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Is it wrong to make flowers monochrome, I think not , as always offer the colour photograph, just for artistic effect. Good for printed framed in the home, where not wanting to disturb colour schemes
The Ravennaschlucht in Germany's Black Forest offers waterfalls and scenic hikes.
If you like my work, please feel free to check out my website at Imagine Your World and galleries on Fine Art America and Redbubble. Thank you for visiting me on Flickr!
A CP Grain train with a solid set of NS GEs begin their assault on Westminster Hill bringing them out of the Mississippi River Valley in St. Paul MN. This triangle of track known as Division offers lots of rail traffic, with Dayton's Bluff providing the background.
Vyšehrad is the oldest seat of Czech princes; in fact, the local settlement was established in the mid-10 th century. Situated on a rocky promontory above the Vltava River, it offers stunning views of the city, and the park area holds hidden architectural treasures including the rare Romanesque Rotunda of St Martin, the neo-Gothic Church of Sts Peter and Paul, the national cemetery Slavín, and the underground casements housing the some of the original Baroque statues from the Charles Bridge.
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
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Snowy oak at old snowy chapel Sant Andreu. Andorra la Vella, Andorra city, Andorra, Pyrenees
More Andorra la Vella images: Follow the group links at right side.
........
About this image:
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We offer 100.000+ photos of Andorra and North of Spain. HighRes & HighColor GeoCoded stock-photo images with metadata in 4 languages. Prepared for easy organising and advanced publishing for print and internet as Culture-GIS (Geographic Info System). The big stockphoto collection from the Pyrenees.
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United Airlines offers direct flights to Guam from four cities in Japan (Tokyo, Nagoya, Osaka, and Fukuoka).
ユナイテッド航空は日本各地の4都市（東京・名古屋・大阪・福岡）からグアムへ直行便を運航しています。
*
✈️RWY6L↘ - N35260🇺🇸 - Boeing 737-824 - United Airlines - UA150(KIX-GUM)
*
✨Taken at Guam Antonio B. Won Pat International Airport(GUM) on May 29th, 2024, 15:21
*
📷Canon EOS R3
🔭RF200-800mm F6.3-9 IS USM (637mm)
⚙️MANUAL・F9.0・1/2500th・±0EV・ISO320(AUTO)
(DxO PureRAW v4)
*
Robert H. Treman State Park is a state park located in Tompkins County, New York in the United States. The park is located along State Route 327, just west of State Routes 13, 34, and 96, situated in the Towns of Ithaca, Enfield and Newfield.
The park has numerous waterfalls along a rigorous 4.5-mile (7.2 km) round-trip hike. Like many of the state parks in the Finger Lakes region, the hiking trails follow a small creek (Enfield Creek, in this case), giving many views of the rock formations in the deep, narrow gorge (Enfield Glen). A natural swimming pool is located at the easternmost waterfall, "Lower Falls." A large (over 100 ft (30 m). high), multi-tiered cascading waterfall, "Lucifer Falls," is a short hike from the top (western) part of the park. The most spectacular view of Lucifer falls can be found along the gorge trail, although there are also overlooks along the rim trail. Finger Lakes Trail skirts the southern edge of the park.
Because of dangerous conditions created by snow and ice, most of the park's trails are inaccessible in the winter. Visitors can view Lower Falls year-round.
The park offers a pool, picnic tables, playing fields, hiking and camping. The Enfield Falls Mill and Miller's House was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1979.
"Lucifer Falls" is also the name of a town in the Disney made-for-TV movies, Mr. Boogedy and Bride of Boogedy.
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.
I offer commercial and editorial pet photography on a commissioned basis. And with a pet picture database of more than 200 images, I might already have what you are looking for. All pictures here can be licensed.
For licensing and commission requests: info@elkevogelsang.com
________________________
Elke Vogelsang
Commercial and editorial pet photographer
info@elkevogelsang.com
________________________
All pictures: © Elke Vogelsang
20181224_Rakuya_HeadTiltingRakuya
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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20260227_Alfonso_HeyGirlWannaDance_Week_9
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THE SITUATION IN MINEAPOLIS
I thought it would be useful to offer you some first-hand perspective of what’s happening here as I don’t think people who are watching from afar quite understand what is unfolding, how it feels, and what it means.
In Minneapolis we are living under a fascist assault, and most of our institutions appear to be failing us, including the law, the government, our elected leaders, and the media.
There are masked, highly armed men roaming our city in unmarked cars terrorizing us, assaulting us, kidnapping us, and now killing us. They have attacked my friends’ kids’ school, teargassing students, staff, and community members. Many of my non-white friends are carrying their passports with them at all times now. A friend of mine was assaulted, kidnapped and illegally detained for about 9 hours. Here is her account:
youtu.be/Inn-sfiMcyE?si=G69LrIXMJ2Trrt_l
There is no due process, there is zero regard for the law, there is no regard for safety of anyone, and so far there has been no institutional check on their violence and intimidation. People are disappearing with no way to find out where they were taken. The police are nowhere to be seen, so the lawlessness is becoming increasingly brazen.
They are also joined by outside provocateurs and agitators. One image that got a lot of play in the media was a man burning an American flag. What is less known is that he was masked, no one knows who he is, and he left immediately after creating the spectacle. Some protestors followed him asking who he was or where he was from but he refused to respond and left the scene.
No one is helping us, so we are having to do it ourselves. We have people who are too scared to leave their homes so thousands of us are quickly mobilizing to join neighborhood chats and resource sharing to get groceries and supplies to families that need them. We are keeping eyes on ICE activities and alerting our neighbors of their presence whenever and wherever we can. We are organizing peaceful protests and trying to demand accountability from our leaders. The people responding are not far-left agitators or extremists. These are neighbors from every walk of life who are stepping in where our institutions are failing us, documenting the hundreds of crimes being inflicted on us daily, sharing information in real time, sharing food, and resources. And yes, we are pissed, and sometimes things get heated, but the David/Goliath dynamics here cannot be overstated.
I don’t use the term fascism lightly or carelessly. I really hope people can understand crystal clear the implications of what is happening.
The other day Mayor Frey told a reporter that yes, legally the police could and should arrest the people doing this to us. But, he said there are more of them and they have more guns. Let that sink in. The people who are supposed to be keeping us safe, who took an oath to defend us and the constitution, who are supposedly trained and armed and paid to do just that, appear to be either too scared, or indifferent, so it has fallen upon us to keep our neighbors safe, and to fight for our rights.
If this administration is allowed to so brazenly trample our civil liberties in such a public and spectacular way, with zero accountability, and zero checks on their power, then the game’s up. This is a constitutional crisis. This administration has said it doesn’t care about the constitution and is daring constitutional institutions to do something about it and they are not.
