“We shall of course be glad of your patronage when the jumble sale opens in an hour.” Arabella quickly says in an effort to diffuse any unpleasantness between the two spinster sisters, at the same time emphasising the time the sale begins.

 

“Well,” adds the elder of the Miss Evanses seriously. “We shall of course come and spend a few shillings and pence when it opens officially, but…”

 

“Oh!” interrupts the younger of the Miss Evanses. “Is your frock designed by Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd?” She addresses Gerald in the old fashioned deference of the village and county folk when addressing the children of the bigger aristocratic houses.

 

“Yes, Miss Evans. Mr. Bruton,” Lettice applies gravatas to the correct reference to Gerald’s name now that he is of age. “Did design my frock.”

 

“Oh it’s ever so smart!” the younger of the sisters enthuses.

 

“Thank you, Miss Evans.” Gerald acknowledges her.

 

“And your hat?” Miss Evans points to the yellow straw hat. “Didn’t I see you wearing that at Master Leslie’s wedding to Miss Arabella?”

 

“Mrs. Chetwynd, I think you mean, Henrietta.” corrects her sister with a sharpness to her remark.

 

“Oh yes!” bristles the younger Miss Evans at her sister’s harsh correction, raising her hand to her mouth again. “Yes of course! Mrs. Chetwynd, I do apologise.”

 

“It’s quite alright, Miss Evans.” Arabella assures her. “I am still getting used to being Mrs. Chetwynd myself.”

 

“How very observant of you, Miss Evans.” Lettice addresses the younger of the siblings. “I did indeed have my hat made for Leslie and Bella’s wedding. It was made by a friend of Mr. Bruton’s, Miss Harriet Milford.”

 

“Yes, well thinking of hats, I…” begins the elder Miss Evans.

 

“Oh it’s most becoming, Miss Chetwynd.” the younger Miss Evans interrupts her sister again as she compliments Lettice in an obsequious manner, followed by another twittering giggle.

 

“I can send someone down to Holland House this afternoon after the fête with her details if you like.” Lettice replies. “The next time you’re in London, you might pay her a call.”

 

The two sisters give one another a sour look at the idea, their lips thinning and their eyes lowering as they nod to one another in unison before turning back to Lettice and Gerald.

 

“Aside from the Great Spring Show, we don’t have much call to go up to London these days, do we Henrietta?”

 

“Indeed no, Geraldine.” agrees the younger Miss Evans between pursed lips, a tinge of regret in her statement.

 

“Besides we find the services of Mrs. Maginot’s in the high street to be quite adequate.”

 

“Good lord!” gasps Gerald, causing the two spinster sisters to blush at his strong language. “Is old Mrs. Maginot still going?” He chuckles. “Fancy that!”

 

The elder Miss Evans clears her dry and raspy throat awkwardly before continuing. “For our more bucolic, and doubtlessly simple tastes, Master Bruton, we find Mrs. Maginot to be quite satisfactory.” Both sisters raise their lace gloved hands to their toques in unison, patting the runched floral cotton lovingly. “We aren’t quite as fashionable as you smart and select London folk down here in sleepy little Glynes, Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd, but we manage to keep up appearances.”

 

“On indeed yes, Miss Evans.” Lettice replies with an amused smile. “No-one could fault you on maintaining your standards.”

 

“I imagine you will soon be designing Miss Chetwnd’s own wedding frock, Master Bruton.” the younger of the Miss Evanses announces rather vulgarly.

 

“That’s only if I let her get married, Miss Evans,” Gerald teases her indulgently. “I might like to whisk her away and lock her in a tower so that I can keep her all to myself.”

 

“After what we all saw with our own eyes at the Hunt Ball, I’m sorry Master Bruton, but I don’t think you are in the running for Miss Chetwynd’s affections!” the younger Miss Evans twittering giggle escapes her throat yet again as her eyes sparkle with delight at the very faintest whiff of any gossip.

 

“How is Mr. Spencely, Miss Chetwynd?” the elder Miss Evans asks pointedly, her scrutinising gaze studying Lettice’s face.

 

Lettice blushes at the directness of both Miss Evans’ question and her steely gaze. “Oh, he’s quite well, as far as I know, Miss Evans.” she replies awkwardly.

 

“As far as you know?” the older woman’s outraged tone betrays her surprise as she looks quizzically into Lettice’s flushed face.

 

“Well, I haven’t seen Selw… err, Mr. Spencely just as of late.”

 

“Oh?” the elder Miss Evans queries. “I thought we saw you leave the tent we were in at the Great Spring Show, on the arm of Mr. Spencely.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure it was him, Miss Chetwynd.” adds the younger Miss Evans as she raises a lace clad finger in thought. “He’s very striking and hard to mistake for someone else.”

 

Silently Lettice curses the beady eyed observation the two spinster sisters are known for. Of course, they of all people at the bustling and crowded Chelsea flower show, noticed her inadvertent stumble into Selwyn and then her departure with him. Although perfectly innocent, and accompanied by her married friend Margot Channon, and Selwyn’s cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers, she can see how easily the Miss Evanses can construe the situation to their own advantage of spreading salacious London gossip about Lettice, as daughter of the local squire, around the citizenry of Glynes village.

 

“I believe you were here for a purpose, Miss Evans.” Gerald pipes up, quickly defending his best friend from any more uncomfortable cross examination.

 

“Oh,” the elder Miss Evans replies, the disappointment at the curtailing of her attempt to gather gossip clear in both her tone of voice and the fall of her thin and pale face. “Yes.” She turns to Arabella. “I have actually come early today to see you on business, Mrs. Chetwynd.”

 

“Me, Miss Evans?” Arabella raises her hand to the scalloped collar of her blouse and toys with the arrow and heart gold and diamond broach there – a wedding gift from her husband.

 

“Yes.” replies the elder of the two sisters. “You see, when I heard that you were running the second-hand stall this year, I did feel sorry for you.”

 

“Sorry for me, Miss Evans?”

 

“Yes,” she replies, screwing up her eyes. “For as you know, there is always a poor offering of donated goods by the other villagers, and it makes for a rather sad and depressing sight amidst all this gaiety.” She gesticulates over Arabella’s trestle with a lace glove clad hand, sending forth the whiff of lavender, cloves and camphor in the process.

 

“Unless you are donating one of your lovely frocks to the sale, Master Bruton?” the younger of the Miss Evanses adds with a hopeful lilt in her voice. “I should buy it, even if it didn’t fit me.”

 

Gerald splutters and chokes on the gulp of tea he has just taken as the question is posed of him. Coughing, he deposits his cup quickly and withdraws a large white handkerchief which he uses to cover his mouth and muffle his coughs.

 

“Oh, poor Master Bruton!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses as she reaches out and gently, but pointlessly, taps Gerald on the shoulder in an effort to help him. “Did you tea go down the wrong way?”

 

“I arrest my case.” her elder sister snaps giving Gerald a steely, knowing look.

 

“Now be fair, Miss Evans,” Lettice defends her friend, filled with a sudden burst of anger towards the hypocritical old woman, who despite having plenty of money of her own, only spends a few shillings at the fundraiser every year. “Gerald is still establishing himself in London! He cannot afford to give one of his frocks away when he has to pour what little profit he currently makes back into supporting and promoting his atelier.”

 

“As you like, Miss Chetwynd.” Miss Evans replies dismissively. “It is a pity though that neither Master Bruton, nor yourself could cast something Mrs. Chetwynd’s way, to help make her stall more,” She pauses momentarily as she considers the correct word. “Appealing.”

 

Lettice feels the harshness of the old woman’s rebuke, but she says nothing as she feels a flush of shame rise up her neck and fill her face.

 

“Geraldine!” her younger sister scolds her. “That’s most uncharitable of you.”

 

“Charity, my dear Henrietta, begins at home.” She looks critically at the knotted half completed knitting, the yellow and age stained linen and the mismatched gloves. “And Mrs, Chetwynd, I see that try as you might, you cannot disguise the usually dispirited efforts of the village used clothing drive this year.”

 

“Oh, well I haven’t really finished setting up yet, Miss Evans.” Arabella defends herself. “There are still some things to unpack from the boxes behind me.” She indicates to several large wooden crates stacked up behind her against the wall under the watchful gaze of the King.

 

“Which are items that doubtlessly didn’t sell last year, or the year before that have been shuffled away, only to make their annual reappearance.”

 

“Perhaps you have something appealing,” Lettice emphasises her re-use of the elder Miss Evans’ word as she tries to regain some moral standing against the older woman. “To offer at this year’s second-hand clothing stall, Miss Evans.”

 

“As a matter of fact,” the elder Miss Evans replies with a self-satisfied smile and sigh. “That is exactly why I am here.”

 

With a groaning heave, she foists the wicker basket, the handle of which she has been grasping in her bony right hand, up onto the trestle table’s surface. She opens one of the floral painted flaps and withdraws a large caramel felt Edwardian style picture hat of voluminous pre-war proportions from within the basket’s interior. The brim of the hat is trimmed with coffee and gold braid, woven into an ornate pattern whilst the crown is smothered in a magnificent display of feathers in curlicues and the brim decorated with sprigs or ornate autumnal shaded foliage and fruit.

 

“As I said, charity begins at home, so I thought I would add some style and panache to your stall, Mrs. Chetwynd, with the addition of this beautiful hat.”

 

“Oh, thank you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says with a sweet, yet slightly forced smile as the older woman tears off a smaller blue stiffed lace hat from a wooden hatstand and replaces it with her enormous millinery confection.

 

“I know it is only a hat from Mrs. Maginot, and not a London milliner,” she looks pointedly at Lettice. “But I dare say it will be more than suitable for our modest little country jumble sale.”

 

“Oh I’m sure it will be,” Arabella lies politely as she looks in dismay at the old fashioned headwear.

 

“Geraldine!” gasps her sister in disbelief. “You love that hat! I remember you had Mrs. Maginot make it for the King’s Coronation celebrations at great expense!”

 

“That’s true, Henrietta, but it just sits in a box at home these days and never gets worn anymore. It seems a shame to hide it away when it could look fetching on another’s head in church on Sunday. No-one will have anything to rival it. Not even you, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“I agree with that,” whispers Lettice discreetly into Gerald’s ear, unnoticed by either of the spinster sisters. “I’d rather die than be caught in that ghastly thing. It looks every minute of it’s age.”

 

“Just a touch Miss Havisham, don’t you think?” Gerald whispers back, causing both he and Lettice to quietly snort and stifle their giggles.

 

“Well, that really is most kind of you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says loudly and brightly with a polite nod of acknowledgement, anxious to cover up the mischievous titters from her friend and sister-in-law.

 

“It’s my pleasure.” she replies with a beatific smile. “Well, we shan’t hold you up any longer from doing your setting up of the clothes, Mrs. Chetwynd. Come along Henrietta. Let’s go and make sure Mr. Beatty has my floral arrangement in a suitably advantageous place. I’m not having it shunted to the back like last year.”

 

“Oh, yes Geraldine.” her sister replies obsequiously.

 

Lettice, Gerald and Arabella watch as the two old ladies slowly retreat and heave a shared sigh of relief.

 

Gerald deposits his cup on the trestle’s surface and walks up to the grand Edwardian hat and snatches it off the wooden stand before placing it atop his own head with a sweeping gesture. “Do you think it suits me?” he laughs.

 

Lettice and Arabella laugh so much they cannot answer.

 

“Well,” Gerald sighs, returning the hat to the stand. “Even if Hattie could make hats a hundred times more fashionable than this, maybe some local lady who is a bit behind the times will want to take this beauty home.” He arranges it carefully on the rounded block so that it shows off the autumnal themed fruit garland pinned to the wide felt brim.

 

“That’s the spirit I need, Gerald.” Arabella manages to say as she recovers from laughing at her friend’s theatrical modelling of the hat, and quietly she hopes that someone will buy the hat and everything else she has in her remit to sell, to help raise money for schoolbooks for the local village and country children that attend the Glynes Village School.

 

*May 20 1913 saw the first Royal Horticultural Society flower show at Chelsea. What we know today as the Chelsea Flower Show was originally known as the Great Spring Show. The first shows were three day events held within a single marquee. The King and Queen did not attend in 1913, but the King's Mother, Queen Alexandra, attended with two of her children. The only garden to win a gold medal before the war was also in 1913 and was awarded to a rock garden created by John Wood of Boston Spa. In 1919, the Government demanded that the Royal Horticultural Society pay an entertainment tax for the show – with resources already strained, it threatened the future of the Chelsea Flower Show. Thankfully, this was wavered once the Royal Horticultural Society convinced the Government that the show had educational benefit and in 1920 a special tent was erected to house scientific exhibits. Whilst the original shows were housed within one tent, the provision of tents increased after the Great War ended. A tent for roses appeared and between 1920 and 1934, there was a tent for pictures, scientific exhibits and displays of garden design. Society garden parties began to be held, and soon the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show became a fixture of the London social calendar in May, attended by society ladies and their debutante daughters, the occasion used to parade the latter by the former. The Chelsea Flower Show, though not so exclusive today, is still a part of the London Season.

 

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

 

***Tatting is a technique for handcrafting a particularly durable lace from a series of knots and loops. Tatting can be used to make lace edging as well as doilies, collars, accessories such as earrings and necklaces, and other decorative pieces.

 

****A leg of mutton sleeve is a sleeve that has a lot of fullness around the shoulder-bicep area but is fitted around the forearm and wrist. Also known as a gigot sleeve, they were popular throughout different periods of history, but in particular the first few years of the Twentieth Century.

 

*****’Tight’ is an old fashioned upper-class euphemism for drunk.

 

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

 

*******A Sautoir is a long necklace consisting of a fine gold chain and typically set with jewels, a style typically fashionable in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.

  

Whilst this charming village fête scene may appear real to you, it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection, including items from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Perhaps the main focus of our image, the elder Miss Evans’ camel coloured wide brimmed Edwardian picture hat is made of brown felt and is trimmed with miniature coffee coloured braid. The brim is decorated with hand curled feathers, dyed to match the shade of the hat, as well as a spray of golden “grapes” and dyed flowers. Acquired from an American miniatures collector who was divesting herself of some of her collection, I am unsure who the maker was, other than it was made by an American miniature artisan. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable.

 

The shirtwaister dummy, complete with lace blouse, tweed skirt and Art Nouveau belt attached to a lacquered wooden base, is an artisan miniature as well, once again by an unknown person. It came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The divine little patriotic cupcakes, each with a Union Jack on the top, has been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Each cupcake is only five millimetres in diameter and eight millimetres in height! The plate on which they stand and the teacups on the table are made by the Dolls House Emporium and are part of a larger sets including plates, tureens and gravy boats.

 

Miss Evans’ wicker picnic basket that can be seen peeping out near the right-hand side of the picture was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside. When I bought it, it arrived containing the little yellow napkins folded into triangles and the hand embroidered placemats that you see on the table in the foreground.

 

The knitting needles and tiny 1:12 miniature knitting, the red woven straw hat, the doilies, the stockings and the napkins in their round metal rings all came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The elbow length grey ttravelling gloves on the table are artisan pieces made of kid leather. I acquired these from a high street dolls house specialist when I was a teenager. Amazingly, they have never been lost in any of the moves that they have made over the years are still pristinely clean.

 

The wooden boxes in the background with their Edwardian advertising labels have been purposely aged and came from The Dolls’ House Supplier in the United Kingdom.

 

The Portrait of King George V in the gilt frame in the background was created by me using a portrait of him done just before the Great War of 1914 – 1918. I also created the Union Jack bunting that is draped across the wall in the background.

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

 

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

 

Lettice’s maid, Edith, is stepping out with Frank, and to date since he rather awkwardly suggested the idea to her in the kitchen of the Cavendish Mews flat, the pair has spent every Sunday afternoon together, going to see the latest moving pictures at the Premier in East Ham*, dancing at the Hammersmith Palais or walking in one of London’s many parks. They even spent Easter Monday at the fair held on Hampstead Heath***. Whilst Lettice is away in Cornwall selecting furniture from Dickie and Margot’s Penzance country house, ‘Chi an Treth’, to be re-purposed, Edith is taking advantage of a little more free time and has come to Willison’s Grocers under the pre-text of running an errand in the hope of seeing Frank. The bell rings cheerily as she opens the plate glass door with Mr. Willison’s name painted in neat gilt lettering upon it. Stepping across the threshold she immediately smells the mixture of comforting smells of fresh fruits, vegetables and flour, permeated by the delicious scent of the brightly coloured boiled sweets coming from the large cork stoppered jars on the shop counter. The sounds of the busy street outside die away, muffled by shelves lined with any number of tinned goods and signs advertising everything from Lyon’s Tea**** to Bovril*****.