We are all terrified. But here in Minnesota we are standing up for each other, for our safety, our rights, and our lives, and praying our institutions may come around and decide to join us. It is incredibly inspiring to watch the community come together for mutual aid, defense and support. And seeing it makes me so so hopeful. Do not feel defeated. Organize your own community and understand the way we make it out of this is together. Find the people who have been fighting fascism for decades, learn from them, plug into those networks, build power, and don’t let fear lead to inaction because that is how they win.
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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© Elke Vogelsang
20240308_Käthe_TrustAndPatience
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This evocative collection offers a cinematic journey through the Spanish Golden Age, a period defined by immense cultural flourishing and profound social contrasts. Each image serves as a window into the 16th and 17th centuries, blending historical atmosphere with dramatic chiaroscuro lighting. The set explores the diverse strata of imperial society: from the majestic galleons preparing for transoceanic voyages in misty harbors to the quiet, focused intensity of master painters and scholars in their studios.
The visual narrative traverses the opulence of the royal court and its noblemen, the spiritual silence of Gothic cloisters, and the gritty, vibrant life of the streets where "pícaros" share bread and veterans gather in dim taverns. High-stakes drama is captured through the clash of rapiers in shadowed alleys and the grand theatrical performances in a traditional "Corral de Comedias." Together, these frames pay homage to the era of Velázquez, Cervantes, and Lope de Vega, reimagining the textures, emotions, and legends of Spain’s most influential historical epoch.
The images have been generated by Artificial Intelligence.
Photography offers us the opportunity to show gratitude for some of the things around us that are often overlooked: trees, rocks, streams, etc. Without a camera, it is easy to walk through the world blind to the wonders around us. But with a camera, we are forced to engage with our surroundings and open our eyes to the millions of little worlds around us. With deeper exploration we discover that common everyday things aren't boring at all. I am thankful for this.
I share this photograph today because I made it on a local trail in the seasonally named Thanksgiving Ground Forest. What drew me to the scene was the opportunity to juxtapose the row of trees against the low-lying frozen pond in the background. One of my favorite creative tools is to try to mix two things together in a unique way. Like an experimental baker, I like to mess around and see how things work out. Toss some trees and a pond into the mix, pop it in the oven, and see what comes out. It doesn't always work, but it's a fun way to spark some creativity. In this scene, I thought that I could engineer the composition to make the pond look like a sky, which intrigued me with its horizontal white lines. These were not clouds, but rather breaks in the shadow over the frozen pond. Call me a menace, but sometimes I like to try to trick the viewer with my photos.
I can trace my inspiration here to a fantastic photograph by Gabriel Stankiewicz which was featured on the cover of the third volume of the NLPA book. Had I not seen his photo, I would not have seen this scene. With so many talented photographers out there, it is not difficult to find inspiration these days. I am also thankful for that.
Dear contacts and visitors,
I'm offering this photo in a larger resolution [1680x1050px] for you to use as a desktop wallpaper or facebook cover if you wish!
If you re-blog the photo please be kind and leave a link to the original! Thank you!
Previous desktop offer - www.flickr.com/photos/jup3nep/8613630858/
A cloud is a visible mass of liquid droplets or frozen crystals made of water or various chemicals suspended in the atmosphere above the surface of a planetary body. These suspended particles are also known as aerosols. Clouds in Earth's atmosphere are studied in the cloud physics branch of meteorology. Two processes, possibly acting together, can lead to air becoming saturated; cooling the air or adding water vapor to the air. In general, precipitation will fall to the surface; an exception is virga, which evaporates before reaching the surface.
The international cloud classification system is based on the fact clouds can show free-convective upward growth like cumulus, appear in non-convective layered sheets such as stratus, or take the form of thin fibrous wisps, as in the case of cirrus. Prefixes are used in connection with clouds: strato- for low clouds with limited convection that form mostly in layers, nimbo- for thick layered clouds that can produce moderate to heavy precipitation, alto- for middle clouds, and cirro- for high clouds.
While a majority of clouds form in Earth's troposphere, there are occasions when clouds in the stratosphere and mesosphere can be observed. These three main layers of the atmosphere where clouds may be seen are collectively known as the homosphere. Above this lies the thermosphere and exosphere, which together make up the heterosphere that marks the transition to outer space. Clouds have been observed on other planets and moons within the Solar System, but, due to their different temperature characteristics, they are composed of other substances such as methane, ammonia, and sulfuric acid.
You can read more on clouds on Wiki - en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloud
And the pharmacy hasn't noticed yet. They offer COVID testing and COVID vaccination.
Frankfurt, Konstablerwache
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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© Elke Vogelsang
20241203_Bloom_TheSaddestLittleGirl
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Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are 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.
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!!
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(1 in a multiple picture album)
The formations near the intersection of Zion Road and Utah Hwy 9 (Mt. Carmel Road) offer a choice. To the right is the high country and to the left is the low canyon. Either way you'll see beauty.
The sun is going down when this shot was taken and only the west facing formations remain bright. Down in the canyon it is dark, but a great dinner is waiting at the lodge.
A Capped Langur during an early morning foraging giving me the chance to frame him from close. Caring a hang at my close presence he offered me this very natural pose. Pics was taken in Manas National Park, Assam, India.
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.
As the Morris drove slowly up the rather uneven and potholed driveway running through a wild and unkempt looking park that must once have been a landscaped garden, both Lettice and Gerald were taken aback by the house standing on the crest of an undulating hill overlooking a cove. When described as a Regency “cottage residence”, the pair were expecting a modest single storey house of maybe eight to ten rooms with a thatch roof, not the sprawling double storey residence of white stucco featuring arched French doors and windows with sea views, a wraparound cast iron verandah and high pitched slate tiled roof with at least a dozen chimneys.
Now settled in ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, Lettice looks about her, taking in the stripped back, slightly austere and very formal furnishings.
“I say old bean,” Gerald addresses Dickie from his seat next to Lettice on the rather hard and uncomfortable red velvet settee. “If this is what your father calls a ‘cottage residence’, no wonder you jumped at the chance to take it.”
“Apparently the Prince Regent** coined the term ‘cottage residence’ when he had Royal Lodge built at Windsor,” Dickie explains cheerily from his place standing before the crackling fire, leaning comfortably against the mantle. “And of course my ancestors being the ambitious breed they were, set about building a ‘cottage’ to rival it.”
“Was it built for a previous Marquess of Taunton?” Lettice asks with interest.
“Heavens no, darling!” their host replies, raising his hands animatedly. “It was built back around 1816 for one of the second Marquess’ bastard sons, who served as a ship’s captain and returned from fighting the Frenchies a decorated war hero.” Dickie points to two portraits at the end of the room, either side of a Regency sideboard.
“That would explain the maritime theme running through the art in here.” Lettice points casually to several paintings of ships also hanging about the walls.
“Aren’t they ghastly, Lettice darling?” Margot hisses as she glances around at the oils in their heavy frames. “We need some femininity in this old place, don’t you think?” She giggles rather girlishly as she gives her friend a wink. “Daddy has promised me the pretty Georgian girl in the gold dress that hangs in my bedroom in Hans Crescent. I think it could look lovely in here.”
“If you please, my love!” Dickie chides his new wife sweetly, giving her a knowing look.
“Oh, so sorry my love!” she replies, putting her dainty fingers to her cheeky smile.
“As the Marquess’ prolific illegitimate progeny were well known up and down the coast of Cornwall and beyond,” Dickie continues his potted history of the house. “And what with him being a hero of the Napoleonic wars, his father, my ancestor the second Marquess, thought it best to set him up in a fine house of his own.”
“That was far enough away from the family seat.” Gerald adds.
“That was far enough away from the Marchioness, more like!” Dickie corrects. “Last thing you want to do is rub your good lady wife’s nose into the fruits spawned from the sewing of your wild oats.”
Margot looks across at her husband from her armchair with a look of mock consternation. “I do hope, my sweet, that I’m not to be confronted with any illegitimate offspring when I’m Marchioness of Taunton.”
“Certainly not my love. The Marquess’s wife, Georgette, was fierce by all accounts, but she’d be a pussy cat compared to your fierceness, Margot.”
“I should think so.” Margot smiles with satisfaction.
“Anyway,” Dickie adds with a roguish smile. “I made sure I did away with any illegitimate offspring I had, prior to marrying you.”
The four friends laugh at Dickie’s quick, witty response, just as the door to the drawing room is forced open by a heavy boot, startling them all.
Looking to the door as it creaks open noisily on its hinges, an old woman with a wind weathered face with her unruly wiry white hair tied loosely in a bun, wearing a rather tatty apron over an old fashioned Edwardian print dress, walks in carrying a tea tray. Although weighed down heavily with a teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl, four cups and saucers and a glass plate of biscuits, the rather frail looking old woman seems unbothered by its weight, although her bones crack noisily and disconcertingly as she lowers the tray onto the low occasional table between the settee and armchairs.
“Oh, thank you Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot acknowledges the old woman.
“Omlowenhewgh agas boes!***” the elderly woman replies in a gravelly voice, groaning as she stretches back into an upright position.
“Yes… Yes, thank you Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot replies in an unsure tone, giving Lettice a gentle shrug and a quizzical look which her friend returns. “I’ll pour the tea myself I think.”
“Pur dha****.” she answers rather gruffly before retreating back the way she came with shuffling footsteps.
“What did she say?” Lettice asks Dickie once the door to the drawing room has closed and the old woman’s footfalls drift away, mingling with the distant sound of the ocean outside.
“Why look at me, old girl?” Dickie replies with a sheepish smile and a shrug as big as his wife’s.
“Because your Cornish, Dickie.” Lettice replies.
“Only by birth darling!” he defends with a cocked eyebrow and a mild look of distain.
“But it’s your heritage, Dickie.” counters Lettice disappointedly. “You’re supposed to know these things.”
“You know I went to Eaton, where they beat any hint of Cornish out of me my father and mother hadn’t already chased away prior to me going there.”
“It sounded like swearing to me,” Gerald adds in disgust, screwing up his nose. “Local dialect. So guttural.”
“Like ‘be gone you city folk, back from whence you came’?” Margot giggles.
“And who’d blame her?” Dickie pipes up. “After all, she and Mr. Trevethan have had run of this place ever since the old sea captain died. I mean, this place was supposed to be for Harry…”
“God bless Harry.” Margot, Lettice and Gerald all say in unison with momentarily downcast eyes.
“But of course, he never lived to be married and be given this place as a wedding gift, so Mr. and Mrs. Trevethan have been looking after the place for around four decades I’d reckon, give or take a few years.”
“So, there is a Mr. Trevethan then?” Lettice asks.
“Oh yes,” Dickie elucidates as he moves from the fireplace and takes his seat in the other vacant armchair. “He’s the gardener and odd job man.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the whole house doesn’t fall down around our ears.” Gerald remarks disparagingly. “Getting the Morris safely over those potholes in your driveway was no mean feat, old bean.”
“They’re old, dear chap.” Dickie defends his housekeeper and gardener kindly. “Be fair. They’ve done a pretty good job of caretaking the old place, considering.”
“Poor chap.” mutters Gerald. “Looking at that old harridans’ haggard old face every day.”
“Oh Gerald!” gasps Lettice, leaning over and slapping his wrist playfully. “You are awful sometimes! For all you know, she was the beauty of Penzance when she and Mr. Trevethan were first courting. And,” she adds loftily. “I’ll have you know that I think the Cornish dialect sounds very beautiful,” She takes a dramatic breath as she considers her thoughts. “Rather like an exotic language full of magic.”
“You’ve been reading too much King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.” Gerald cheekily criticises his friend’s reading habits lightly.
“Oh, thinking of which, I have a new novel for you, Lettice darling! It’s called ‘Joanna Godden’***** by Sheila Kaye-Smith. I’ve just finished it.” Margot takes up a volume from the round Regency side table next to her and passes it across to Lettice’s outstretched hands. “It’s a drama set in Kent. I’m sure you’ll like it. Now, shall I be mother?******” she asks, assuming her appropriate role of hostess as she reaches for and sets out the Royal Doulton teacups, a wedding gift from relations, and takes up the silver teapot, also a wedding gift. Expertly she pours the tea and then hands the cups first to her guests and then to her husband before picking up her own.
“I hope that old harridan didn’t spit in the tea.” Gerald looks uneasily at the cup of reddish tea he holds in his hands. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Oh Gerald,” Lettice tuts, shaking her head in mock disapproval before chuckling light heartedly. “You do like to dramatise, don’t you?”
“If you announce her intentions like that,” Margot adds. “I’m sure she will, since she has the habit of listening at the keyhole.” She smiles cheekily as she finishes her sentence and settles back in her armchair.
“What?” Gerald splutters, depositing his cup rather clumsily and nosily on the Regency occasional table at his left elbow and looking over his shoulder to the door.
Margot, Dickie and Lettice all burst out laughing.
“Oh Gerald,” Lettice says gaily through her mirthful giggles. “You’re always so easy to bait.”
Gerald looks at his friends, smiling at his distress. “Oh!” He swivels back around again and tries to settle as comfortably as possible into the hard back of the settee. “I see.” He takes up his cup and glowers into it as he stirs it with his teaspoon, his pride evidently wounded at his friends’ friendly joke.
Lettice takes up her own cup of tea, adding sugar and milk to it and stirring, before selecting a small jam fancy from the glass dish of biscuits. Munching the biscuit she gazes about the room again, appraising the mostly Regency era furnishings of good quality with a few examples of lesser well made early Victorian pieces, the maritime oil paintings, the worn and faded Persian carpet across the floor and the vibrantly painted red walls, deciding that as well as formal, the room has a very masculine feel about it. “It’s really quite an elegant room, you know.” she remarks. “It has good bones.”
“Oh don’t look too closely at our less elegant damp patches or cracks to those so-called good bones, darling girl.” Dickie replies.