 

“Miss Watsford!” exclaims Mr. Willison’s wife as she peers up from her spot behind the end of the return counter near the door where she sits doing her husband’s accounts. “We don’t often have the pleasure.”

 

Edith looks up, unnerved, at the proprietor’s wife and bookkeeper, her upswept hairstyle as old fashioned as her high necked starched shirtwaister****** blouse down the front of which runs a long string of faceted bluish black beads. “Yes,” Edith smiles awkwardly. “I… I have, err… that is to say I forgot to give Fr… err, Mr. Leadbeater my grocery list when he visited the other day.”

 

“Oh?” Mrs. Willison queries. “I could have sworn that we had it.” She starts fussing through a pile of papers distractedly. “That isn’t like you Miss Watsford. You’re usually so well organised.”

 

“Well,” Edith thinks quickly. “It… it isn’t really the list. It’s just that I left a few things off. Miss Chetwynd… well, you see she fancies…”

 

“Oh, well give me the additions, Miss Watsford,” Mrs. Willison thrusts out her hand efficiently, the frothy white lace of her sleeve dancing around her wrist. “And I’ll see to it that they are added to your next delivery. We don’t want the Honourable Miss Chetwynd to go without, now do we?”

 

With a shaky hand Edith reluctantly hands over her list of a few extra provisions that aren’t really required, especially with her mistress being away for a few days. As she does, she glances around the cluttered and dim shop hopefully.

 

“Will there be anything else, Miss Watsford?” Mrs. Willison asks curtly.

 

“Err… yes.” Edith stammers, but falls silent as she continues to look in desperation around the shop.

 

Mrs. Willison suspiciously eyes the slender and pretty domestic through her pince-nez*******. She scrutinises Edith’s fashionable plum coloured frock with the pretty lace collar. The hem of the skirt is following the current style and sits higher than any of Mrs. Willison’s own dresses and it reveals Edith’s shapely stockinged calves. She wears her black straw cloche decorated with purple silk roses and black feathers over her neatly pinned chignon. “Is that a few frock, Miss Watsford?” the grocer’s wife continues.

 

“Ahh, yes it is, Mrs. Willison. I made it myself from scratch with a dress pattern from Fashion for All********,” Edith replies proudly, giving a little twirl that sends her calf length skirt flaring out prettily, and Mrs. Willison’s eyebrows arching with disapproval as the young girl reveals even more of her legs as she does. “Do you like it?”

 

“You seem a little dressed up to run an errand here, Miss Watsford.” Mrs. Willison says with bristling disapprobation.

 

“Well, I… I err… I do have some letters to post too, Mrs. Willison,” Edith withdraws two letters from her wicker basket and holds them up in her lilac glove clad hand.

 

“Well, we mustn’t keep you from your errand, now must we, Miss Watsford? Now what else did you require before you leave?” the older woman emphasises the last word in her sentence to make clear her opinion about young girls cluttering up her husband’s shop.

 

“An apple.” Edith says, suddenly struck with inspiration. “I’d like an apple for the journey, Mrs. Willison.”

 

“Very good, Miss Watsford.” the older woman starts to move off her stool. “I’ll fetch…”

 

“No need, Mrs. Willison!” Frank’s cheerful voice pipes up as he appears from behind a display of tinned goods. “I’ll take care of Miss Watsford. That’s what I’m here for. You just stay right there Mrs. Willison. Right this way, Miss Watsford.” He ushers her with a sweeping gesture towards the boxes of fresh fruit displayed near the cash register.

 

“Oh Fran…” Edith catches herself uttering Frank’s given name, quickly correcting herself. “Err… thank you, Mr. Leadbetter.”

 

Mrs. Willison lowers herself back into her seat, all the while eyeing the pair of young people critically as they move across the shop floor together, their heads boughed conspiratorially close, a sense of overfamiliarity about their body language. She frowns, the folds and furrows of her brow eventuated. Then she sighs and returns to the numbers in her ledger.

 

“What are you doing here, Edith?” Frank whispers to his sweetheart quietly, yet with evident delight in his voice.

 

“Miss Lettice is away down in Cornwall on business, so I thought I’d stop in on my way through in the hope of seeing you, Frank.” She glances momentarily over her shoulder. “Then Mrs. Willison greeted me. I thought I was going to get stuck with the disapproving old trout and not see you.”

 

“The weather looks good for Sunday, Edith. It’s supposed to be sunny. Shall we go to Regent’s Park and feed the ducks if it is?”

 

“Oh, yes!” Edith clasps her hands in delight, her gloves muffling the sound. “Maybe there will be a band playing in the rotunda.”

 

“If there is, I’ll hire us a couple of deck chairs and we can listen to them play all afternoon in the sunshine.”

 

“That sounds wonderful, Frank.”

 

“Well,” pronounces Frank loudly as the stand over the wooden tray of red and golden yellow apples. “This looks like a nice juicy one, Miss Watsford.”

 

“Yes,” Edith replies in equally clear tones. “I think I’ll have that one, Mr. Leadbeater.”

 

“Very good, Miss Watsford. I’ll pop it into a paper bag for you.”

 

“Oh, don’t bother Fr… Mr. Leadbeater. I’ll put it in my basket.”

 

Frank takes the apple and walks back around the counter to the gleaming brass cash register surrounded by jars of boiled sweets. “That will be tuppence please, Miss Watsford.” He enters the tally into the noisy register, causing the cash draw to spring open with a clunk and the rattle of coins rubbing against one another with the movement.

 

Edith hooks her umbrella over the edge of the counter, pulls off her gloves and fishes around in her green handbag before withdrawing her small leather coin purse from which she takes out tuppence which she hands over to Frank.

 

“Here,” Frank says after he deposits her money and pushes the drawer of the register closed. He slides a small purple and gold box discreetly across the counter.

 

Edith gasps as she looks at the beautifully decorated box featuring a lady with cascading auburn hair highlighted with gold ribbons, a creamy face and décollétage sporting a frothy white gown and gold necklace. She traces the embossed gold lettering on the box’s lid. “Gainsborough Dubarry Milk Chocolates!”

 

“Can’t have my girl come all this way to see me and not come away with a gift.” Frank whispers with a beaming smile dancing across his face.

 

“Seeing you is gift enough, Frank.” Edith blushes.

 

“Ahem!” Mrs. Willison clears her throat from the other end of the shop. “Will they be going on the Honourable Miss Chetwynd’s account, Frank?” she asks with a severe look directly at her husband’s employee.

 

“Um… no Mrs. Willison. Don’t worry. I’ll be paying for them.” Frank announces loudly. Bending his head closer to Edith, he whispers, “I can see why Mr. Willison has her in here when he isn’t. You can’t get away with anything without her knowing: ghastly old trout.”

 

Edith giggles as she puts the small box of chocolates and the apple into her basket. “I’ll save them for Sunday.” she says with a smile. “We can share them whilst we listen to the band from our deckchairs.”

 

Frank smile broadens even more. “Righty-ho, Edith.”

 

“Righty-ho, Frank.”

 

“Well, as I was saying, Miss Watsford,” Mrs. Willison pronounces from her stool. “We mustn’t keep you from your errands. I’m sure you have a lot to do, and it is almost midday already.”

 

“Yes indeed, Mrs. Willison.” Edith agrees, unable to keep the reluctance out of her voice. “I really should be getting along. Well, goodbye Mr. Leadbeater. Thank you for your assistance.” She then lowers her voice as she says, “See you Sunday.”

 

Both Frank and Mrs. Willison watch as the young lady leaves the shop the way she came, by the front door, a spring in her step and a satisfied smile on her face, her basket, umbrella and handbag slung over her arm.

 

“Frank!”

 

Frank cringes as Mrs. Willison calls his name. Turning around he sees her striding with purpose behind the counter towards him, wending her way through the obstacle course of stacks of tins and jars of produce, hessian sacks of fresh vegetables and fruits and boxes of bottles.

 

“Yes, Mrs Willison?”

 

“Frank,” she says disappointingly. “I can’t stop you from stepping out with a girl in your own time,” She comes to a halt before him, domineering over him with her topknot, her arms akimbo. “And I’d say the Honourable Miss Chetwynd is foolishly modern enough to let you take her maid out on Sundays.” She looks at him with disapproving eyes. “However, I’d be much obliged if you kept your dalliances to your own time, and kindly keep them out of my husband’s establishment during business hours!”

 

“Yes Mrs. Willison!” Frank replies, sighing gratefully, now knowing that he isn’t going to be given notice for chatting with Edith during work hours.

 

“And I’ll make an adjustment to your wages this week for the chocolates.” she adds crisply.

 

“Yes Mrs. Willison.” Frank nods before hurrying away back to the stock room.

 

*The Premier Super Cinema in East Ham was opened on the 12th of March, 1921, replacing the 800 seat capacity 1912 Premier Electric Theatre. The new cinema could seat 2,408 patrons. The Premier Super Cinema was taken over by Provincial Cinematograph Theatres who were taken over by Gaumont British in February 1929. It was renamed the Gaumont from 21st April 1952. The Gaumont was closed by the Rank Organisation on 6th April 1963. After that it became a bingo hall and remained so until 2005. Despite attempts to have it listed as a historic building due to its relatively intact 1921 interior, the Gaumont was demolished in 2009.

 

**The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.

 

***Hampstead Heath (locally known simply as the Heath) is a large, ancient London heath, covering 320 hectares (790 acres). This grassy public space sits astride a sandy ridge, one of the highest points in London, running from Hampstead to Highgate, which rests on a band of London Clay. The heath is rambling and hilly, embracing ponds, recent and ancient woodlands, a lido, playgrounds, and a training track, and it adjoins the former stately home of Kenwood House and its estate. The south-east part of the heath is Parliament Hill, from which the view over London is protected by law.

 

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

 

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

 

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

  

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

 

********”Fashion for All” was one of the many women’s magazines that were published in the exuberant inter-war years which were aimed at young girls who were looking to better their chances of finding a husband through beauty and fashion. As most working-class girls could only imagine buying fashionable frocks from high street shops, there was a great appetite for dressmaking patterns so they could dress fashionably at a fraction of the cost, by making their own dresses using skills they learned at home.

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Central to the conclusion of our story is the dainty box of Gainsborough Dubarry Milk Chocolates. This beautifully printed confectionary box comes from Shepherd’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom. Starting in the Edwardian era, confectioners began to design attractive looking boxes for their chocolate selections so that they could sell confectionary at a premium, as the boxes were often beautifully designed and well made so that they might be kept as a keepsake. A war erupted in Britain between the major confectioners to try and dominate what was already a competitive market. You might recognise the shade of purple of the box as being Cadbury purple, and if you did, you would be correct, although this range was not marketed as Cadbury’s, but rather Gainsborough’s, paying tribute to the market town of Gainsborough in Lincolnshire, where Rose Bothers manufactured and supplied machines that wrapped chocolates. The Rose Brothers are the people for whom Cadbury’s Roses chocolates are named.

 

Also on the shop counter is an apple which is very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay it is made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The brightly shining cash register, probably polished by Frank, was supplied by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. The cylindrical jars, made of real spun glass with proper removable cork stoppers which contain “sweets” I acquired as a teenager from an auction as part of a larger lot of miniature items. Edith’s lilac coloured gloves are made of real kid leather and along with the envelopes are artisan pieces that I acquired from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures in the United Kingdom. Edith’s green leather handbag I acquired as part of a larger collection of 1:12 artistan miniature hats, bags and accessories I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The umbrella comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom. Edith’s basket I acquired as part of a larger lot of 1:12 miniatures from an E-Bay seller in America.

 

The packed shelves you can see in the background is in fact a Welsh dresser that I have had since I was a child, which I have repurposed for this shot. You can see the dresser more clearly in other images used in this series when Edith visits her parent’s home in Harlesden. The shelves themselves are full of 1:12 artisan miniatures with amazing attention to detail as regards the labels of different foods. Some are still household names today. So many of these packets and tins of various foods would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. They come from various different suppliers including Shepherds Miniatures in the United Kingdom, Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom, Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering and Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. Items on the shelves include: Tate and Lyall Golden Syrup, Lyall’s Golden Treacle, Peter Leech and Sons Golden Syrup, P.C. Flett and Company jams, Golden Shred and Silver Shred Marmalades, Chiver’s Jelly Crystals, Rowtree’s Table Jelly, Bird’s Custard Powder, Bird’s Blancmange Powder, Coleman’s Mustard, Queen’s Gravy Salts, Bisto Gravy Powder, Huntly and Palmers biscuits, Lyon’s Tea and Typhoo Tea.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Chivers is an Irish brand of jams and preserves. For a large part of the Twentieth Century Chivers and Sons was Britain's leading preserves manufacturer. Originally market gardeners in Cambridgeshire in 1873 after an exceptional harvest, Stephen Chivers entrepreneurial sons convinced their father to let them make their first batch of jam in a barn off Milton Road, Impington. By 1875 the Victoria Works had been opened next to Histon railway station to improve the manufacture of jam and they produced stone jars containing two, four or six pounds of jam, with glass jars first used in 1885. In around 1885 they had 150 employees. Over the next decade they added marmalade to their offering which allowed them to employ year-round staff, rather than seasonal workers at harvest time. This was followed by their clear dessert jelly (1889), and then lemonade, mincemeat, custard powder, and Christmas puddings. By 1896 the family owned 500 acres of orchards. They began selling their products in cans in 1895, and the rapid growth in demand was overseen by Charles Lack, their chief engineer, who developed the most efficient canning machinery in Europe and by the end of the century Chivers had become one of the largest manufacturers of preserves in the world. He later added a variety of machines for sorting, can making, vacuum-caps and sterilisation that helped retain Chivers' advantage over its rivals well into the Twentieth Century. By the turn of the century the factory was entirely self-sufficient, growing all its own fruit, and supplying its own water and electricity. The factory made its own cans, but also contained a sawmill, blacksmiths, coopers, carpenters, paint shop, builders and basket makers. On the 14th of March 1901 the company was registered as S. Chivers and Sons. By 1939 there were over 3,000 full-time employees, with offices in East Anglia as well as additional factories in Montrose, Newry and Huntingdon, and the company owned almost 8,000 acres of farms. The company's farms were each run independently, and grew cereal and raised pedigree livestock as well as the fruit for which they were known.

 

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

 

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

 

Queen’s Gravy Salt is a British brand and this box is an Edwardian design. Gravy Salt is a simple product it is solid gravy browning and is used to add colour and flavour to soups stews and gravy - and has been used by generations of cooks and caterers.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Offer a Song of Praise to God | A Cappella | Gospel Music "Love the Practical God With All Our Heart"

 

www.holyspiritspeaks.org/videos/mv-love-the-practical-god...

 

La … la la la … la la la….

 

La … la la la … la la la … la….

 

The sun of righteousness is rising from the East.

 

O God! Your glory fills the heaven and earth.

 

Beautiful darling, Your love surrounds my heart.

 

People who pursue the truth all love God.

 

Though I rise alone in the early morning, I feel enjoyment when meditating on God’s word.

 

The tender words are like a loving mother, the words of judgment like a severe father. (Hey….)

 

I love nothing in the world; with all my heart I only love my God.

 

Ah hey … ah hey … ah hey … ah hey….

 

I love nothing in the world; with all my heart I only love my God.

 

Ah hey … ah hey … ah hey … ah hey….

 

I love nothing in the world; with all my heart I only love my God.

 

La la la … la la la….

 

La la la … la la la … la….

 

God’s will has been revealed—to perfect the true lovers of God.

 

Lively and innocent people all offer up praises to God,

 

and dance beautiful dances around the true God together.

 

People are called back by God’s voice from different places.

 

Words of life are bestowed upon us. We are purified by the judgment of God’s words.