“Nor the chips to the paintwork and plaster or the marks we can’t quite account for.” Margot adds with a sigh. “I think I’d have been happy for Daddy to commission Edwin Lutyens******* to demolish this pile of mouldering bricks and build us a new country house.”
“Margot! What a beastly thing to say!” Lettice clasps the bugle beads at her throat in shock. “To demolish all this history, only to replace it with a mock version thereof. Why it is sheer sacrilege to even say it!”
“Blame it on my Industrial Revolution new money heritage,” Margot defends her statement. “Unlike you darling, with your ancestry going back hundreds of years and your romance for everything old.”
“I can’t see any damp patches, Dickie, or cracks.” Lettice addresses her male host again.
“That’s because it’s so dark in here,” Margot explains. “Even on an unseasonably sunny day like today, the red walls and the red velvet furnishings camouflage the blemishes.”
“All the more reason not to change the décor then, dear girl.” remarks Gerald as his gingerly sips his tea, still not entirely convinced of Mrs. Trevethan’s actions prior to the tea being deposited on the table.
“No! No, Gerald!” Margot counters. “That’s why I need you Lettice darling, and your vision. I want the place lightened up, smartened up and made more comfortable.”
“Those chairs are rather beautiful,” observes Lettice, indicating to the armchairs in which her host and hostess sit, admiring their ormolu mounted arms, sturdy legs and red velvet cushions.
“These things!” Margot scoffs, looking down at the seat beneath her. “They are so uncomfortable!” She rubs her lower back in an effort to demonstrate how lumpy and hard they are. “I can’t wait to banish them to the hallway. I can’t possibly sit pleasurably in these, or on that,” She indicates to the settee upon which Lettice and Gerald sit. “And read a book. They aren’t designed for comfort. No, what we want, and need is some soft, modern comfort in here to make life here more pleasurable for us and our guests. I want to sit in here and enjoy the afternoon sun streaming through those from the luxury of a new settee, or invite guests to snuggle into plush new armchairs.”
“Margot does have a point, Lettice darling.” Gerald adds, looking mournfully at Lettice as he bounces gingerly on his half of the settee, the flattened velvet seat barely yielding to his moving form.
Lettice looks around again. “There are no portraits of women in here, nor children.”
“That’s because there aren’t any, anywhere in the house.” Margot replies.
“What?” Lettice queries.
“The captain was a confirmed old bachelor all his life.” adds Dickie.
“But he looks quite dashing in his naval uniform,” Lettice observes. “Surely with his successful career, looks and a house like this to boot, he must have had every eligible woman in Cornwall dashing to knock down his door.”
“Even Mrs. Trevethan’s mother, who no doubt was even more beautiful than her daughter at the time the captain was looking for a bride.” Gerald chuckles, his response rewarded with a withering look from Lettice.
“He may well have been a desirous prospect, Lettice darling,” Dickie agrees. “But he remained unmarried all his life, and he lived to a great age.”
“There is a rumour,” adds Margot, leaning forward conspiratorially for dramatic effect. “That there was a sweetheart: a local lady of good breeding and family. However, her father didn’t approve of an illegitimate son-in-law, even if he did have a successful naval career and a grand new residence. We don’t know whether she was coerced, or if she really didn’t love him, but whatever the cause, she refused him. They say that her refusal of his marriage proposal broke his heart, and he swore then and there that he would never marry.”
“Oh how romantic!” Lettice enthuses.
“There is also talk in the family,” Dickie adds. “That there is a lost portrait of her.”
“A lost portrait?” breathes Lettice excitedly.
“Yes, by Winterhalter******* no less.” Margot explains.
“Oh how thrilling!” Lettice gasps, clutching her beads with exhilaration this time.
“Have you found it yet, old bean?” Gerald asks.
“No! Of course not,” replies Dickie. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a lost portrait, would it? Do try to keep up old chap!”
“Not that I haven’t gone sneaking around the house looking for it atop cupboards and at the back of wardrobes.” Margot adds eagerly.
“That’s undoubtedly because that cussing old harridan Mrs. Trevethan and her husband probably stole it as soon as the captain had taken his last breath,” explains Gerald. “And now it hangs over their drawing room fireplace in the gatekeeper’s lodge.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Gerald!” scoffs Dickie. “The Trevethans are a kindly pair, if perhaps a little rough and eccentric for our tastes. They love this house as much as we…” He glances at his wife before correcting himself. “Well, as much as I, do. No, we just haven’t found it yet. We may never find it because it might have been taken by someone else long ago, destroyed by the old captain himself in a fit of emotional rage…”
“Or,” adds Margot. “It could simply be a Channon family legend.”
“Exactly.” agrees Dickie with a satisfied sigh as he reaches over and takes up a chocolate biscuit, taking a large bite out of it. “It wouldn’t be the first if it is.”
“I know!” Lettice pipes up with a cheeky smile on her face. “Let’s play sardines******** together tonight, and then one of us might stumble across it in the most unlikely of hiding places.”
*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 Prince Regent, later George IV, was king of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and King of Hanover from the death of his father, King George III, on 29 January 1820 until his own death ten years later. He had already been serving as Prince Regent since 5 February 1811, during his father's final mental illness. It is from him that we derive the Regency period in architecture, fashion and design.
***”Omlowenhewgh agas boes” is Cornish for “bon appetit”.
*****“Pur dha” is Cornish for “very good”.
*****‘Joanna Godden’ is a 1921 novel by British writer Sheila Kaye-Smith (1887 – 1956). It is a drama set amongst the sheep farmers of Romney Marsh in Kent.
******The meaning of the very British term “shall I be mother” is “shall I pour the tea?”
*******Sir Edwin Landseer Lutyens (1869 – 1944) was an English architect known for imaginatively adapting traditional architectural styles to the requirements of his era. He designed many English country houses, war memorials and public buildings, and was one of the architects of choice for the British upper classes between the two World Wars.
********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).
********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.
This beautiful Regency interior with its smart furnishings may not be all that it seems, for it is made up entirely with miniatures from my collection, including a number of pieces that I have had since I was a child.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The two walnut Regency armchairs with their red velvet seats and ormolu mounts are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. So too are the two round occasional tables that flank the settee and one of the armchairs.
The round walnut coffee table was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Creal miniatures.
The red velvet mahogany settee, the Regency sideboard and the two non matching mahogany and red velvet chairs at the far end of the room I have had since I was around six or seven, having been given them as either birthday or Christmas gifts.
The irises in the vase on the sideboard are very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay they are moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. They are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The vase in which it stands is spun of real glass and was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The detail in this Art Deco vase is especially fine. If you look closely, you will see that it is decorated with fine latticework.
Also made of real glass are the decanters of whiskey and port and the cranberry glass soda syphon also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The white roses behind the syphon are also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as is the glass plate of biscuits you can see on the coffee table.
The two novels on the occasional table next to the armchair come from Shepherds Miniatures in England, whilst the wedding photo in the silver frame is a real photo, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frame comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in England.
On the occasional table beside the settee stands a miniature 1950s lidded powder bowl which I have had since I was a teenager. It is stamped on its base with a green Limoges stamp indicating the era.
The Royal Doulton style tea set featuring roses on the coffee table came from a miniature dollhouse specialist on E-Bay, whilst the silver teapot comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The silver Regency tea caddy (lettice’s wedding gift to Margot and Dickie if you follow the “Life at Cavendish Mews” series), the slender candlestick and the tall two handled vase on the mantle were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
The British newspapers that sit in a haphazard stack on the footstool in the foreground of the picture are 1:12 size copies of ‘The Mirror’, the ‘Daily Express’ and ‘The Tattler’ made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. There is also a copy of ‘Country Life’ which was made by me to scale using the cover of a real 1921 edition of ‘Country Life’.
The plaster fireplace to the right of the photo comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
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.
The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.
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。
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, on this fine summer day, we are following Lettice as she and Gerald head south-west through the London streets in Gerald’s little Morris*. Taking the Brompton Road, they drive through Belgravia and then Chelsea as Brompton Road becomes Fulham Road. They drive past the Brompton Cemetery and through the historic centre of Walham Green before going on through Fulham, finally turning south along the Fulham High Street. Passing the Hurlingham Club along the banks of the Thames they continue to go south.
As Gerald drives his Morris over the Thames on Putney Bridge, Lettice glances around her. “I thought you were taking me to buy a new hat, Gerald.”
“I am Lettice darling.” he replies good naturedly.
“But this isn’t Bond Street. Far from it, in fact.” she counters as they reach the south side of the bridge, and she takes in a semi-circle of tall two and three storey Victorian and Edwardian brick buildings to their right and the crenelled tower of a stone church on their left. “Where are you taking me?”
“For a woman who has lived in London for nearly two years, you haven’t strayed far from Mayfair, have you Lettuce Leaf?” Gerald observes with a smirk.
“Don’t call me that Gerald! You know how I hate it! If you weren’t driving this car, “ scowls Lettice. “I’d hit you with my handbag.”
“Think of this like your own personal tour of Putney.”
“Putney?” Lettice’s eyes grow wide. “You’re taking me to a hatters in Putney?”
“Don’t be such an elitist Lettuce Leaf.”
Sulking in her seat, clutching her handbag with her arms folded across her chest she mutters, “That’s rich coming from you, the man who bemoans middle-class money paying for the acquisition of his frocks.”
“Just sit back, relax and enjoy the view, darling.” Gerald replies breezily as he turns off the Putney High Street and into a tree lined avenue which Lettice reads as being Hazlewell Road.
The pair drive in silence for a little while, Gerald concentrating on where they are going and Lettice looking at the view as Gerald suggested from her vantage point in the passenger seat alongside him.
“The houses seem awfully samey here, don’t you think?” she asks as they pass double storey Edwardian villa after double storey Edwardian villa made of red brick with bay windows, set in neat gardens behind privet hedges or low brick fences.
“No more than Pimlico,” Gerald observes. “Just newer is all.”
Gerald’s Morris finally pulls up in front of one such Edwardian villa. Lettice looks out of her door at it. The villa looks exactly the same as all the others on that side of the street: red brick with crenelled bay windows upstairs and down to either side of a porticoed door. In fact, the portico is one of the few differences that distinguish it from its neighbours either side. It has an arched portico which matches the arch in the lunette above the white painted front door, whereas its neighbours have square porticos with crenelling that matches that along the tops of the bay windows. Two banks of chimneypots at either side of the villa rise from the steeply hipped roof of shingles and a central attic balconette with French doors is flanked by oriel windows.
“Now, I want you to be good, Lettuce Leaf!” Gerald cautions his friend with a wagging finger encapsulated by his Dents driving glove**. “This is the home of Harriet Milford. Her father was a family solicitor. He died last year, leaving her an orphan. The house he left to her, but with no other real inheritance. With no income, so to speak, she has taken in lodgers.”
Lettice screws up her face in horror. “Lodgers! You’ve brought me to a lodging ho…”
“I said behave, Lettuce Leaf!” Gerald scolds her, arching his eyebrows. “I haven’t finished talking yet. Mr. Milford believed in education, but sadly only for boys. He wasn’t expecting to pass away before his daughter married, so without any employable skills, she’s turned her hand to what she can do.”
“And how did you come to meet this, Harriet Milford?” Lettice asks, her mouth a thin red lipsticked line of disapproval with turned down ends.
“She and I frequent the same haberdashers. After running into one another several times, I finally asked her what she did to buy so much ribbon and so many artificial flowers. And that was when she told me that having no real skill other than sewing, after her father died, as well as take in lodgers, she has turned her hand to millinery to make end meet.”
“I hope, my dear Gerald, that you aren’t expecting me to buy a hat from her out of pity.”
“Not at all, my dear. I’ve been here a number of times now, to take tea with Harriet, and I can assure you that her hat making skills rival that of Madame Gwendolyn. Already she has gained quite a reputation amongst the local ladies.”
Lettice snorts dismissively at the thought of the middle-class matrons of Putney and their choices of millinery.
Undeterred, Gerald continues, “Since Sadie has forbidden you to wear a hat from Selfridges to Leslie’s wedding, and I can’t say I disagree…”
“My hats from Sel…”
“I still haven’t finished!” Gerald interrupts his friend. “Since Sadie won’t let you wear a Selfridges hat to the wedding, and I won’t sit next to you at the wedding breakfast if you do, and you won’t go back to Madame Gwendolyn, I thought Harriet’s hat making skills would be the perfect solution. Now, come.” He puts his hand on the handle of his door and pushes it down, opening it slightly. He pauses just before getting out and turns back to his friend. “And remember to behave.”
“I always behave, Gerald!” Lettice defends herself as she opens her own door and steps out onto the sunny footpath.
Gerald walks around the front of the car and joins Lettice on the footpath. “Shall we?” he proffers his arm to his friend, which she accepts.
They step up to the black painted wrought iron gate flanked by two capped red brick pillars. Gerald opens the gate and together they walk in and up the garden path snaking across a well clipped lawn. Standing beneath the arched portico, Lettice can hear the notes of an oboe being played through one of the oriel windows open above. “That will be Cyril.” Gerald remarks as he depresses the doorbell next to the front door. The hollow ring that resounds through the hallway within is answered by a pair of scuttling footsteps as the front door is flung open exuberantly.
“Gerry darling!” gasps a young woman around Lettice’s age who throws her arms enthusiastically and perhaps a little overly familiarly around Gerald’s neck.
Lettice feels a momentary pang of jealousy in her stomach as she sees Gerald return Harriet’s enthusiastic embrace in a way that she thought only she and Gerald shared. With a quick flutter of her eyelashes, she dismisses the thought, but the pang in her stomach does not go away.