 

Our love is strengthened through refinement. We feel sweet to enjoy God’s love. (Hey….)

 

Who would not love the lovely God? With all my heart I only love the practical God.

 

Ah hey … ah hey … ah hey … ah hey….

 

Who would not love the lovely God? With all my heart I only love my God.

 

Ah hey … ah hey … ah hey … ah hey….

 

Who would not love the lovely God? With all my heart I only love my God.

 

I love nothing in the world; with all my heart I only love my God.

 

Thank You! (Thank You!) (Thank You!) (Thank You!)

 

We love You!

 

from Follow the Lamb and Sing New Songs

 

Eastern Lightning, The Church of Almighty God was created because of the appearance and work of Almighty God, the second coming of the Lord Jesus, Christ of the last days. It is made up of all those who accept Almighty God's work in the last days and are conquered and saved by His words. It was entirely founded by Almighty God personally and is led by Him as the Shepherd. It was definitely not created by a person. Christ is the truth, the way, and the life. God's sheep hear God's voice. As long as you read the words of Almighty God, you will see God has appeared.

  

Swan Falls offers many places to explore along the south side of the Snake River. No matter which designated campsite you choose to post up at, you’re sure to get outstanding canyon views. Be sure to bring your fishing rod (and fishing license) on this particular hike, smallmouth bass can be found in the calmer waters along the banks of the river. The surrounding area is a combination of old jeep paths and foot trails that are easy to navigate. Bird watching is spectacular – many birds of prey such as owls, hawks, osprey, eagles, and falcons nest along this stretch of the Snake River.

This site offers a remarkable collection of sea stacks for viewing.

 

The village of Pistol River, population 84 in the last census, is the nearest town.

 

The river received it's name when a soldier in the Indian Wars of the 1850's lost his pistol in the river.

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 south of the Thames in the middle-class London suburb of Putney in the front room of a red brick Edwardian villa in Hazelwood Road, where Lettice has come to collect a hat from her childhood chum Gerald’s friend, Harriet Milford. The orphaned daughter of a solicitor with little formal education, Harriet has taken in lodgers to earn a living, but more importantly for Lettice, has taken up millinery semi-professionally to give her some pin money*. As Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, has forbidden Lettice to wear a shop bought hat to Leslie, Lettice’s brother’s, wedding in November and Lettice has quarrelled with her own milliner, Madame Gwendolyn, Gerald thought that Harriet might benefit as much from Lettice’s patronage as Lettice will by purchasing one of Harriet’s hats to resolve her fashion conundrum. Today is judgement day as Harriet presents Lettice with her millinery creation.

 

Lettice’s critical eye again glances around the front parlour of the Putney villa, which doubles as Harriet’s sewing room and show room for her hats. She crinkles her nose in distaste. She finds the room’s middle-class chintzy décor an affront to her up-to-date interior design sensitivities, with its flouncy floral Edwardian sofa and roomy armchair by the fire, a pouffe hand embroidered by Harriet’s deceased mother and the busy Edwardian floral wallpaper covered with a mixture of cheap botanical prints and quaint English country scenes, all in gaudy gilded plaster frames. Yet what makes it even worse is that no attempt has been made to tidy the room since her last visit a month ago. Harriet’s concertina sewing box on casters still stands cascaded open next to the armchair, threads, embroidery silks, buttons and ribbons pouring from its compartments like entrails. Hats in different stages of being made up and decorated lie about on furniture or on the floor in a haphazard way. The brightly patterned rug is littered with spools of cotton, scissors, ribbon, artificial flowers and dogeared copies of Weldon’s** magazines. A cardboard hatbox spewing forth a froth of white tissue paper perches precariously on the arm of the sofa, whilst in an equally hazardous position on the right arm of the armchair, a sewing tin threatens to spill its content of threads, thimbles and a black velvet pincushion all over the chair’s seat and the floor.

 

“Sorry, Miss Chetwynd,” Harriet mutters apologetically as she ushers Lettice into the front parlour. “I still haven’t had an opportunity to tidy up in here yet.”

 

“It’s of no consequence, Miss Milford.” Lettice lies as she sweeps into the room swathed in a powder blue coat trimmed with sable that Gerald has made for her. She perches on the sofa in the same place where she sat on her last visit and deposits her crocodile skin handbag against its overstuffed pink and floral arm.

 

“Your censorious gaze and the reproving way you pass that remark tell me otherwise, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“Are you always so observant, Miss Milford?”

 

“Just like my father,” Harriet replies, glancing up at a very Edwardian photographic portrait of a dour bespectacled man in a large oval frame on the mantelpiece.

 

“I’m sorry Miss Milford,” Lettice acknowledges her criticality politely. “But I must confess I am used to visiting tidier establishments.”

 

“Yes, I suppose Madame Gwendolyn’s shop is far tidier than my front parlour is.” Harriet admits. “But then again, I would imagine that she also has a retinue of staff to keep it so for her.”

 

“Perhaps,” Lettice agrees with a half-smile. “I’m only concerned that if you wish for your little enterprise to be taken seriously, you need to present a professional front. I myself use my own drawing room as a showroom for my clients, so I make sure to keep it tidy when I have clients or prospective clients visiting.”

 

“Or you maid does, Miss Chetwynd: the same one who bakes biscuits for you.”

 

“Touché, Miss Milford.” Lettice replies, cocking her eyebrows in amused surprise at Harriet’s quick, yet adroit remark. “I think your father should have taken more interest in your education. You might have made a very fine lawyer, had you been given the opportunity.”

 

“Thank you, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet replies, blushing at the compliment.

 

“The lack of education afforded to women in our country, just because we are women, is a scandal. Yet our patriarchal society is what will ensure that we remain the fairer and less educated sex.”

 

“You sound like you might have made a fine lawyer too, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet acknowledges. “I’m sure had you been born a few decades earlier you would have made a fine suffragette.”

 

“Or a radical.”

 

“However, that isn’t why you’ve come here today. You’ve come about a far more appropriately feminine pursuit, the acquisition of the hat for your brother’s wedding.”

 

“Indeed, Miss Milford. My mother would be suitably gratified to see me passing my time thus rather than in radical discussion, even if she would prefer it was at Madame Gwendolyn’s establishment.”

 

“Then I do hope I shan’t disappoint Lady Sadie, or you, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

Harriet walks over to a corner of the parlour and withdraws a yellow straw hat on a hatstand that she has kept concealed behind a brass firebox. She reverently carries it across the room and deposits it on the tilt chess table sitting empty between the seats of the two women s that Lettice might inspect it closely.

 

“Considering your colourings, the shape of your face and the soft chignon you wear at the nape of your neck, I’ve opted for a rather romantic picture hat rather like that featured on the cover of Weldon’s Spring Fashions.” Harriet explains as she holds up the magazine’s cover next to the hat for Lettice to make comparisons. “I know it’s autumn now, but it has been remarkably mind, and,” she adds. “This is for a wedding after all.”

 

Lettice examines the hat before her. The shape of the wide brimmed hat that sits low on its stand immediately appeals to Lettice, and she can easily see herself wearing it very comfortably. “Very observant again, Miss Milford.” she says approvingly.

 

“As you can see, I’m acknowledging the season and once again trying to compliment your own colourings with the trimmings.” Harriet says proudly as she carefully turns the hat on its stand. “A russet and golden brown satin rose and some ornamental autumnal fruits in golds and vermillion. I hope you will agree.”

 

Lettice reaches out and touches the satin rose, rubbing the luxuriant fabric between her thumb and forefinger with satisfaction. “Agree? Why my dear Miss Milford, you have managed to do something Madame Gwendolyn has never done for me.” She beams with delight. “You have made a hat that suits my personality beautifully. How could I fail but to be pleased? I must confess that I am more impressed with what you have created than I even dared hope for.”

 

“Then may I take it that you won’t quibble over my price of seven guineas, nine and sixpence?” Harriet asks, trying to keep the nerves out of her well modulated voice. She has never charged such an exorbitant price for one of her creations before, but Gerald told her that seven guineas, nine and sixpence should be the price she should ask Lettice for it. Thinking quickly she adds, “It is quite comparable to the cost of a mode from Selfridges.”

 

“You sell your skills to cheaply, Miss Milford.”

 

“I may possibly increase my fees if my ‘little enterprise’ as you continue to call it, really takes off, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“I shouldn’t speak so disparagingly of your enterprise, Miss Milford. I must sound unspeakably rude and patronising. Please forgive me.”

 

“Rude, no Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet acknowledges.

 

“As amends for my snobby behaviour,” Lettice proffers hopefully. “I shall happily promote your name to anyone at the wedding who asks me who made my hat.”

 

“I’d be grateful, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet replies with a grateful smile. “And I’ll try and get this place tided up should any of your friends come knocking. I did at least keep the telephone connected after father died, so I am in the book. I found it useful to have a telephone for enquiries about rooms to let initially, but now also for queries about hats.”

 

“Most prudent, Miss Milford.”

 

Harriet stands up, reaches past Lettice’s shoulder and takes up the plain cardboard hatbox stuffed with white tissue paper and places it on the seat of her armchair. She proceeds to pick up Lettice’s new hat, and like a mother tucking its child into bed, she lovingly places her creation into the box, nestling it amongst the nosily crumpling paper.

 

“Miss Chetwynd, do you mind if I make another frank observation?” she asks.

 

“My dear Miss Milford, you have made several so far,” Lettice laughs. “Why should I stop you now?”

 

Harriet snatches up the box and resumes her seat, placing the open hatbox on her lap.

 

“I’m glad you said yes Miss Chetwynd, for you see, something has been bothering me since your first visit here.”

 

“And what is that, Miss Milford.”

 

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice how ill at ease you seemed. Could it be because Gerry didn’t tell you about our friendship?”

  

Lettice looks across at Harriet whose mousy brown hair cut into a soft bob frames her pretty face, free of makeup. Her brown eyes have an earnest look in them. Lettice acknowledges Harriet’s question with a quick and curt nod, before casting her eyes down, ashamed that her feelings have been so easily perceived by someone she barely knows.

 

“I thought so.”

 

“I didn’t know you existed until Gerald pulled his motor up outside the front of your house.”

 

“I must confess I’m surprised, as Gerry talks about you all the time. You two are obviously the greatest of friends, and have been since you were children.” Harriet licks her lips a little awkwardly before continuing. “Perhaps he is a little embarrassed by our friendship, after all, I’m not an aristocrat’s daughter like you and some of your other friends he tells me about.”

 

“I’m sure that isn’t true, Miss Milford.” Lettice assures her hostess. “Gerald can be a frightful snob. I’ve pulled him up on it enough in recent times, and,” she admits a little begrudgingly. “He’s done the same with me. If Gerald really was ashamed of you, he wouldn’t have introduced us. That I do know.”

 

“He’s been wonderful to me since we met. I’m not sure if he told you, but I’m guessing not if he didn’t really tell you about me prior to our first meeting, but we met at the haberdashers we share in Fulham.”

 

“That Gerald did tell me.”

 

“Well, he’s given me encouragement and guidance as I try to get this millinery business up and running, and, well after my difficulties with the handsy General when I first started letting rooms, I feel more comfortable with gentlemen friends who don’t want to paw me.”

 

“Like Gerald and your Cyril, you mean.”

 

“Yes.” Harriet acknowledges with a blush.

 

“Where is Cyril, by the way? I haven’t heard his oboe playing today.”

 

“He’s in Norfolk, visiting his mother.” Harriet explains. She hesitates for a moment before carrying on. “I’ve never had many friends, you see. I was always the shy one at school, and not at all popular. What few friends I have had up until recently have been rather bookish and shy like me, so it was like a breath of fresh air when Gerry took an interest in plain and shy little me.”

 

“Hardly plain, Miss Milford.” Lettice counters kindly.

 

“You do know that I’d never want to intrude on your friendship with Gerry, don’t you? You’re his oldest and best friend, and he’s so proud of you and how you’ve set up your own business all by yourself. You inspire him you know.” Lettice blushes and glances back down into her lap at Harriet’s admission. “And you’re such a chum to him. He says you use the word ‘brick’ to describe your good friends, so you are his ‘brick’ then. Now that I know that he didn’t tell you about me, I must have come across as an interloper: a middle-class girl of no particular note trying to usurp you in Gerry’s affections. However, I can assure you that I’m not. Your friendship with him is perfectly safe. I’m just happy to bask in Gerry’s minor attentions for as long as he wishes to bestow them upon me.”

 

“Well, I must confess that I did suffer a few pangs of jealously when I first saw the two of you being so familiar together, but I realised after we left you, that you are no threat. Gerald and I had a frank conversation of our own on the way home.” Lettice admits. “Not that Gerald is bound to me by any means. He can be friends with whomever he likes, and so long as his dalliances with gentlemen are discreet, I’m happy. He just needs to be careful in that respect.”

 

“I tell Cyril the same thing.”

 

“So, if Gerald wants to be friends with you, who am I to argue? All the same, I am pleased to hear from you that you are no threat, Miss Milford.”

 

“Not at all, Miss Chetwynd.” She sighs with relief and places the lid on the hatbox on her lap before putting it aside. “Well, now that we have that awkward little conversation out of the way, might I interest you in some tea?”

 

“Some tea would be splendid, Miss Milford. Thank you.”

 

Harriet gets up and walks across the room. As she reaches the threshold of the parlour door she turns back and says, “You know we really do have quite a lot in common, you know, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“How so, Miss Milford?” Lettice looks up from smoothing down the hem of her frock over her knees.

 

“Well, we both have Gerry as our friend, and we are both forward thinking women in a patriarchal world.”

 

“That’s true, Miss Milford.”

 

“We both are trying to establish names for ourselves, albeit in different areas. And we both have progressed ourselves in spite of our parents’ lack of interest in furthering our education. We could almost form a sisterhood.”

 

Lettice doesn’t necessarily agree with Harriet’s point about her education, which is quite presumptuous. Her father, the Viscount Wrexham, unlike Lady Sadie, was quite indulgent with Lettice’s education, giving her far more opportunities than were afforded to her elder sister Lally. Harriet realises that she has overstepped the mark by being overly familiar when she sees a cool steeliness darken Lettice’s sparkling blue eyes and harden her features slightly, but it is too late for her to retract her words.

 

“I wouldn’t go so far as to presume that we will ever be bosom friends***, Miss Milford. However, let me get used to your existence,” Lettice concedes with all the good grace of a Viscount’s daughter. “And I’m sure that we can be friends of a sort that goes beyond a passing acquaintance or an agreeable business arrangement.”

 

“Very well, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet replies with a half-smile. “I’ll be satisfied with that. Better that we be friends of a sort than enemies for no reason. I think as women wanting to forward ourselves in this male dominated world, we probably have enough of them as it is.”

 

“Perhaps, Miss Milford. Let us see.”

 

*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.

 

**Created by British industrial chemist and journalist Walter Weldon Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was the first ‘home weeklies’ magazine which supplied dressmaking patterns. Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was first published in 1875 and continued until 1954 when it ceased publication.

 

***The term bosom friend is recorded as far back as the late Sixteenth Century. In those days, the bosom referred to the chest as the seat of deep emotions, though now the word usually means a woman's “chest.” A bosom friend, then, is one you might share these deep feelings with or have deep feelings for.

 

Contrary to popular belief, fashion at the beginning of the Roaring 20s did not feature the iconic cloche hat as a commonly worn head covering. Although invented by French milliner Caroline Reboux in 1908, the cloche hat did not start to gain popularity until 1922, so even though this story is set in that year, picture hats, a hangover from the pre-war years, were still de rigueur in fashionable society and whilst Lettice is fashionable, she and many other fashionable women still wore the more romantic picture hat. Although nowhere near as wide, heavy, voluminous or as ornate as the hats worn by women between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the Great War, the picture hats of the 1920s were still wide brimmed, although they were generally made of straw or some lightweight fabric and were decorated with a more restrained touch.

 

This rather cluttered and chaotic scene of a drawing room cum workroom may look real to you, but believe it or not, it is made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my teenage years.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

At the centre of our story is Lettice’s yellow straw hat decorated with ornamental flowers, fruit and organza. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. The maker of this hat is unknown, but it is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The hat stand the hat rests on is also part of Marilyn Bickel’s collection.