“Hullo Hattie darling!” He holds her at arm’s length. “My you do look well.”
“I sold another two hats yesterday, so I’m tickled pink, Gerry darling!” she gushes with a girlish giggle and a proud smile.
Lettice tries to force a cough. At the sound of Lettice gently clearing her throat, the spell between Gerald and Harriet is broken and Gerald quickly returns his attentions to Lettice. “Harriet, may I present my childhood chum, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd. Lettice, Miss Harriet Milford.”
Lettice takes in Harriet’s appearance from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. Looking more closely at her Lettice decides that she is actually possibly a year or two younger than she and Gerald are, with mousy brown hair cut into a soft bob. Her floral cotton frock with its drop waist and side flounces must surely be home made, yet it is obviously made well as it sits on her slender figure every bit as smartly as Lettice’s outfit, which has been expertly cut for her by Gerald. Her shoes show the wear of a few years and her stockings have been carefully mended. She looks across at Lettice with a pretty face, free of makeup. Her brown eyes are like deep pools, clear and bright, and they are framed by naturally long lashes.
“How do you do, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet says in a polite and well bred voice.
“How do you do, Miss Milford.” she replies, returning Harriet’s open smile with a polite one of her own.
“Tut, tut, Hattie!” Gerald says, reaching across and plucking a piece of red cotton off Harriet’s shoulder, which Lettice finds an uncomfortably intimate gesture. Holding it out in front of Harriet he continues, “You mustn’t be answering the door wearing loose threads.” He smiles cheekily.
“Oh I’m busy making a new hat to replenish my stocks.” Harriet replies, blushing as she lowers her lids, and holds out her hands to accept the trailing thread of red. “Please, come this way Miss Chetwynd,” she adds, ushering Lettice and Gerald into the house. “You know the way Gerry darling.”
“Gerry darling?” Lettice queries quietly with a cocked eyebrow and a mirthful smile as she slips past the blushing Gerald and follows her hostess across the threshold into the black and white tiled hallway stuffed with Edwardian vestibule furniture.
“Please make yourself comfortable in here, Miss Chetwynd,” Harriet says, flinging open the first door on the left side of the hallway and indicating with an extended arm for Lettice to enter. “I’ll be like Polly and pop the kettle on. Back in a jiffy*** my dears!” And with scuttling footsteps she disappears into the gloom of the house further down the hallway.
Walking into the room as she has been told, Lettice gazes around it. Noting the flouncy Edwardian settee an matching armchair by the fire she remarks, “This is obviously the parlour.” Noticing a sewing machine sitting in the bay window where it can get the best light she adds, “Or was.”
It is then, as Gerald indicates with an open gesture to what must once have been a tea table, that Lettice sees several beautifully fashioned hats propped on wooden hatstands basking in the diffused light coming through the lace scrim curtains of the bay window. She gasps at the sight of them and immediately walks up to scrutinise them more closely. Two are made of straw and one of felt. The felt hat is dyed a dramatic turquoise colour and is trimmed with fine braid, garlands of ribbons and feathers dyed to match the shade of the felt. One of the straw hats is dyed a romantic shade of soft mauve, whilst the other remains its natural colour. The mauve hat’s romance is added to by a mixture of artificial flowers and clusters of ribbons woven expertly around the brim. The other hat is plainer with less decoration, yet its restrained treatment makes it every bit as elegant as the mauve hat. None of them would look out of place at Ascot or a tea party at Buckingham Palace.
Lettice thumbs the may green ribbon of the plain straw hat thoughtfully. “These are exquisite, Gerald.”
“I knew you’d like Hattie’s work.” Gerald sighs with satisfaction.
*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.
**Dents is a British company that crafts luxury leather gloves, handbags, small leather goods. Dents is known for its hand cutting, sewing, and stitching techniques, which are still practised today on some limited top end products, most merchandise being purchased from third-party factories. Dents was established in Worcester in 1777 as a manufacturer of fine leather gloves by John Dent (1751–1811). It is possibly Britain's oldest existing fashion manufacturer. Dent's sons, John and William, helped the company expand throughout the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. In 1845, mechanical sewing was introduced to the company to assist craftspeople. The company has a modern factory in Warminster, Wiltshire, having been present in the town since 1937.
***The expression in a jiffy was in use as early as 1780. It is a colloquial English expression for “in a short amount of time.” The origins of jiffy are unknown, though there are theories. One suggestion is that it comes from British thieves’ slang for “lightning,” hence very fast. An early instance appears in 1780 edition of Town and Country Magazine: “Most of the limbs of the law do every thing in a jiffy”.
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 childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
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 natural yellow straw hat with green trim and the mauve dyed straw hat with mauve and green trim were both made by the same unknown artisan in America. The aqua hat behind the two straw hats was made by an unknown British artisan. All three hats were acquired through auctions on E-Bay. The hat stands the hats rest on are all part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The multi coloured feathers in the earthenware vase on the table behind the hats also belonged to Marilyn Bickel.
The copies of Weldon’s Dressmaker and the Lady’s World Fancy Work Book are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, the magazines are 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 I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House in the United Kingdom.
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 sewing machine to the left of the photo, I bought from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom. It is made with extreme attention to detail, complete with a painted black metal body, authentic sewing mechanisms and a worksurface “inlaid” with mother-of-pearl.
The round white metal sewing tin on the sewing machine’s surface 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 red, yellow, orange and blue cottons come from various online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures.
The salon chair drawn up to the sewing machine is part of a Marie Antionette suite with pretty floral upholstery which has been made by the high-end miniatures manufacturer, Creal.
Harriet’s family photos seen cluttering the mantlepiece and 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 porcelain clock on the mantlepiece is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures.
The Edwardian mantlepiece is made of moulded plaster and was acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House in the United Kingdom.
The bookshelf in the background comes from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late eighteenth century.
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 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.
Yangon - Shwedagon
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AMTK 174 offers up some really great color as part of Amtrak's Winter Park Express Ski Train. The unit came to Denver a week earlier and was used on a special move on BNSF's Front Range Sub from Denver to Longmont (and back) the previous day. Indeed, all of the equipment in the shot was used on the special train. This morning, however, it is back to Winter Park!
©2024 ColoradoRailfan.com
From Ravenna to Rugby League you cannot say I don't offer variety
Its been 14 months or 431 days since I last saw my beloved Hull FC play live. It was a real joy to see a game live again . There were some differences everyone was masked and to allow for social distancing only 6000 fans could attend but it was quite moving to hear the club song Old Faithful ring round the ground . The image is early in the game and a Hull forward in black and white is enveloped by Catalan dragons defenders .
Hull play Rugby league a 13 men a side not to be confused with Rugby Union a 15 man game that I have always found dull. There are two Hull rugby league teams in the city in West Hull its Hull FC and in the East there is Hull Kingston Rovers.