 

The copy of Weldon’s Dressmaker Spring Fashions edition on the tabletop is a 1:12 size miniature made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, the magazine is non-opening, however what might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The spools of ribbon, the tape measure, the silver sewing scissors in the shape of a stork and the box of embroidery threads and the box of cottons I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House in the United Kingdom.

 

The tilt chess table on which these items stand I bought from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The concertina sewing box on casters to the left of the photograph which you can see spilling forth its contents is an artisan miniature made by an unknown artist in England. It comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the in the United Kingdom. All the box’s contents including spools of ribbons, threads scissors and buttons on cards came with the work box. The box can completely expand or contract, just like its life-sized equivalent.

 

The round white metal sewing tin on the armchair is another artisan piece I have had since I was a young teenager. If you look closely you will see it contains a black velvet pin cushion, a pair of sewing scissors, needles, threads and two thimbles. Considering this is a 1:12 artisan miniature, imagine how minute the thimbles are! This I bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings. It does have a lid which features artificial flowers and is trimmed with braid, but I wanted to show off the contents of the tin in this image, so it does not feature.

 

The spools of yellow, purple and blue cottons come from various online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures.

 

The bookshelf in the background comes from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late eighteenth century.

 

Harriet’s family photos seen cluttering the bookshelf in the background are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are almost all from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each. The castle shaped cottage orneé (pastille burner) on the bookshelf has been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. The bowl decorated with fruit on the bookshelf was hand decorated by British artisan Rachael Maundy.

 

Lettice’s snakeskin handbag with its gold clasp and chain comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniature Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The parlour palm in its striped ceramic pot I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The floral chintz settee and chair and the Art Nouveau china cabinet are made by J.B.M. miniatures who specialise in well made pieces of miniature furniture made to exacting standards.

 

The paintings and prints on the walls all come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House in the United Kingdom.

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

 

Today however we are not in Lettice’s flat, and whilst we have not travelled that far physically across London, the tough streets, laneways and blind alleys of Poplar in London’s East End is a world away from Lettice’s rarefied and privileged world. On Tuesday Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s charwoman*, discovered that Edith, Lettice’s maid, didn’t have a sewing machine when the Cockney cleaner found the young maid cutting out the pieces for a new frock. Mrs. Boothby made overtures towards Edith, inviting her to her home in Poplar in London’s East End with an air of mystery, saying she might be able to help her with her predicament of a sewing machine.

 

Friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) in Penzance as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot in her desire to turn ‘Chi an Treth’ from a dark Regency house to a more modern country house flooded with light, has commissioned Lettice to help redecorate some of the rooms in a lighter and more modern style, befitting a modern couple like the Channons. Lettice has decamped to Penzance for a week where she is overseeing the painting and papering of ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, dining room and main reception room, before fitting it out with a lorryload of new and repurposed furnishings, artwork and objets d’arte that she has had sent down weeks prior to her arrival. In her mistress’ absence, Edith has more free time on her hands, and so she was able to agree to Mrs. Boothby’s mysterious invitation. Even though she is happy with her current arrangement to take any items she wants to sew home to her parent’s house in Harlesden, where she can use her mother’s Singer** sewing machine on her days off. The opportunity of gaining access to a sewing machine of her own is too good for Edith to refuse.

 

Now the two women walk through the narrow streets of Poplar, passing along walkways, some concrete, some made of wooden planks and some just dirt, between tenements of two and three stories high. The streets they traverse are dim with the weakening afternoon light from the autumn sky blocked out by the overhanging upper floors of the buildings and the strings of laundry hanging limply along lines between them. Although Edith is not unfamiliar with the part of Whitechapel around Petticoat Lane*** where she shops for second hand clothes to alter and for haberdashery to do them, she still feels nervous in the unfamiliar maze of streets that Mrs. Boothby is guiding her down, and she sticks closely next to or directly behind the old Cockney char. The air is filled with a mixture of strong odours: paraffin oil, boiled cabbage and fried food intermixed with the pervasive stench of damp and unwashed bodies and clothes. Self-consciously, Edith pulls her three quarter length coat more tightly around her in an effort to protect herself from the stench.

 

“Below!” comes a Cockney female voice from above as a sash window groans in protest as it is opened.

 

“Ere! Look out, Edith dearie!” Mrs. Boothby exclaims, grabbing Edith by the arm and roughly pulling the maid out of the way, thrusting her behind her.

 

A moment later the air is filled with the harsh sound of slops splattering against the concrete path, and a pool of dirty liquid stains the concrete a dark muddy brown as it slowly dribbles down into a shallow drain that runs down the middle of the laneway.

 

“Wouldn’t want your nice clothes to get spoilt nah, would we dearie.” Mrs. Boothby says as she turns and smiles into Edith’s startled face.

 

“Was that?” Edith begins but doesn’t finish her question as she peers at the puddle draining away, leaving lumps on the path.

 

“I shouldn’t look too closely if I were you, dearie.” Mrs. Boothby says kindly in a matter-of-fact way. “If you ‘ave to ask, you’re better off not knowin’. That’s my opinion, anyway. Come on. Not much further nah.”

 

“You… you will take me home, won’t you Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks a little nervously as they continue their progress down the lane which she notices is getting narrower and darker as they go.

 

“Course I will, dearie! You can rely on old Ida Boothby. I know these streets like the back of my ‘and. Youse perfectly safe wiv me.”

 

The laneway ends suddenly, and Edith is blinded for a moment by bright sunlight as they step out into a rookery**** with two storey Victorian tenements of grey stone and red brick either side of a concrete courtyard with a narrow drain running down its centre. The original builders or owners of the tenements obviously have meant for the sad buildings to be at least a little homely, with shutters painted a Brunswick green hanging to either side of the ground floor windows. Looking up, Edith notices several window boxes of brightly coloured geraniums and other flowers suspended from some of the upper floor windowsills. Women of different ages walk in and out of the open front doors, or sit in them on stools doing mending, knitting or peeling potatoes, all chatting to one another, whilst children skip and play on the concrete of the courtyard.

 

“Welcome to Merrybrook Place,” Mrs. Boothby says with a hint of pride in her voice. “My ‘ome. Though Lawd knows why they called it that. I ain’t never seen no brook, merry or otherwise, runnin’ dahn ‘ere, unless it’s the slops from the privvies dahn the end.” She points to the end of the rookery where, overlooked by some older tenements of brick and wooden shingling most likely from the early Nineteenth Century, a couple of ramshackle privies stand. “So just watch your step, Edith dearie. We don’t want you steppin’ your nice shoes in nuffink nasty.” She gives her a warm smile. “Come on.”

 

As they start walking up the rookery, one woman wrapped in a paisley shawl stands in her doorway staring at Edith with undisguised curiosity and perhaps a little jealousy as she casts her critical gaze over her simple, yet smart, black coat and dyed straw hat decorated with silk flowers and feathers.

 

“Wanna paint a picture Mrs. Friedmann?” Mrs. Boothby calls out hotly to her, challenging her open stare with a defensive one of her own. “Might last you longer, your royal ‘ighness!” She makes a mock over exaggerated curtsey towards her, hitching up the hem of her workday skirts.

 

The woman tilts her head up slightly, sniffs in disgust and looks down her nose with spite at both Edith and the Cockney charwoman before muttering something in a language Edith doesn’t need to speak to understand. Turning on her heel, the woman slams her door sharply behind her, the noise echoing off the hard surfaces of the court.

 

“Who was that, Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks nervously.

 

“Lawd love you dearie,” chortles Mrs. Boothby, the action resulting on one of her fruity hacking coughs that seem remarkably loud from such a diminutive figure. “That’s that nasty local Yid***** matchmaker what I told you ‘bout.” Raising her voice she continues, speaking loudly at the closed door. “Golda Friedmann goes around wiv ‘er nose in the air wrapped up in that fancy paisley shawl actin’ like she was the Queen of Russia ‘erself. But she ain’t! She’s no better than the rest of us.”

 

As Mrs. Boothby trudges on up the rookery another doorway opens and an old woman with a figure that shows many years of childbirth steps out, dressed in a black skirt and an old fashioned but pretty floral print Edwardian high necked blouse. “Afternoon Ida.”

 

“Oh! Afternoon Lil!” Mrs. Boothby replies. “Oh Lil! I got somefink in ‘ere for you.” She opens up her capacious blue beaded bag and fossicks around making the beads rattle before withdrawing a couple of thin pieces of soap, one bar a bright buttercup yellow, a second pink and the last white. “’Ere. For the kiddies.”

 

“Oh fanks ever so, Ida!” the other woman replies, gratefully accepting the pieces of soap in her careworn hands.

 

“Edith,” Mrs. Boothby calls. “This ‘ere is my neighbour, Mrs. Conway.” A couple of cheeky little faces with sallow cheeks, but bright eyes, poke out from behind Mrs. Conway’s skirts and smile up shyly at Edith with curiosity. “Hullo kiddies.” Mrs. Boothby says to them. “Nah sweeties from me today. Sorry. Mrs. Conway, this ‘ere is Miss Watsford, what works for one of my ladies up in Mayfair.”

 

“Oh ‘ow do you do?” Mrs. Conway says, wiping her hands down her skirts before reaching out a hand to Edith.

 

“How do you do, Mrs. Conway.” Edith replies with a gentle smile, taking her hand, and feeling her rough flesh rub against her own as the old woman’s bony fingers entwine hers.

 

“Well, must be getting on, Lil,” Mrs. Boothby says. “Ta-ta.”

 

“Ta-ra, Ida. Ta-ra Miss Watsford.” Mrs. Conway replies before turning back and shooing the children inside good naturedly.

 

“Goodbye Mrs, Conway. It was nice to meet you.” Edith says.

 

At the next door, one painted Brunswick green like the shutters, Mrs. Boothby stops and takes out a large string of keys from her bag and promptly finds the one for her own front door. As the key engages with the lock the door groans in protest as it slowly opens. The old woman says, “Just stand ‘ere in the doorway, Edith dearie, while I’ll open the curtains.”

 

She disappears into the gloom, which vanishes a moment later as with a flourish, she flings back some heavy red velvet curtains, flooding the room with light from the front window. It takes a moment for Edith’s eyes to adjust as the old Cockney woman stands for a moment in the pool of light, so brilliant after the gloom, surrounded by a floating army of illuminated dust motes tumbling over one another in the air. As her eyes adjust, Edith discerns things within the tenement front room: a kitchen table not too unlike her own at Cavendish Mews, a couple of sturdy ladderback chairs, an old fashioned black leaded stove and a sink in the corner.

 

“Close the door behind you and come on in, dearie. The ‘ouse is still warmish from this mornin’.” Mrs. Boothby says kindly as she tosses her beaded handbag carelessly onto the table where it lands with a thud and the jangle of beads. “Take a seat and I’ll get the range goin’ and pop the kettle on for a nice cup of Rosie-Lee******! I dunno ‘bout you, but I’m parched.”

 

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith replies as she closes the door.

 

Shutting out the unpleasant mixture of odours outside with the closing of the door, Edith is comforted by the smells of carbolic soap and lavender. Looking about she notices a couple of little muslin bags hanging from the curtains.

 

“Good. Nah, give me your ‘at ‘n coat and I’ll ‘ang them up.” Mrs. Boothby says. Noticing Edith’s gaze upon the pouches she explains. “Lavender to ‘elp keep the moths and the smells from the privy at bay.”

 

“Oh.” Edith replies laconically.

 

As Mrs. Boothby hangs up Edith’s coat and hat as well as her own on a hook behind the door and then bustles about stoking up the embers of the fire left in the stove, Edith says, “Mrs. Conway seems like a nice person to have as your neighbour, Mrs. Boothby.”

 

“She’s a good un, that one. She takes care of all the little kiddies round ‘n ‘bout while their parents is at work.” Mrs. Boothby throws some coal into the stove and shoves it with a poker. “She’s got an ‘eart of gold she does. I owe ‘er a lot. She does ‘er best by them kiddies. Gives ‘em a meal made outta what she can, which for some might be the only meal they get. And she gives ‘em a good bath too when she can. That’s why I give ‘er the left over soap ends from the ‘ouses I go to.”

 

“Oh I’m sorry Mrs. Boothby. I always take Miss Lettice’s soap ends to Mum to grate up and make soap flakes from for washing.”

 

“Ahh, don’t worry dearie. I gets plenty from some of the other ‘ouses I go to. Some of ‘em even throws out bars of soap what’s been barely used cos they get cracked and they don’t like the look of ‘em no more. Some of them ladies up the West End don’t know just ‘ow lucky they is to ‘ave as many bars of soap as they like. Nah, you keep takin’ Miss Lettice’s ends to your mum. So long as they’s bein’ used, I’m ‘appy. Waste not, want not, I always say.”

 

With nothing to do whilst the older woman goes about filling the large kettle with water from the sink in the corner of the room, Edith has more time to look at her surroundings. The floor is made of wooden boards whilst the walls are covered in a rather dark green wallpaper featuring old fashioned Art Nouveau patterns. The house must one have had owners or tenants with grander pretentions than Mrs. Boothby for the stove is jutting out of a much larger fireplace surround, which although chipped and badly discoloured from years of coal dust, cooking and cigarette smoke, is marble. However, it is the profusion of ornaments around the small room that catches the young girl’s eye. Along the mantle of the original fireplace stand a piece of Staffordshire, a prettily painted cow creamer, a jug in the shape of a duck coming out of an egg and a teapot in the shape of Queen Victoria. Turning around behind her to where Mrs. Boothby gathers a pretty blue and white china teapot, some cups, saucers and a sugar bowl, she sees a large dresser that is cluttered with more decorative plates, teapots, jugs, tins and a cheese dish in the shape of a cottage.

 

“Not what you was expectin’ I’ll warrant.” Mrs, Boothby remarks with a knowing chuckle that causes her to emit yet another of her throaty coughs.

 

“Oh no Mrs. Boothby!” Edith replies, blushing with shame at being caught out staring about her so shamelessly. “I wasn’t really sure what to expect. I mean… I had no expectations.”

 

“Well, it’s nuffink special, but this is my ‘aven of calm and cleanliness away from the dirty world out there.” She points through the window where, when Edith turns her head, she can see several scrawny children playing marbles on the concrete of the courtyard. “And it’s ‘ome to me.”

 

“Oh yes, it’s lovely and clean and cheerful, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith assures her hostess. “No, I was just admiring all your pretty crockery. It reminds me of my Mum’s kitchen, actually. She is always collecting pretty china and pottery.”

 

“Well, who was it what told you to go dahn to the Caledonian Markets******* to buy a gift for your mum?” the old woman says with a cheeky wink. “Me that who!” She pokes her chest proudly, before coughing heavily again.

 

“So did you get all these from the Caledonian Markets then, Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks, looking around again.

 

“Well, most, but not all. I got meself an art gallery from the Caledonian Markets, for when I washes the dishes.” She points to two cheap prints of classic paintings in equally cheap wooden frames hanging on the walls above the little sink. “Better than starin’ at a blank wall, even if it’s covered in wallpaper. Course, some a them ladies up the West End is awfully wasteful wiv much more than soap, and just like them soap ends, I get my share. Somethin’ a bit old fashioned or got a tiny chip in it and they’s throwin’ it out like it was a piece of rubbish, so I offer ta take it. Take that nice cow up there,” She points to the cow creamer on the mantle. “The lid got lost somewhere, so the lady from Belgravia what owned it told ‘er maid to throw it out, so I said I’d take it instead. That,” She points to the Staffordshire statue. “Was one of a pair, what the uvver ‘alf got broken, so it was being chucked, so I took it. I don’t care if it don’t ‘ave the uvver ‘alf. I like it as it is. It’s pretty. The Queen Victoria teapot was getting’ chucked out just ‘cos the old Queen died, and King Bertie was takin’ ‘er place. Well, I wasn’t ‘avin’ none of that. Poor old Queen! I said I’d ‘ave it if no-one else wanted it. And this teapot,” She withdraws the pretty blue and white china teapot from atop the stove. “This was just bein’ thrown out ‘cos it’s old and they’s no bits of the set left but this. But there ain’t nuffink wrong wiv it, and it must be at least a ‘undred years old!”