Rivalry is intense between the teams and supporters and when the Hull FC play the team from the dark side it's quite a spectacle. I have followed Hull FC since the early 1970s but its also part of a family tradition . My grandfather played on the wing for Hull before the first World War . He might have been a great player but he lost most of his calf muscle in the Battle of the Somme
THANKS FOR YOUR VISIT TO MY STREAM. I WOULD BE VERY GRATEFUL IF YOU COULD NOT FAVE A PHOTO WITHOUT ALSO LEAVING A COMMENT .
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.
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.
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.
Inspired by this fantastic technical illustration.
The Rhino is an incredibly adaptable battlefield vehicle and can be easily converted to serve in dedicated capacities as a troop transport, mobile field hospital, mobile repair works, mobile command center, or, in small enough units, as all four functions at once. The Rhino’s personnel area comfortably accommodates a medic, mechanic, and eight foot soldiers, although more may be crammed in as necessary. The forward compartment offers the commander seclusion in which the battlefield action may plotted on the chart table and orders sent via radio.
The Rhino’s size and weight are deceptive of the remarkable speed gained from its enormous engine and its pilot must be skilled to rein its great momentum as it charges around attending to the needs of battle. As the vehicle and its occupants are too valuable to be risked in assault, the armor and turret autocannons are for pure defensive reasons.
Play Features:
-Remote control operation
-Motorized dual-drive tracks
-Rotating turret geared to side wheel
-Removable roof sections
-Dependent track wheel suspension
-Opening rear ramp and side hatches
-Tool storage compartments
-Easy charging port and switch access
Music: Ground Control soundtrack
Bernardino Luini (1481-1532) St. Sigmund offers to St. Maurice model of the church - San Maurizio al Monastero Maggiore Milan
San Maurizio al Monastero Maggiore è una chiesa di Milano di origine paleocristiana, ricostruita nel Cinquecento e già sede del più importante monastero femminile della città appartenente all'ordine benedettino. E' decorata internamente con un vasto ciclo affreschi di scuola leonardesca e viene indicata come la "Cappella Sistina" di Milano o della Lombardia
San Maurizio al Monastero Maggiore is a church in Milan, It was originally attached to the most important female convent of the Benedictines in the city, Monastero Maggiore, which is now in use as an archaeological museum.
The complex was founded in Lombard times, partially re-using ancient Roman edifices. Of these there remain a polygonal tower, a relic of the ancient Maximian walls, and a square one, originally part of the lost Hippodrome and later adopted as the church’s bell tower. The monastery is now home to Milan's Archaeological Museum.
The construction began in 1503 under design of Gian Giacomo Dolcebuono in collaboration with Giovanni Antonio Amadeo. The edifice was finished fifteen years later by Cristoforo Solari, divided into two parts: one for the faithful, one for the nuns. Until 1794 the latter were strongly forbidden to cross the dividing wall.
The interior has a vaulted nave separated by the divisory wall (the nuns followed the mass from a grating) and flanked by groin-vaulted chapels, which are surmounted by a serliana loggia.
The most important artwork of the church is the cycle of frescoes from the 16th century covering the walls. The dividing wall has frescoes depicting the Life of San Maurizio by Bernardino Luini which flank an altarpiece with an Adoration of the Magi by Antonio Campi. The chapels in the faithful's area are by Aurelio Luini, son of Bernardino, and his brothers. The counterfaçade has a fresco by Simone Peterzano (1573). In the right side Bernardino Luini also frescoed the Chapel of St. Catherine of Alexandria (1530). Frescoes are also influed by Forlivese school of art (Melozzo da Forlì and Marco Palmezzano).
Hall of nuns
The hall of the nuns is also completely painted. The partition wall, a work by Bernardino Luini always the thirties of the sixteenth century, presents images of Saint Catherine, Saint Agatha, the Marriage at Cana, the Carrying of the Cross of Christ on the Cross and Christ died.
On the vault of the hall of the nuns is depicted a starry sky, with God, the Evangelists, and angels. In the end there is the painting Ecce Homo.
(wikipedia)
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.
Modavia Fashion Marketing is pleased to offer an exclusive group gift by Del May – the pose used for the group advertising image on the latest MFD – only available at her gallery on MODAVIA.
The gift pack includes also a variant of the same pose – be sure to stop by and check out her gallery and her artwork upstairs.
To grab the gift, remember to have your Modavia Fashion Marketing group tag active. To find the group either click on the inviter in the Del May Gallery at Modavia, click here or copy and paste the following link into the local chat in-world and click to join:
secondlife:///app/group/b821995e-f38e-6968-26de-753a78b92b8a/about
Happy shopping at Modavia!
_____
Image credits:
Jacket by Bliss Couture
Pants by Peqe
Photography by Del May
Explore on Jan 19, 2009 #11
"Reign of love
I can’t let go
To the sea I offer
This heavy load"
© All rights reserved. Use without permission is illegal
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 hundreds 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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© Elke Vogelsang
20200124_Finja_WhateverYouAreSaying
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 south of the Thames in the London district of Rotherhithe, where, surrounded by old warehouses, right on the southern foreshore of the Thames, stands the Angel*, a little red brick pub which is always busy, but tonight is exceptionally so, for it is New Year’s Eve 1922.
The pub’s comfortable old Victorian décor is festooned with chains of brightly coloured paper, no doubt made by hand by the publican and his family as Edith had created such cheap home made decorations for her own family home in Harlesden for Christmas. Everywhere there is noise and chatter as patrons fill chairs and benches, lean against the bar, or fill the linoleum covered floor space. A hundred conversations, cries of excitement and laughter mix with the clink of glasses, the thud of bottles and the scrape of chairs in one vociferous noise. A fug of acrid greyish white cigarette smoke hangs in the charged air as midnight approaches. Nestled into a cosy nook near the crackling fireplace, Edith, Lettice’s maid, sits alongside her beau, Frank Leadbetter, a delivery boy for Willison’s Grocers, the grocer’s closest to Lettice’s Mayfair flat. The Angel has an interesting mix of patrons, from local workers to more artistic types, as well as a small party of Bright Young Things** shunning the bright lights and nightclubs of London’s West End, at least before midnight, as they enjoy an evening of slumming*** which no doubt they will use to regale their friends with stories about their evening later. It is with these rather noisy people that Edith and Frank share a table, the group taking up majority of it with glasses of wine and champagne, bottles of beer and packets of fashionable Craven “A” cigarettes****. Being much quieter than their table companions, enjoying the delights of freshly made hot chips delivered in to the pub from a local fish and chippery, Edith and Frank don’t tend to be included by the boisterous slum visitors who prefer the colour of equally noisy local characters, except when there is a singalong.
Cheering at the conclusion of a boisterous final verse of ‘The Laughing Policeman’***** the group of upper-class people nod their heads in recognition at Frank and Edith before returning to the conversation they were having with a local dock worker before the latest spontaneous singalong began.