 

Mrs. Boothby pulls out a gilt edged blue and white cake plate which she puts on the table along with the tea cups, sugar bowl and milk jug. She then goes to the dresser and pulls down a pretty tin decorated with Art Nouveau ladies from which she takes several pieces of shortbread, which she places on the cake plate.

 

“That’s very lovely, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith points to a teapot in the shape of a rabbit sitting in a watering can. “It looks rather like Peter Rabbit.”

 

“Ahh… my Ken loves that too.” Edith’s ears prick at the mention of someone named Ken, but she doesn’t have time to ask who he is before Mrs. Boothby continues, “That bunny rabbit teapot is one of the few pieces I got what ‘as a sad story what goes wiv it. Poor lady what I cleaned for up in St. James’, it were ‘er baby’s, from the nursery, you know?” Edith nods in understanding. “Well, ‘e died. ‘E was a weak little mite ‘e were, ever since ‘e was born, and my poor lady was so upset when ‘e died that she got rid of everyfink in the nursery. She didn’t want nuffink to remind her of that little baby. So, I brought it ‘ome wiv me.” She sighs. “Well, the kettle’s boiled now, so ‘ow about a cup of Rosie-Lee, dearie?”

 

A short while later, Edith and Mrs. Boothby are seated around Mrs. Boothby’s kitchen table with the elegant Regency teapot, some blue and white china cups and the plate of shortbreads before them.

 

“Oh I tell you Edith dearie, I’m dying for a fag!” Mrs Boothby says. She starts fossicking through her capacious beaded bag before withdrawing her cigarette papers, Swan Vestas and tin of Player’s Navy Cut. Rolling herself a cigarette she lights it with a satisfied sigh and one more of her fruity coughs, dropping the match into a black ashtray that sits on the table full of cigarette butts. Mrs. Boothby settles back happily in her ladderback chair with her cigarette in one hand and reaches out, taking up a shortbread biscuit with the other. Blowing out a plume of blue smoke that tumbles through the air around them, the old woman continues. “Nah, about this sewin’ machine. My Ken’ll be ‘ome soon, I ‘ope. ‘E’s a bit late today.”

 

“Mrs. Boothby, who is Ken?” Edith asks with a questioning look on her face.

 

Just as Mrs. Boothby is about to answer her, she gasps as she hears a rather loud and jolly whistle.

 

“Well, speak of the devil, ‘ere ‘e comes nah!”

 

The front door of the tenement flies open and the space is instantly filled by the bulk of a big man in a flat cap with a large parcel wrapped in newspaper tied with twine under his right arm.

 

*A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.

 

**The Singer Corporation is an American manufacturer of consumer sewing machines, first established as I. M. Singer & Co. in 1851 by Isaac M. Singer with New York lawyer Edward C. Clark. Best known for its sewing machines, it was renamed Singer Manufacturing Company in 1865, then the Singer Company in 1963. In 1867, the Singer Company decided that the demand for their sewing machines in the United Kingdom was sufficiently high to open a local factory in Glasgow on John Street. The Vice President of Singer, George Ross McKenzie selected Glasgow because of its iron making industries, cheap labour, and shipping capabilities. Demand for sewing machines outstripped production at the new plant and by 1873, a new larger factory was completed on James Street, Bridgeton. By that point, Singer employed over two thousand people in Scotland, but they still could not produce enough machines. In 1882 the company purchased forty-six acres of farmland in Clydebank and built an even bigger factory. With nearly a million square feet of space and almost seven thousand employees, it was possible to produce on average 13,000 machines a week, making it the largest sewing machine factory in the world. The Clydebank factory was so productive that in 1905, the U.S. Singer Company set up and registered the Singer Manufacturing Company Ltd. in the United Kingdom.

 

***Petticoat Lane Market is a fashion and clothing market in Spitalfields, London. It consists of two adjacent street markets. Wentworth Street Market and Middlesex Street Market. Originally populated by Huguenots fleeing persecution in France, Spitalfields became a center for weaving, embroidery and dying. From 1882, a wave of Jewish immigrants fleeing persecution in eastern Europe settled in the area and Spitalfields then became the true heart of the clothing manufacturing district of London. 'The Lane' was always renowned for the 'patter' and showmanship of the market traders. It was also known for being a haven for the unsavoury characters of London’s underworld and was rife with prostitutes during the late Victorian era. Unpopular with the authorities, as it was largely unregulated and in some sense illegal, as recently as the 1930s, police cars and fire engines were driven down ‘The Lane’, with alarm bells ringing, to disrupt the market.

 

****A rookery is a dense collection of housing, especially in a slum area. The rookeries created in Victorian times in London’s East End were notorious for their cheapness, filth and for being overcrowded.

 

*****The word Yid is a Jewish ethnonym of Yiddish origin. It is used as an autonym within the Ashkenazi Jewish community, and also used as slang. When pronounced in such a way that it rhymes with did by non-Jews, it is commonly intended as a pejorative term. It is used as a derogatory epithet, and as an alternative to, the English word 'Jew'. It is uncertain when the word began to be used in a pejorative sense by non-Jews, but some believe it started in the late Nineteenth or early Twentieth Century when there was a large population of Jews and Yiddish speakers concentrated in East London, gaining popularity in the 1930s when Oswald Mosley developed a strong following in the East End of London.

 

******Rosie-Lee is Cockney slang for tea, and it is one of the most well-known of all Cockney rhyming slang.

 

*******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.

 

I would just like to point out that I wrote this story some weeks ago, long before The Queen became ill and well before her passing. However it seems apt that this story of all, which I planned weeks ago to upload today as part of the Chetwyn Mews narrative, mentions the passing of The Queen (albeit Queen Victoria). I wish to dedicate this image and chapter to our own Queen of past and glorious times Queen Elizabeth II (1926 – 2022). Long did she reign over us, happy and glorious. God bless The Queen.

 

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

 

Mrs. Boothby’s beloved collection of ornaments come from various different sources. The Staffordshire cow (one of a pair) and the cow creamer that stand on the mantlepiece have been hand made and painted by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. If you look closely, you will see that the Staffordshire cow actually has a smile on its face! Although you can’t notice it in the photo, the cow creamer has its own removable lid which is minute in size! The duck coming from the egg jug on the mantle, the rooster jug, the cottage ware butter dish, Peter Rabbit in the watering can tea pot and the cottage ware teapot to its right on the dresser were all made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson. All the pieces are authentic replicas of real pieces made by different china companies. For example, the cottage ware teapot has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched roof and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics. The Queen Victoria teapot on the mantlepiece and the teapot on the dresser to the left of the Peter Rabbit teapot come from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom. All the other plates on the dresser came from various online miniature stockists through E-Bay, as do the teapot, plate and cups on Mrs. Boothby’s kitchen table.

 

Mrs. Boothby’s picture gallery in the corner of the room come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

Mrs. Boothby’s beaded handbag on the table is also a 1:12 artisan miniature. Hand crocheted, it is interwoven with antique blue glass beads that are two millimetres in diameter. The beads of the handle are three millimetres in length. It came from Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

Spilling from her bag are her Player’s Navy Cut cigarette tin and Swan Vesta matches, which are 1:12 miniatures hand made by Jonesy’s Miniatures in England. The black ashtray is also an artisan piece, the bae of which is filled with “ash”. The tray as well as having grey ash in it, also has a 1:12 cigarette which rests on its lip (it is affixed there). Made by Nottingham based tobacconist manufacturer John Player and Sons, Player’s Medium Navy Cut was the most popular by far of the three Navy Cut brands (there was also Mild and Gold Leaf, mild being today’s rich flavour). Two thirds of all the cigarettes sold in Britain were Player’s and two thirds of these were branded as Player’s Medium Navy Cut. In January 1937, Player’s sold nearly 3.5 million cigarettes (which included 1.34 million in London). Production continued to grow until at its peak in the late 1950s, Player’s was employing 11,000 workers (compared to 5,000 in 1926) and producing 15 brands of pipe tobacco and 11 brands of cigarettes. Nowadays the brands “Player” and “John Player Special” are owned and commercialised by Imperial Brands (formerly the Imperial Tobacco Company). Swan Vestas is a brand name for a popular brand of ‘strike-anywhere’ matches. Shorter than normal pocket matches they are particularly popular with smokers and have long used the tagline ‘the smoker’s match’ although this has been replaced by the prefix ‘the original’ on the current packaging. Swan Vestas matches are manufactured under the House of Swan brand, which is also responsible for making other smoking accessories such as cigarette papers, flints and filter tips. The matches are manufactured by Swedish Match in Sweden using local, sustainably grown aspen. The Swan brand began in 1883 when the Collard & Kendall match company in Bootle on Merseyside near Liverpool introduced ‘Swan wax matches’. These were superseded by later versions including ‘Swan White Pine Vestas’ from the Diamond Match Company. These were formed of a wooden splint soaked in wax. They were finally christened ‘Swan Vestas’ in 1906 when Diamond merged with Bryant and May and the company enthusiastically promoted the Swan brand. By the 1930s ‘Swan Vestas’ had become ‘Britain’s best-selling match’.

 

The meagre foodstuffs on Mrs. Boothby’s shelf represent items not unusually found in poorer households across Britain. Before the Second World War, the British populace consumed far more sugar than we do today, partially for the poor because it was cheap and helped give people energy when their diets were lacking good nutritious foods. Therefore finding a tin of treacle, some preserved fruit or jam, and no fresh fruits or vegetables was not an unusual sight in a lower class home. All the tined foodstuffs, with the exception of the tin of S.P.C. peaches, are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans. The S.P.C. tin of peaches comes from Shepherd’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom. S.P.C. is an Australian brand that still exists to this day. In 1917 a group of fruit growers in Victoria’s Goulburn Valley decided to form a cooperative which they named the Shepperton Fruit Preserving Company. The company began operations in February 1918, canning pears, peaches and nectarines under the brand name of S.P.C. On the 31st of January 1918 the manager of the Shepparton Fruit Preserving Company announced that canning would begin on the following Tuesday and that the operation would require one hundred and fifty girls or women and thirty men. In the wake of the Great War, it was hoped that “the launch of this new industry must revive drooping energies” and improve the economic circumstances of the region. The company began to pay annual bonuses to grower-shareholders by 1929, and the plant was updated and expanded. The success of S.P.C. was inextricably linked with the progress of the town and the wider Goulburn Valley region. In 1936 the company packed twelve million cans and was the largest fruit cannery in the British empire. Through the Second World War the company boomed. The product range was expanded to include additional fruits, jam, baked beans and tinned spaghetti and production reached more than forty-three million cans a year in the 1970s. From financial difficulties caused by the 1980s recession, SPC returned once more to profitability, merging with Ardmona and buying rival company Henry Jones IXL. S.P.C. was acquired by Coca Cola Amatil in 2005 and in 2019 sold to a private equity group known as Shepparton Partners Collective.

 

The rather worn and beaten looking enamelled bread bin and colander in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green, which have been aged on purpose, are artisan pieces I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The various bowls, cannisters and dishes, the kettle and the Brown Betty teapot I have acquired from various online miniatures stockists throughout the United Kingdom, America and Australia. A Brown Betty is a type of teapot, round and with a manganese brown glaze known as Rockingham glaze. In the Victorian era, when tea was at its peak of popularity, tea brewed in the Brown Betty was considered excellent. This was attributed to the design of the pot which allowed the tea leaves more freedom to swirl around as the water was poured into the pot, releasing more flavour with less bitterness.

 

The black Victorian era stove and the ladderback chair on the left of the table and the small table directly behind it are all miniature pieces I have had since I was a child. The ladderback chair on the right came from a deceased estate of a miniatures collector in Sydney. The Welsh dresser came from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late Eighteenth Century. The dresser has plate grooves in it to hold plates in place, just like a real dresser would.

 

The grey marbleised fireplace behind the stove and the trough sink in the corner of the kitchen come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The green wallpaper is an authentic replica of real Art Nouveau wallpaper from the first decade of the Twentieth Century which I have printed onto paper. The floorboards are a print of a photo taken of some floorboards that I scaled to 1:12 size to try and maintain a realistic look.

Our hotel room is on the 25th floor, which offers a fun opportunity to get some fun city shots in. I loved the tire tracks on top of the hotel parking garage, especially when paired with the curve of the nearby building. Looking at this now, I'm trying to figure out if this parking garage was one where I did a photoshoot with Rob months ago Those elevator doors look familiar.

 

I used this image for Week 1 : After Hours on www.shuttersalt.com

"Places, people and certain moments become something entirely different after hours -- perhaps bustling or solemn, hopeful or crumbling. What does a place look like after the last person has left and it had revealed a new face? What is a cafe like when the chairs are placed on the tables, or a market as workers busily unload trucks and restocks shelves? Capture a place, a person, a moment at this shift in gears. Tag your photos from this assignment with "shuttersaltw1" on Flickr so they'll appear on ShutterSalt. Click to see more photos from this assignment by ShutterSalt shooters."

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At the Lotus Pond there were quite a few dragonflies but most of them kept their distance, apparently not wanting their picture taken so early in the day.

 

Fortunately this one, which appears to be a male Slaty Skimmer, was kind enough to land on one of the nearby stalks and offer his profile.

 

Seen at Dauset Trails Nature Center.

September 18, 2019 – the offer www.flickr.com/photos/51192881@N00/48952476853/in/datetaken/

 

October 1, 2019 the payment $4,000 “friends and family” www.flickr.com/photos/51192881@N00/48949342351/in/photost...

 

Oct 19th - Oct 20th (almost 3 weeks later) buyer blocked with no tracking. He makes a post on wclub with a screenshot (the tiny screenshot that appears int the texts above) showing that he had paid $4,000- that the seller had blocked him on facebbook, Instagram and Flickr – and to date, had not actually mailed his dolls- she labels him "liar and scammer and bully" and sends above text.

 

She claims that only after she had shipped the buyer opened a paypal dispute- which she won

flickr.com/photos/51192881@N00/48987661016/in/datetaken/

 

But... the tracking showed that she paid for her label on Oct 20th (sunday) and dropped the package at USPS Oct 22. That was after the paypal dispute was long over.

 

2nd story- after she shipped the dolls and after buyer opened a paypal dispute, she was able to "intercept" the package and swap out the grails for something he "deserved"

 

Then it was pointed out that there is no "package intercept" for USPS international mail ....

 

3rd story- her neighbor the postal master was able to get the package for her so she could swap out the dolls.

evidently violating: www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/text/18/1708

 

Now she just admits she never sent the dolls and laughs at him (See her flickr page- there is only one rant still up)

  

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

 

Today however, we have followed Lettice southwest from her home, across St James’ Park to Hans Crescent in Belgravia, where the smart Edwardian four storey red brick and mock Tudor London home of the de Virre family stands. Two of Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie of bright young things are getting married: Dickie Channon, eldest surviving son of the Marquess of Taunton, and Margot de Virre, only daughter of Lord Charles and Lady Lucie de Virre. Lettice is visiting the home of the bride, which is a hive of activity in the lead up to the forthcoming nuptials.

 

Unusually, Lettice is ushered into the hall of the townhouse by a new maid rather than the de Virre’s butler, Mr. Geraldton. The maid is nervous and seems unsure of herself as she takes Lettice’s name and leads her up to the first floor to the gold drawing room where Lettice is informed the bride-to-be and her mother are.

 

“Miss Lettice Chetwynd, ma’am,” the maid mutters quickly before retreating back through the door and disappearing down the hallway.

 

“Lettice!” Margot gasps in delight, looking up from the cup of tea she holds in her lap.

 

“Oh Lettice!” Lady de Virre sighs. “Thank goodness! I might finally be able to speak to someone who has some sense.”

 

“What ever do you mean Lady de Virre?” Lettice asks, standing before her friend and her mother.

 

“I mean,” Lady de Virre suddenly falters as she sees Lettice clasping her green parasol with a black leather handle in her glove clad hand. “Oh. You aren’t stopping?” Her disappointment is palpable.

 

“Oh no, Lady de Virre! I mean, yes, Lady de Virre!” Lettice assures her hostess. “I came to see Margot, and of course you, although I can’t stay for too long. I have a potential client coming for afternoon tea.”

 

“Oh! That sounds exciting,” Margot enthuses. “Who?”

 

“Then if you are staying for tea: I assume you will stay for tea?” Lettice nods in assent to Lady de Virre’s question. “Why are you still holding your parasol?”

 

“Oh, the maid who answered the door didn’t take it, but really its…”

 

“Oh! That stupid, stupid girl!” mutters the older woman. “Can she never do anything right?” She picks herself up, out of the walnut salon chair she is comfortably sitting in and charges past Lettice to the door of the drawing room.

 

“Here Lettice, come sit by me,” Margot pats the gold brocade fabric next to her on the comfortable settee. “I could do with your support,” She giggles conspiratorially. “And your distraction.”

 

“Pegeen! Pegeen!” Lady de Virre calls shrilly down the hallway.

 

“Mummy, must you do that? You’re going to give me a headache,” Margot puts her cup on the low table before her and rubs her temples with her fingers. “Not that she hasn’t already.” she whispers to Lettice. “Mummy is really boring me to tears today. Who would ever have thought anyone could suck the joy and delight of organising a wedding? Lists of this, lists of that. Who will get offended sitting next to whom? And don’t get me started on my wedding dress.”

 

“I thought Gerald was designing it.”

 

“He is, but Mummy is trying to convince me that Lucile is a better choice.”

 

“Oh no, Margot. How dreadfully dull!”

 

Lady de Virre stalks back across the room, snatching Lettice’s parasol from where she has placed it leaning against the settee beside her and resumes her seat.

 

“Rather.” Margot replies to Lettice’s remark whilst glancing at her mother’s bristling figure.

 

A moment later the same nervous, mousy maid who let Lettice in appears through the door.

 

“You called, ma’am?”

 

“Pegeen, would you kindly take this,” Lady de Virre thrusts Lettice’s parasol towards the maid, the pointy end aimed dangerously at the young girl’s chest rather like a rifle in the titled lady’s hand. “And put it in the receptacle for which it was intended.”

 

“Ma’am?” The Irish maid looks alarmed, and glances awkwardly at Margot and Lettice installed comfortably on either end of the settee.

 

“She means, put it in the umbrella stand in the hallway, Pegeen.” Margot elucidates.

 

“Well why didn’t she say so?” Pegeen mutters as she grasps the offending end of the parasol which her mistress then releases from her steely grasp.

 

“And bring a third cup for Miss Chetwynd!” Lady de Virre bristles irritably.

 

The room falls silent until Pegeen closes the door behind her and her footsteps recede down the hallway.

 

“Oh it really is too tiresome!” huffs Margot’s mother.

 

“What is, Lady de Virre?” asks Lettice.

 

“Trying to find good staff in London. They all seem to be Irish halfwits these days, or girls who don’t know their place. I blame the war you know. Girls working in factories! Who would ever have thought?” Lettice and Margot glance at one another and try not to laugh. “Do you have the same problem, Lettice?”

 

“No, Lady de Virre.” Lettice smirks. “I have a very capable maid, and a charwoman, both of whom suit me very nicely.”

 

“Well, aren’t you the lucky one?” the older woman mutters sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

 

“I do have the card for the domestics agency in St James’ that I used to find my maid, if you’d like Lady de Virre.”

 

“Ah! You see Margot. Just as I was saying! Here is a girl who speaks sense and isn’t a flibbertigibbet like you.”

 

“Oh Mummy!”

 

“Ah, where is Mr. Geraldton, Lady de Virre?”

 

“He’s gone to Bournemouth.” Margot explains.

 

“His mother is quite unwell,” Lady de Virre chimes in. “Poor man! Now, perhaps you can talk some sense into my daughter, Lettice. I’m trying to get her to choose a wedding breakfast menu,” She picks up a sheath of papers from the small round tired table to her left and waves them in irritation at Margot. “Try as I might, she just won’t do it!”

 

“It’s not that I won’t, Mummy. I just want some time to look at them and think.” Margot looks at Lettice and rolls her eyes.

 

“Well we don’t have time Marguerite! The Savoy is always popular, as is Claridges.”

 

In the distance, a doorbell rings shrilly from somewhere below.

 

“Actually, Lady de Virre, that’s why I came here.”

 

“You’re going to throw a wedding breakfast for Marguerite and Richard?”

 

“Well, not exactly.” Lettice explains. “I actually came to see in Margot and Dickie would be interested in having a celebratory pre-wedding cocktail party at my flat. Would you Margot?”

 

“Oh really Lettice? Darling! You are a brick!” Margot enthuses. She embraces her friend and smiles broadly. “Of course we would!”

 

“Excellent, then I’ll,”

 

“S’cuse me ma’am,” Pegeen nudges open the door of the drawing room with the heel of her shoe, struggling under the weight of an enormous carboard box.

 

“Pegeen,” Lady de Virre gasps. “I thought I told you to bring a cup for Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“Can’t ma’am,” the maid replies. “Not when I’ve got this enormous box in ma hands.” She lowers it with a groan onto a vacant footstool where it lands with a thud. “Lord it ain’t half heavy ma’am.”

 

Lady de Virre crumples her nose in distaste as she peers at the box. “Well, what is it?”

 

“Don’t know ma’am. It’s for Miss de Virre.”

 

“Oh! It must be another wedding gift!” the older woman exclaims with an excited clap of her hands, her frustrations forgotten.

 

“I do hope it isn’t more linen. New parcels of it arrive every day! Gifts from unimaginative relatives!”

 

“It’s mighty heavy if it is linen, miss,”

 

“Ah! Another teacup, Pegeen!” Lady de Virre says commandingly. “Or have you already forgotten?”

 

“No ma’am,” Pegeen replies, looking curiously at the box. “I was just waitin’ for Miss de Virre to open her gift.”

 

“Out girl! And fetch a teacup for Miss Chetwynd! Now!”

 

The maid jumps at her mistress’ raised voice and retreats, closing the door behind her. Lettice and Margot cannot help themselves as they try to stifle giggles of mirth.

 

“You should be more appreciative of people’s generosity, Marguerite!” Lady de Virre wags a finger admonishingly at her daughter. “When you have your own household to manage, you’ll be grateful for every last stich of that linen.”

 

“Do you know, Lettice, we even received a mounted stag’s head as a gift from one of my Scottish cousins?” Margot laughs.

 

“No!” Lettice giggles.

 

“Yes! Goodness knows where we shall put it!”

 

“I could think of somewhere.” Lettice tries to control her peals of laughter.

 

“So could I!”

 

The pair tumble into fits of giggling.

 

“Oh, did you receive my gift Margo darling?” Lettice asks when she has finally composed herself enough to ask.

 

“Yes darling, I did, and I love it!”

 

“See Marguerite! I told you that you need to reply to all these cards that are mounting up!” Her mother waves her hand towards the top of the secretaire behind her, the surface of which is covered in wedding and congratulations cards.

 

“Oh good!” Lettice smiles.

 

“And we received your parent’s gift too, thank you Lettice.” Lady de Virre adds. “Marguerite will write a thank you card to them soon. Won’t you Marguerite?”

 

“Yes Mummy, I will! Such a beautifully modern tea set,” Margot says with a smile. “I never knew your parents knew my taste so intimately.” She winks conspiratorially at Lettice.

 

“Who is this gift from?” Lady de Virre asks.

 

Taking out a beautiful card of a young bride looking angelically at a cake, Margot scans the message inside. “Lady Ponting, whoever she is.”

 

“She’s the Marquess’ widowed younger sister.” Lady de Virre remarks knowingly. “You’ll need to brush up on your new family history before the wedding!”

 

“Yes Mummy! I know!” Margot acknowledges her mother’s sharp remark. Turning to her friend she continues, “Now that I’m marrying into the upper echelons of the aristocracy, Mummy has become a walking,” She sighs. “And talking, Debrett’s*.”

 

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Lady de Virre asks her daughter, looking at the box on the footstool with eyes glistening with excitement.

 

Margot removes the twine from around the box and opens it, a froth of white tissue paper spilling forth in soft whispers. Within the box she withdraws a delicate white china gravy boat decorated with roses with a gilt rim. Her mother reaches across the table with her bejewelled hand and seizes the piece from her. Turning it over she nods with approval.

 

“Hhhmm. Royal Doulton. An excellent choice.” she remarks.

 

“Come on Margot darling!” Lettice interrupts purposefully. “Let’s talk about your pre-wedding cocktail party before I have to go. Who would you like to invite? Gerald of course because he’s making your wedding dress.” She glances up at Lady de Virre to see whether she has heard and acknowledged her remark. “Celia, Peter, Leslie,”

 

At that moment, Pegeen returns with a teacup for Lettice. “Cor!” she says, eyeing the Royal Doulton china nestled amongst the cushions of white tissue paper. “If I’d known that box was full of china, I wouldn’t of bothered bringin’ another cup!”

 

*Debrett's is a British publisher and authority on etiquette and behaviour, founded in 1769 with the publication of the first edition of The New Peerage. The company takes its name from its founder, John Debrett.

 

Although perhaps a little cluttered and somewhat old fashioned by 1920s standards, the de Virre’s Edwardian style drawing room is very elegant and would have been typical of such a room in an established upper-class household during the inter-war period. The upper classes, whether titled or not, tended to enjoy their opulent and lavish interiors. Only the brave or modern thinker would have swept away the accumulation of antiques over the generations for the clean lined, stripped back Art Deco interiors fashionable in the new houses, flats and hotels being built around Britain and the world. This upper-class domestic scene is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures, some of which come from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

 

The gold satin upholstered settee and the Hepplewhite chair with the lemon satin upholstery were made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. The coffee table in the foreground is made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Creal.

 

On the coffee table stands a silver serving tray on which are a silver coffee and tea set, a porcelain sugar bowl and milk jug and a glass bowl featuring a selection of biscuits. The galleried silver serving tray is engraved and was made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The tea and coffee pot are also made by them. The glass bowl of biscuits was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, who specialise in 1:12 size foods and glassware with amazing realism and attention to detail. The porcelain tea set, which has two matching cups and saucers, one on the coffee table and one on the two tier Regency table, were part of a job lot of over one hundred pieces of 1:12 chinaware I bought from a seller on E-Bay. The pieces are remarkably dainty and the patterns on them are so pretty. In front of the tea set stands a wedding card of an Edwardian bride looking at a wedding cake. It is a 1:12 size replica of a real Edwardian wedding card and was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

Behind the settee stands a walnut grand piano covered in family photographs and bibelots. The piano I have had since I was around eleven years old. Like a real piano, its lid does prop open on an angle. It has a matching piano stool. The de Virre’s family photos 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 three prong candelabra behind the photograph frames is an artisan piece of sterling silver made in Berlin and is actually only 3 centimetres in height and 3 centimetres in width. The vase of red roses on the piano is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.

 

The Georgian revival bureau to the left of the picture comes from Town Hall Miniatures. Made to very high standards, each drawer opens and closes. It is covered in Edwardian wedding cards made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. On the writing surface of the bureau sit some papers also made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures, and a miniature ink bottle and pen made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottle is made from a tiny faceted crystal bead and features a sterling silver bottom and lid. The pen is also sterling silver and features a tiny pearl in its end.

 

The floral arrangement in the farthest corner of the room is made by hand by Falcon Miniatures in America who specialise in high end miniatures. The vase of orange roses on the tall Bespaq stand to the right of the photo is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.

 

The paintings around the wall are all made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States, except the small gilt painting of a sailing boat in the upper left-hand corner of the photo. It was made by Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The Royal Doulton style dinner set featuring roses in the carboard box came from a miniature dollhouse specialist on E-Bay.

 

The miniature Persian rug in the foreground of the photo was made by hand by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, whilst the one in the back beneath the piano was hand woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.

 

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

Waitress offering beverages on the casino floor.

- Laughlin, Nevada

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

 

Today however, we have headed north-west from Cavendish Mews, across Marylebone, past Regent’s Park, the London Zoo and Lords Cricket Ground to the affluent and leafy residential streets of nearby St. John’s Wood. It is here that Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie friends Minnie Palmerston and her husband Charles reside in a neatly painted two storey early Victorian townhouse on Acacia Road that formerly belonged to Charles Palmerston’s maternal grandparents, Lord and Lady Arundel.

 

Having taken her future sister-in-law, Arabella Tyrwhitt, to her old childhood chum and best friend Gerald Bruton’s couturier in Grosvenor Street Soho for her initial wedding dress consultation, Lettice has left the two together to discuss designs whilst she visits Minnie in St John’s Wood. Minnie, a highly strung socialite, has redecorated her dining room in a style not to her husband’s taste, or so she was told by Minnie over a luncheon Lettice hosted for Arabella last week. Known for her melodrama, Lettice quietly ponders whether it really is as awful as Minnie implies as she pays the taxi driver the fare from Soho to St John’s Wood and alights the blue vehicle onto the street.

 

The day is bright and sunny, and the street is quiet with only the occasional bark of a dog and the distant rumble of traffic from busy Finchley Road in the distance as Lettice strides across the road and walks up the eight steps that lead up to Minnie’s black painted front door. She depresses the doorbell which echoes through the long hallway inside and waits. Moments later, there is the thud of Minnie’s hurried footsteps as she flings open the door dramatically.

 

“Lettice darling!” she cries, standing in the doorway in a beautiful may green day dress which compliments her red hair and green eyes, with cascades of green and black bugle beads tumbling down the front. “Come in! Come in!” she beckons her friend with enthusiastic waves which make the green, black and gold bangles on her wrist jangle noisily.

 

“Minnie.” Lettice leans in for a whispery kiss on the cheek as she steps across the threshold and follows Minnie’s indications and steps into a drawing room off the hallway, the room filled with diffused light from a large twelve pane window that looks out onto the street. Looking around her, she quickly takes in the overstuffed cream satin settees, nests of occasional tables, clusters of pictures in gilt frames in every conceivable space on the William Morris style papered walls and the potted parlour palms. “Oh yes,” she remarks as she removes her green gloves. “I do see what you mean. Very Edwardian.”

 

“Isn’t it ghastly, Lettice darling?” Minnie asks as she steps into the drawing room. “Here let me take your, umbrella, coat and hat.” She helps her friend shrug off her forest green coat and takes her rather artistic beret with its long tassel. “I think Lady Arundel could walk in here and not find a thing out of place!”

 

“It could be worse,” Lettice remarks, looking up at the crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling high above. “It could be decorated in high Victorian style and lit with gasoliers*.”

 

“True darling.” Minnie calls from the hallway where she hangs up Lettice’s things on a heavy Victorian coatrack. “But you have yet to see my dining room faux pas.”

 

“Now Minnie, no matter what I say, I want no histrionics today like we had over luncheon last week,” Lettice chides her friend with a wagging finger. “Poor Bella didn’t know where to look.”

 

“Oh I am sorry.” Minnie apologises. “Coming from the country, she probably isn’t used to our London ways.”

 

“Your emotional outbursts have nothing whatsoever to do with London ways, so don’t go foisting it off.” Lettice replies, cocking one of her delicately plucked eyebrows at her friend.

 

“You sound just like Gladys.” Minnie says.

 

“Well, I hope I’m not as shrill sounding as her,” Lettice replies with a chuckle.

 

“And how is the beautiful bride-to-be?”

 

“Happily ensconced with Gerald in his Soho atelier, no doubt talking about all the finer details of the dream wedding frock I have already heard about from dear Bella.”

 

“She seems quite lovely, Lettice darling.”

 

“Oh, I adore Bella.” Lettice agrees with a wave of her hand. “Given we grew up running in and out of each other’s houses, living on neighbouring properties, it was inevitable that she would marry one of my brothers, or Lally or I marry one of Bella’s brothers. I’m just glad that it wasn’t the latter. All Bella’s brothers, whilst charming, take after their grandfather, and he was not a handsome man. Bella has her mother’s delicate and pretty genes and she and Leslie are well suited. They both love the country, and as you know from luncheon last week, Bella likes the county social round. As Pater says, Bella will one day make a wonderful chatelaine of Glynes**, supporting Leslie as a dutiful wife, hosting important county social functions like the Hunt Ball, opening fetes and awarding prizes at cattle shows.”

 

“How does Lady Sadie feel about her usurper?”

 

“Oh Mater loves Bella as much as we all do.” Lettice replies breezily. “Of course, Pater doesn’t dare express his appreciation quite so volubly in front of Mater, but I’m sure she is silently thinking the same thing, not that she would ever share that with any of us. No, the problem will be if Pater decides to pop his mortal clogs before she does. I don’t know how happy she will be to hand over the mantle of lady of the manor to her daughter-in-law, even if she does love her.”

 

“Well, let’s hope we don’t have to worry about that for a good while yet.” Minnie says soothingly.

 

“Indeed yes!” agrees Lettice. “Now, show me this dread dining room of yours, Minnie darling. I’m famished, and I’m intrigued to see just how much of a faux pas it really is.”

 

“Come right this way, interior decorator to all the great and good of this great country of ours,” Minnie says rather grandly as she walks towards a door that leads from the drawing room to the next room. Suddenly she pauses, clasping the brass doorknob in her hand and turns back to Lettice who has trailed behind her. “Prepare yourself my dear for l’horreur!” And she flings the door open.

 

Minnie and Lettice walk into the townhouse’s dining room, which like the adjoining drawing room has a high ceiling. Lettice is surprised that after the grandeur of the drawing room, it’s a much smaller room, perhaps more suited for intimate dining rather than a large banquet. She glances around and quickly takes in the mixture of old and new. An Edwardian dining setting in Queen Anne style fills the majority of the space, whilst a late Victorian sideboard and spare carver chairs press against the wall. To either side of the new Art Deco gas fireplace stand two modern stands on which sit rather old fashioned urns. Modernist paintings in bold colours hang on the walls, but Lettice can barely see them for the bold wallpaper of red poppies against a black background with green and white geometric patterns.

 

“Oh I see.” Lettice remarks, neither enthusiastically nor critically, but in a rather neutral way.

 

Lettice walks around the dining table on which stands a Georgian Revival tea set with steam snaking from the spot of the pot, a small carafe of water and glassware, crockery and cutlery for two at the head of the table. She stands before the Streamline Moderne fireplace surround and runs an elegant hand over one of the bold red blooms, feeling the slightly raised pattern. She sighs as she contemplates what she sees.

 

“Do you think it looks like something out of Maida Vale, Lettice darling?” Minnie asks hesitantly.

 

For a moment, Lettice doesn’t answer as she traces one of the green lines towards the gilt edge of a frame holding a painting of a tiger. “Tyger Tyger burning bright***,” she murmurs the beginning of the William Blake poem.

 

“Yes,” Minnie acknowledges her friend with a sigh of pleasure. “He’s rather glorious, isn’t he?”

 

“He is,” Lettice agrees. “However his gloriousness is diminished somewhat by the wallpaper which draws away attention from him, and the red fox.” She points to a larger canvas hanging over the sideboard.

 

“So you do think it’s middle-class Maida Vale then.” Minnie pronounces in a downhearted fashion.

 

“No, I don’t.” Lettice clarifies, turning around and placing a comforting hand on the slumped left shoulder of her friend. “And I think it was very unkind of Charles to say so. The wallpaper is beautiful, Minnie. It just doesn’t suit this room.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, this is quite an intimate room: taller with these high ceilings, rather than wide. This wallpaper would suit a longer room with low ceilings, where expanses of this pattern could be exposed uninterrupted.”

 

“Like a mansion flat?”

 

“Exactly, Minnie! I did something similar for the moving picture actress, Wanetta Ward last year. She had a long, exposed wall and the bold pattern I used worked beautifully. And this wallpaer does nothing to show off yours and Charles’ beautiful paintings. It detracts rather than enhances. The paintings and the wallpaper vie for attention. Think about the National Gallery, or the Tate Gallery****. When you see pictures hanging on the wall, what do you notice about the surrounding to the painting?”

 

Minnie thinks for a moment, screwing up her pert nose with its dusting of freckles. “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever actually noticed the walls, Lettice darling.”

 

“Correct again, Minnie. No-one thinks about the walls because you’re not meant to. Your focus is meant to be on the paintings.”

 

“So you think I should strip the walls and paint them? Is that what you’re saying?”

 

“Well, you could, Minnie.” Lettice replies. “Or you could paint the walls and decorate the upper edge with a nice frieze paper.”

 

“Then it really would look like Maida Vale.” Minnie argues. “Only people who can’t afford wallpaper get friezes hung.”

 

Lettice considers her friend’s remark for a moment. “Mmm… yes, you’re quite right Minnie. Well, Jeffrey and Company***** do stock a range of beautiful papers in vibrant colours with pattern embossed into them. They look very luxurious.”

 

“Oh!” Minnie clasps her hands in delight. “I do like the sound of that! What colour would suit this room do you think?”

 

“Oh I should imagine a nice warm red or orange to go with this.” Lettice taps the top of the tiled fireplace surround. “And that colour range would also compliment your polished floors.”

 

“And I could get black japanned furniture like you, Lettice darling! I do like your chairs.”

 

“Oh no.” Lettice shakes her head. “Black japanned furniture is fine, but not my chairs. They are far too low for this room. You need an equivalent high backed chair.” She reaches out and pats one of the dining chairs. “Lady Arundel chose these well as they echo the height of the room. Perhaps if you had something high backed padded with a complimentary fabric to the paper: say red or orange.”

 

“Oh Lettice you are so clever!” enthuses Minnie. “When can you start.”

 

“Don’t you want to ask Charles before you go spending his money on redecorating, Minnie?” Lettice laughs. “Surely he’ll want a say.”

 

“Oh Charles told me today when I reminded him that you were coming for luncheon before he left for the office, that he’ll happily pay for anything you recommend, or better yet your services. So you don’t need to worry on that account.”

 

“Well, I would have to finish Dickie and Margot’s.” Lettice tempers.

 

“Oh, of course.” Minnie agrees.

 

“Well, I don’t have another redecorating assignment after them, so let me contemplate it.”

 

“I’ll go and get luncheon whilst you contemplate.” Minnie exclaims with a clap of her hands before scuttling away through a second door to the left of the fireplace.

 

With her exuberant friend gone, Lettice looks around the dining room, contemplating what she has suggested, picturing what embossed wallpaper in a rich red or vibrant orange would look like as a backdrop for the paintings. “Pity.” she muses as she again runs her hands over the stylised poppies in the pattern on the wall. Turning around she looks across the room. “Sorry Lady Arundel,” she remarks, tapping the top of the nearest dining chair again. “But it looks like your granddaughter-in-law wants to modernise.

 

“I’m afraid it’s Cook’s afternoon off today,” Minnie says apologetically as she walks back through the door through which she went, carrying a tray of tomato, ham and cucumber sandwiches. “So we’ll have to settle for these.” Looking down at the plate of appetising sandwich triangles as she places them on the dining table’s surface she adds. “I do hope she remembered not to make tongue****** ones. She should remember that I can’t stand cold tongue.”

 

Lettice peers at the fillings of bright red tomato, vivid green cucumber, and pink ham. “I think we’ll be safe.”

 

“Well, there’s half a trifle left over for dessert just in case they aren’t nice.” Minnie adds hopefully.

 

Lettice is suddenly struck by something. “Minnie?” she asks. “Minnie, why are you carrying the tray? And come to think of it, why did you answer the door? Where is Gladys?”

 

Minnie blushes, her pale skin and smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose reddening. “She handed in her immediate notice the week before last.”

 

“Oh no! Not another one Minnie?”

 

“She said she couldn’t work for a woman who had such histrionics as I do, and she’s gone back to Manchester.”

 

“Oh Minnie!” Lettice shakes her head dolefully.

 

“See! I told you, you sounded like Gladys, Lettice. I’ve been getting by with the tweeny*******, but Cook grumbles, so I can’t keep pinching her. That’s why I’m so grateful you gave me that telephone number for that domestic employment agency in Westminster. I’ve a new maid starting next week. Her name’s Siobhan, so I figured that she can’t complain about my histrionics as she’d be used to them, being Irish.”

 

“Well, let’s hope so Minnie.” Lettice chuckles as she pulls out her dining chair and takes her seat. “I can’t keep up with the revolving door of maids that come in and out of this house. How long have you been here for now?”

 

“Seven months or thereabout.” Minnie replies vaguely as she takes her own seat in the chair at the head of the dining table.

 

“And how many maids have you had in that time?”

 

“Nine.” Minnie replies with a guilty gulp.

 

“No wonder Charles feels his club is better suited to entertain prospective business associates.” Lettice shakes her head disapprovingly. “A tweeny waiting table.”

 

“Well hopefully, with Siobhan starting next week, and you agreeing to redecorate my dining room faux pas,” She looks around the room with glittering, excited eyes, as she imagines the possibilities. “Charles will be happy to start entertaining here.” She pauses and thinks for a moment. “You will won’t you?”

 

“Will I what, Minnie?”

 

“You will redecorate my dining room, won’t you?”

 

Lettice reaches around Minnie’s teacup and squeezes her friend’s hand comfortingly. “Of course I will. I’ll come up with some ideas of what I think might suit this room and then I’ll show you and Charles. Charles has to have some input, even if he has told you that you that I have carte blanche when it comes to redecorating.”

 

*A gasolier is a chandelier with gas burners rather than light bulbs or candles.

 

**Glynes is the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie.

 

***”The Tyger” is a poem by English poet William Blake, published in 1794 as part of his “Songs of Experience” collection and rising to prominence in the romantic period of the mid Nineteenth Century. The poem explores and questions Christian religious paradigms prevalent in late 18th century and early 19th century England, discussing God's intention and motivation for creating both the tiger and the lamb. Tiger is written as Tyger in the poem as William Blake favoured old English spellings.

  

****In 1892 the site of a former prison, the Millbank Penitentiary, was chosen for the new National Gallery of British Art, which would be under the Directorship of the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square. The prison, used as the departure point for sending convicts to Australia, had been demolished in 1890. Sidney R.J. Smith was chosen as the architect for the new gallery. His design is the core building that we see today, a grand porticoed entranceway and central dome which resembles a temple. The statue of Britannia with a lion and a unicorn on top of the pediment at the Millbank entrance emphasised its function as a gallery of British art. The gallery opened its doors to the public in 1897, displaying 245 works in eight rooms from British artists dating back to 1790. In 1932, the gallery officially adopted the name Tate Gallery, by which it had popularly been known as since its opening. In 1937, the new Duveen Sculpture Galleries opened. Funded by Lord Duveen and designed by John Russell Pope, Romaine-Walker and Gilbert Jenkins, these two 300 feet long barrel-vaulted galleries were the first public galleries in England designed specifically for the display of sculpture. By this point, electric lighting had also been installed in all the rooms enabling the gallery to stay open until 5pm whatever the weather. In 1955, Tate Gallery became wholly independent from the National Gallery.

  

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

  

******Beef tongue (also known as neat's tongue or ox tongue) is a cut of beef made of the tongue of a cow. It can be boiled, pickled, roasted or braised in sauce. It is found in many national cuisines, and is used for taco fillings in Mexico and for open-faced sandwiches in the United States.

 

*******A tweeny is a between maid, who works in the kitchen as well as above stairs, assisting at least two other members of a domestic staff.

 

This rather bright dining room is perhaps a little different to what you might think, for it is made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection, some pieces from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The Queen Anne dining table, chairs and sideboard were all given to me as birthday and Christmas presents when I was a child.

 

The three prong Art Deco style candelabra in the sideboard is an artisan piece made of sterling silver. Although unsigned, the piece was made in England by an unknown artist. The vase of flowers to the left of the candelabra is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The carafe to the right of the candelabra is another artisan piece made of hand spun glass. I acquired it as a teenager from a high street dollhouse stockist.

 

The ornately hand painted ginger jar is one of a pair and comes from Melody Jane Dollhouse Suppliers in Britain. The tall stand on which the ginger jar stands was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

The paintings on the walls are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States. The stylised floral and geometric shape Art Deco wallpaper is a real Art Deco design which I have sourced and had printed in high quality onto A3 sheets of paper.

 

On the dining table the tray of sandwiches are made of polymer clay. Made in England by hand by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight they are very realistic with even the bread slices having a bread like consistency look. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The water carafe came from the same high street stockist as the carafe on the sideboard. The Art Deco dinner set is part of a much larger set I acquired from a dollhouse suppliers in Shanghai. The Georgian Revival silver tea set on its tray I acquired from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The Streamline Moderne pottery tile fireplace surround I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

All images available for licensing via me. I offer commercial and editorial pet photography on a commissioned basis. And with a pet picture database with thousands of hand-picked images of dogs, cats, as well as horses, I might already have what you are looking for. All pictures here can be licensed.

For licensing and commission requests: info{at}elkevogelsang.com -

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20190130_Momme_Momme

“Some offer their wealth, their austerity, and their practice of yoga as sacrifice, while the ascetics with strict vows offer their study of scriptures and knowledge as sacrifice.”

(Bhagavad Gita)

 

This is a picture of Lal Baba who is a Saivite (follower of Shiva) sādhu.

He was born in the Indian state of Bihar but he stays most of the time in Varanasi (Benaras).

I didn’t see him since a few months, no one could tell me where he was whenever I was asking at the ghats so I was happy to see him again a few days ago as I was walking with my friend Rajesh along the Ganges.

People call him Lal Baba because he mostly wears garments in red shades, in Hindi “lal” means red.

His huge turban keeps a few meters of dreadlocks and gives him an impressive presence.

Sometimes people think that he can’t see much because of cataract but in fact his eyes have an amazing deep blue colour.

I told him that Benaras is not the same without him and he laughed.

This is a link to another picture with him shot a few years ago:

www.flickr.com/photos/designldg/422170201/in/set-72157600...

I might go and see him tomorrow as I told him that I’ll give him a few pictures this week.

 

View On Black

 

Join the photographer www.facebook.com/laurent.goldstein.photography

 

© All photographs are copyrighted and all rights reserved.

Please do not use any photographs without permission (even for private use).

The use of any work without consent of the artist is PROHIBITED and will lead automatically to consequences.

www.wwt.org.uk/wetland-centres/martin-mere/

  

WWT Martin Mere Wetland Centre

  

Fish Lane, Burscough

Lancashire

L40 0TA

  

T: 01704 895181

F: 01704 892343

E: info.martinmere@wwt.org.uk

  

Opening times

 

Open 7 days a week, except 25 December

  

Winter (27 October to February)

9.30am to 5.00pm

  

Early Closing on 24 December (last admission 2pm)

  

Summer (March to 27 October)

9.30am to 5.30pm

  

Facilities

  

Eating

  

The brand new Mere Side cafe offers a delicious selection of hot and cold food, a variety of coffees and chilled drinks, and tempting home-made cakes. From healthy vegetarian salads to hearty meat dishes, all can be enjoyed overlooking the beautiful wetlands.

 

Small Breakfast menu available from 10am -11.30am. Hot food served from 11.45am - 2.30pm.

  

Shopping

  

The gift shop stocks a wide range of wildlife books, outdoor clothing, bird feeders/boxes, postcards and stationary, children’s gifts and souvenirs of your visit to the centre, including a unique range of products featuring the artwork of WWT founder Sir Peter Scott.

 

There is also an In Focus optics shop at the centre selling everything you will ever need to watch wildlife – from budget binoculars starting at around £15 to deluxe telescopes at over £1000. In Focus is the ideal place to get honest, friendly advice about buying your first pair of binoculars and test them in what must be the best location anywhere in the North West of England.

   

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Visitor information and associated terms and conditions of entry

  

We hope you have a great day with us. Our Wetland Centres are designed to give you an unforgettable experience getting close to nature. Your safety is paramount, as is the safety of the wildlife that visits or lives at our Wetland Centres. To ensure everyone has a safe and enjoyable day, we have terms and conditions of entry that everyone needs to observe.

  

1. Visitors are asked to respect the habitats and wildlife of the centre by keeping to the paths and defined tracks at all times and keeping loud noise to a minimum as this may cause stress to wildlife.

2. Contrary to popular belief, birds should not be fed bread as they cannot digest it. Please feed them grain instead - you will be able to purchase grain at centres where feeding is permitted.

3. Please ensure that children are supervised at all times and please be aware that some of our ponds and lakes are deep. Children under the age of 16 must be accompanied by an adult.

4. Safety signs are there for your protection - please obey the signage and do not attempt to go beyond any enclosure barriers. Please do not: Climb on any trees or shrubs

Prune or pick any flowers or vegetation

Enter any water body

 

5. The last admission to the Centre is 30 minutes prior to the advertised closing time.

6. Due to the limited availability of car parking spaces, vehicles may only be left for the duration of the visit to the centre.

7. Mobility scooters are very welcome on site. For more information on what we offer for people with disabilities, please see www.wwt.org.uk/visit/visit/accessibility/

8. Unfortunately we can't allow dogs or pets of any kind on site, with the exception of assistance dogs on duty, as our wildlife may become distressed. Assistance dogs must be kept on the lead and under control and harnesses must state "working or assistance dog". Please ensure any dog waste is removed. If any of our birds/animals behaviour is affected by the presence of your dog, we may have to ask you to move away from the area.

9. So we don't distress our wildlife, we do not allow the following on site: Scooters, bicycles, tricycles, roller skates/blades/wheelies or skateboards

Barbecues

Footballs or frisbees

 

10. Pond dipping is not allowed on our wildlife reserve ponds. This is to prevent the spread of invasive non-native plants and the chytridiomycosis disease which affects amphibians. Pond dipping in the grounds may only be undertaken with equipment provided by WWT.

11. In accordance with UK law smoking is prohibited in all buildings (including hides). Visitors who wish to smoke are asked to consider the welfare and comfort of other visitors, especially children, by not smoking in or around picnic areas, play areas or areas where children's activities are being held. In periods of extreme dry weather WWT reserves the right to designate the whole site non-smoking in order to reduce the risk of fire.

12. Photography is permitted on site for personal use only. All commercial/stock library photography, filming, recording, etc. must be agreed in advance with the centre. Please contact Nick Brooks on 01704 891 227 for any commercial filming or photographic enquiries.

13. WWT reserves the right to ask for additional identification to aid proof of membership.

  

2013 admission prices

  

Prices are shown inclusive of Gift Aid and without. The Gift Aid admission price includes a voluntary donation, which enables us to claim the tax back as part of the Government's Gift Aid scheme. For further information on Gift Aid click here.

  

Pricing

  

Adult

 

Gift Aid £11.10

No Gift Aid £10.09

  

Concession (65+, full-time students, unemployed)

Gift Aid £8.20

No Gift Aid £7.45

 

Child (4-16 years)

Gift Aid £5.40

No Gift Aid £4.91

  

Family (2 adults and 2 children, 4-16 years)

Gift Aid £29.80

No Gift Aid £27.09

 

Children (under 4 years) Free Free

 

Essential helpers assisting disabled visitors Free Free

 

Under 16s must be accompanied by an adult.

  

Accessibility

  

WWT Martin Mere Wetland Centre has the following facilities:

 

Free accessible car parking provision – 2 designated spaces

Trained assistance dogs welcome

Hearing induction loop in reception

Maps can be enlarged, please ask ahead of your visit

Manual wheelchair available to loan

The paths around the site are level access

Roaming volunteers, grounds and reception staff on hand if you require assistance

There is step-free entry to all our hides

Accessible toilets

Restaurant staff are friendly and helpful and will carry trays to the table if required

Pond-dipping with station for wheelchair-users

Accessible boat safari – maximum 2 manual wheelchair-users per trip

Waterplay – accessible (boardwalks / gravel) for children using wheelchairs

Eco Garden – a great sensory experience

  

In addition we have friendly and helpful staff, so if you need restaurant staff to carry a tray to your table or help open a gate – please just ask!

  

Eat, drink, refresh

  

The visitor centre is the heart of Martin Mere and the central place to find information on what to see, to buy seed to feed to the birds, to browse our retail shop and to eat (at the Mere Side Cafe).

 

The Mere Side Cafe has a selection of hot and cold food, sandwiches, cakes and drinks. Childrens boxes are available as well as high chairs and the option to heat up a baby's bottle. Additionally in the building there are disabled toilets and baby changing facilities.

 

The building has six indoor rooms where there’s always plenty to see and do in the warmth. Films will often be shown in our theatre about beavers or swans and there is a free activity room where families can play and learn in comfort.

 

The main foyer is home to a bio-diversity exhibition that was kindly donated to us to allow us to have an interactive display promoting the diversity of nature and life. The exhibition has a mixture of touch screen displays, hand held objects, an introductory DVD and large displays to read and learn about bio-diversity.

 

In addition, at weekends and during holidays there is another craft room where children can design then purchase crafts such as badges, pencil cases and themed activities depending on the season.

  

Shopping

  

Gift shop

  

The retail shop has a wide selection of gifts and souvenirs from small gifts for children to jewellery and display items, as well as a bird care and book area.

 

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In Focus shop

  

Established over 30 years ago, In Focus are the UK’s leading binocular and telescope specialists.

 

The In Focus shop at Martin Mere has arguably the best testing facilities for binoculars and telescopes in Britain, and carries an extensive range of binoculars and telescopes from beginners’ compacts for £15 to top end kit.

 

They also stock tripods, hide clamps, digiscoping kits and a wide range of bird watching accessories.

 

All of the In Focus staff are expert birders who work commission-free to give non-biased advice about choosing binoculars and telescopes. All sales support WWT’s conservation work.

 

If you wish to visit In Focus but not Martin Mere, you pay the admission price and this can be refunded when you leave if you get your receipt stamped by a member of staff at In Focus.

  

Group visits

  

What is there for groups?

  

Martin Mere Wetland Centre provides a perfect destination for groups, from keen wildlife enthusiasts, photographers or conservation and environmental groups to those just wanting a relaxing day out.

 

There are beautiful walks around the grounds where you can view birds from around the world, and a nature trail with ten lookout hides from which to watch wildlife throughout the seasons, including summer wading birds and the wintering swans and geese. We also have a visitor centre with spectacular views across the Swan Lake and we have a gift shop and the Mere Side Cafe, which serves food and drinks.

 

You are welcome to visit at your leisure but for those wanting a little more structure we offer guided walks tailored to your group’s requirements.

  

Activities

  

A range of seasonal guided tours and events are available to groups year round at Martin Mere Wetland Centre. Tours are priced at £10 and must be pre-booked.

 

Among those available are duckling nursery tours in the spring, summer waders walks in the summer and swan feeds in the winter. Guided tours of the waterfowl gardens and a community reedbed walk are also run year-round.

Contact the centre to find out which events

will be available when you visit.

 

Benefits for groups

 

Reduced entry prices for groups of 12 or more (payable as one payment on arrival)

Free familiarisation visit for the group leader

Complimentary admission for group organiser

Free coach parking

Free entry for the coach driver

Voucher for use in the Coffee Shop for the driver

Guided tour available for small additional cost for groups that have pre-booked

Meet and greet with complimentary welcome pack

  

Group admission prices 2012

  

Free to WWT members

 

The following discounted rates apply to groups of 12 or more:

Adult: £9.50

Concession: £7.00 (over 65 years, full-time students, unemployed)

Child: £4.60 (4-16 years)

  

No deposit is required and groups will be asked to pay at the admissions desk on the day of visit.

 

Accessibility

 

The centre has level access and hard-surfaced paths with tarmac on main routes (and compacted gravel on minor paths)

All hides are accessible to wheelchairs

Low-level viewing windows and level access to ground floor bird hides.

Free wheelchair loan

Trained assistance dogs only (i.e. Guide dogs). No other dogs permitted

Accessible toilets in car-park and throughout the visitor centre

Free car parking on site. Tarmac surface and reserved bays for disabled visitors

  

Making a booking

  

For further information or to make a group booking, please contact Belinda on 01704 895181, or email: info.martinmere@wwt.org.uk

  

School visits

  

At WWT Martin Mere we provide unique and unforgettable learning experiences for schools.

 

To find out more about what’s on offer for you and your pupils,

  

Venue hire

  

If you would like to hire a room at Martin Mere call Belinda on 01704 891238 or email: info.martinmere@wwt.org.uk for further information or to obtain a quote.

 

The centre can be hired during the day for corporate meetings or conferences, or in the evening for functions. Rooms can also be hired for children's birthday parties.

 

Children's parties are available at the following prices:

 

Children under the age of 4 is £6.00 per child (1 parent free and then a ration of 1 adult free per 3 children).

 

Children aged 4 - 12 is £8.00 per child (1 parent free and then a ratio of 1 adult free per 5 children)

 

Lunches boxes can also be purchased for £3.95 per child and they include a sandwich, fruit drink, crisps and a piece of fruit

  

Rooms available to hire:

 

Meeting Room - Maximum of 15 delegates

Lecture Theatre - Maximum of 100 delegates

Half of Greenwood Building - 20 to 30 delegates

Full Greenwood Building - Maximum of 60 delegates

  

How to find us

  

WWT Martin Mere Wetland Centre

Fish Lane, Burscough

Lancashire

L40 0TA

 

T: 01704 895181

F: 01704 892343

E: info.martinmere@wwt.org.uk

  

Martin Mere Wetland Centre is located six miles from Ormskirk and 10 miles from Southport. It is easily accessible by public and private transport.

 

WWT Martin Mere is now offering a scheme where visitors who travel to the Centre without a car can receive discount entry on admission.

 

The reduced admission prices are:

 

Adult: £9.50

Child: £4.60

Concession: £7.00

  

By car

 

Situated off the A59, the Centre is signposted from junction 8 on the M61, junction 3 on the M58 and junction 27 on the M6. It is free to park at the Centre.

  

By rail

 

There are three railway stations in close proximity to Martin Mere: Burscough Bridge Interchange (on the Southport - Manchester line) is approximately two miles, New Lane (on the Southport – Manchester line) is approximately 0.8 miles and Burscough Junction (on the Liverpool to Preston line via Ormskirk) is approximately three miles.

 

Visit: www.traveline-northwest.co.uk for details of North West timetables and journey planner.

  

By foot

 

Martin Mere has created a new trail from Burscough Bridge Interchange. The well signposted two mile trail is along local footpaths and includes walking over agricultural land so may not be suitable for prams or wheelchairs. It is also advised to wear good walking boots. The trail begins from behind the Manchester platform at Burscough Bridge Interchange and incorporates local tea rooms and the new Martin Mere reedbed walk. The signs are made out of recycled plastic.

 

Please be aware that at certain times of the year, summer in particular, the footpath can become overgrown in certain places and it is advised to call the Centre prior to walking it at this time of year. If the path at the station is overgrown you can use an alternative route: Walk down the side of the house on the platform and turn left onto the road, turning left down Moss Nook Road. At the top of Moss Nook Road you walk straight ahead onto the public footpath and you will pick up the fingerposts to Martin Mere.

 

If there is an issue with the signage on this walk please call Martin Mere on 01704 891220

 

If there is an issue with the footpath i.e. overgrown or litter, please call Burscough Parish Council on 01704 894914

 

Click here for information on the Countryside Code

  

Hire a bike

  

The Martin Mere Wetland Centre welcomes cyclists as an environmentally friendly and pleasant way to arrive at the centre.

 

Jack Parker Cycles, in partnership with Martin Mere, now offer cycle hire from the Burscough shop. The hire fleet consist’s of a selection of gent’s, ladies, boys & girls junior bikes all fitted with puncture proof tires, also child seats & tag along bikes are available. All persons hiring will be supplied with helmets, locks and a map of area.

 

The costs to hire are £8.00 per bike and £4.00 for child seats and tags. All bikes must be booked in advance by telephone on 01704 892442 or by calling into the shop at 62 - 64 Liverpool Road North, Burscough L40 4BY

 

Cycle stations are located at Burscough Wharf, Burscough Fitness and Racquets Centre and The Ship Inn in Lathom.

 

All you need to hire a bike is your mobile phone and a debit or credit card and cycle hire is from £1 per hour

Minimum 6 hour initial purchase required however this can be carried forward to your next hire until your membership expires.

Top up your account with more hours anytime either through the website or by calling our automated number 01704 340025.

Thirty day temporary memberships are instantly available when you hire a bike however you can upgrade or pre-join on our website.

Easy to follow instructions are available at all stations.

You are able to hire at one station and leave your bike at another (specific locations only).

Check our website for locations of other cycle hire centres or to check if bikes are available at your chosen station

 

Further information on bike hire and how to travel without a car around Sefton and West Lancashire, please click on the following link: www.visitseftonandwestlancs.co.uk

 

The Centre is situated on two cycle routes in West Lancashire: the New Lane Circuit (approximately 23.5 miles) and A Grand Tour of West Lancashire (approximately 37.8 miles). Details of the routes can be found at: www.lancashire.gov.uk/environment/cycling/pdf/West%20lanc...

  

By coach

  

The centre has parking facilities for large coaches. Parking is free for coaches bringing visitors to the centre.

  

By air

 

Manchester Airport is just an hour drive from the Martin Mere Wetland Centre and Manchester Airport Train Station is on the Southport to Manchester train line, providing a direct route to New Lane Train Station, 0.8 miles from the Centre.

  

WWT's environmental policy

  

WWT is committed to environmental excellence and the continuous improvement of our environmental performance as part of our overall goal of implementing the pronciples of sustainability in all areas of work.

 

We recognise that many of our activities have some negative impact on the local, regional, national and global environment. As a consequence, we aim to conduct our business and operations in a way that minimises this impact and mitigates for it whenever possible, reflecting sustainable practices. Specifically we endeavour to:

Review all activities, operations and procedures to identify, quantify and evaluate environmental impact.

Set priorities and targets for environmental improvements in key areas, such as water, waste and energy.

Measure improvements against targets and report progress annually.

Adopt a philosophy of 'reduce, re-use and recycle' in our use of resources, and minimise the environmental impacts associated with our activities.

Meet or exceed all statutory regulations and approved codes of practice on the environment at all locations where possible.

Set our own standards and targets where no relevant Government regulation or code of practice exists.

Incorporate environmental responsibilities and sustainable practices into job descriptions, staff training and appraisals.

Raise awareness of environmental issues amongst staff and volunteers, and encourage individuals to adopt sustainable practices.

Communicate the value of environmental awareness and sustainability to members, supporters and local communities.

Encourage third parties, particularly suppliers and receivers of goods and services, to adopt environmental standards comparable to those of WWT.

Adopt a policy of sale and purchase of goods and services that minimises negative environmental impacts where possible.

Invest in accordance with our environmental policies and regularly review investments to ensure that they do not conflict with the Articles of the Trust.

Implement an environmental action plan to support our environmental policy.

  

Martin Mere visitor code

  

Wherever we go and whatever we do, we have an impact.

 

There are many ways in which you can get involved during your visit to help look after our beautiful area and ensure it is just as special on your next visit. This will also support our commitment to sustainable tourism.

  

1. Why not get out of the car - walking, riding and cycling are great ways to explore the area without adding to the traffic and you'll find there are fantastic places to visit right on your doorstep!

 

2. Stay local, eat local, buy local and see local - Lancashire has gained a reputation for fine food and local produce, so why not seek out famers' markets, village stores, pubs and cafes and make a real difference to the local communities.

 

3. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle - support us in our efforts to reduce waste.

 

4. Switch off... and save energy - in rural Lancashire you can see the stars at night! Help us reduce energy use and C02 emissions by switching off lights and standby buttons when you don't need them. Help us reduce water consumption by using just the water you need.

 

5. Follow the Countryside Code - the Countryside Code reminds us all to protect, respect and enjoy: look after plants and animals, take litter away; leave gates and property as you find them; keep dogs under close control; and consider other people.

 

The Casa de la Panadería (Bakery House), as the name implies, no longer offers bread and sweet treats because it is now a municipal and cultural building on the north side of the Plaza Mayor. Plaza Mayor is one of Madrid’s most famous squares and it is in the central part of the city so it’s a great place to start your visit. Read about the history of this square and the top six things to see and do in this famous Spanish square!

 

treasuresoftraveling.com/visiting-plaza-mayor-madrid-spain/

 

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Elizabeth offered a blank expression and a firm response: “Where do you even want to start? I’ve about had it with the doll neglect in this room, and all your suggestions to be patient and give her time haven’t worked.”

 

“Now Elizabeth, we must understand that she has other priorities right now and we must allow her to fulfill those.”

 

[Elizabeth's t-shirt is by the etsy store DollzWithLove.]