“It’s a funny sort of place, this, isn’t it Frank?” Edith asks, picking up her glass of port and lemon and sipping it.
“Funny, Edith?” Frank queries, cocking his eyebrow questioningly before taking a sip of his own dark ale.
“Well, I mean look around at the people here.” She eyes a pair of painters, their occupation evident from the paint splatters on their rather shabby black coats and paint smeared rags hanging limply from their pockets. Then she glances at the young lady in the party sharing the table with them, her fashionable oriental silk frock, and the marcelling****** in her glossy chestnut coloured hair, accessories by a pair of diamond star pins, making her look more suited to her mistress’ drawing room than a Rotherhithe pub. “This isn’t your standard pub crowd, at least not in any of the pubs up around where I’m from.”
“Don’t you like it?” Frank asks anxiously, a tinge of hurt in his voice as speaks.
Edith looks into Frank’s concerned face and then reaches out her hand and places it lovingly over his, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Of course I like it, Frank. I like anywhere where I’m with you.”
“Oh, that’s a relief!” Frank sinks back into the round open balloon back of the red velvet upholstered chair he is sitting on, the tension in his shoulders visibly dissipating as he does. “I’d hate to take my girl somewhere she didn’t like or feel comfortable in.”
“Oh no. I like it just fine. The crowd is unusual is all. What made you pick here, Frank? I thought you might have taken me to the Old Crown******* up Islington way.”
“Well, you know how I’ve been trying to better myself by attending lectures and the like on art?” When Edith nods as she picks up a hot chip from the diminishing steaming pile of golden fingers he continues. “Well, I ran into a couple of artists, and they told me that Augustus John******** comes here sometimes.”
“And who is he?” Edith asks before popping the hot chip into her mouth.
“Blimey Edith! I can see I’m going to have to take you to a few art galleries in the New Year!” Frank shakes his head.
“I’d like that, Frank.” Edith admits, swallowing.
“Augustus John just happens to be one of the best known artists in England!”
“I’m so proud of you trying to better yourself and learn things, Frank. I want to keep making you proud as your girl.”
“Oh you do, Edith. You know I’m proud of you too. You’re bettering yourself by learning about fine things at Miss Chetwynd’s.”
“Yes, but learning to say luncheon or dinner rather than tea isn’t the same thing as learning about art.”
“Now, now! I won’t have you talking yourself down, Edith. You’re my girl and I’m proud of you. We’ll go to some galleries on our afternoons off when the spring comes next year.”
“Thinking of the New Year,” Edith says. “Mum and Dad talked about you coming over for dinner one night. I want you to meet them. They want to meet you too.”
“And they will, Edith love.” Frank apologises. “I just want to do things the right way.”
“I know you do, Frank.” Edith looks down into her lap, brushing a few crumbs of golden chip batter off her black coat distractedly. “I told them that too. I told them that you want me to meet your Granny first, and then he’ll meet you.”
“And so you will, and then I will.”
“When Frank? I’m starting to see comparisons between Miss Lettice and me.”
“What do you mean, Edith?”
“Well, I don’t like to gossip, you know, but I can’t help overhearing things.” She looks at Frank guiltily. “And well, she talks with Mrs. Channon about wanting to meet Mr. Spencely’s mother, who sounds like a real dragon to me, just to make things formal like. A sign of intention she and Mrs. Channon call it.”
“But we’re formal, Edith. You know my intentions clear enough. You heard me tell you I love you at the Premier Super Cinema********** just a few weeks ago.” He reaches over and wraps his hands around her forearms. He looks at her suddenly forlorn face and slumping shoulders. “And you told me the same. What could be more formal than that?”
“Meeting your Granny, Frank. I know she means so much to you.”
“Well, she’s the only person I have left after Mum and Dad died of the Spanish Flu, and what with my brother getting killed in France, and him being unmarried and all.”
“Then why can’t I meet her, Frank? Don’t tell me that she’s a dragon like Mr. Spencely’s mum.”
“Oh no, she’s the loveliest woman, my Granny is.”
“Then she wouldn’t approve of me? I’m not good enough for her grandson? Is that it?”
“Of course not Edith.” He shakes her gently, as if trying to shake some sense into his sweetheart.
The fashionable upper-class girl suddenly bursts into a peal of laughter that pierces the air around her like shattering glass, momentarily distracting the young couple. “Oh you are too funny, Charlie Boy!” she says in elegantly modulated, yet slightly slurred, tones to the dock worker as her male companions join in her laughter cheerily. She turns and plonks down her glass of champagne a little clumsily as her constant drinking starts to have an impact on her faculties. Lunging across the table to grab one of the packets of cigarettes scattered across it, she suddenly notices the quiet young couple at the other end of the table. “Gasper, darlings?” she asks, her kohl lined eyes widening seductively as he holds out the open Craven “A” packet to them, the tan coloured cork ends jutting out through the torn red and white paper and silver foil packaging. When they shake their heads warily at her, she merely shrugs. “Help yourself if you change your mind.” She smiles lopsidedly at them, her red lipstick bleeding into her skin around the edges of her painted lips. “They aren’t really mine to offer, but I know Andrew won’t mind. He’s got plenty at home back in St John’s Wood. Don’t you darling?” She turns back to her party and drapes an arm languidly around one of the young men in her party who lets his own hand stray to her bottom cheeks where he fondles her unashamedly through the thin silk of her dress. Neither turn back to see the look of shock on both Edith and Frank’s faces.
Turning back to Edith, Frank continues, “Granny will love you, Edith – just like I do!”
“Then why aren’t I meeting her yet, Frank?” Tears begin to well in her eyes.
“Well, you were partially right, Edith.” Frank admits.
“About which part?”
“Well, she’s a bit protective of me, you see.” He looks earnestly into Edith’s eyes. “You can’t blame her, can you? If like she is to me, I am her only close living relation, she is always going to scrutinise any girl I show an interest in – not that there have been many,” he adds quickly. “And certainly none as serious as I am with you, Edith.”
“Well if you say that she’ll like me, what’s the problem, Frank?”
“Look I only told her about you recently, when we both knew we were sure about our feelings for one another. She isn’t upset, but Granny is a bit jealous of no longer being my best girl any longer. Once she’s adjusted herself to the idea, I can ask you around for tea at her house in Upton Park.”
“And when will that be, Frank?” Edith asks sulkily.
“Oh only a few weeks away, Edith. She’s already starting to come around to the idea, but I think now she knows about you and how serious I am about you, she just wanted what will probably be our last Christmas alone to be.. well, just us. It gives her a chance to deal with being usurped.”
“Usurped? What’s that mean, Frank?”
“It means to take the place of someone.” Frank replies proudly.
The gratified look on his face makes Edith chuckle and her concerns are broken.
“That’s my girl.”
Frank leans further forward in his chair and wraps his arms around Edith, pulling her to him. He can smell the comforting scent of fresh laundering and soap flakes in her coat as he buries his head into the nape of her neck and nuzzles her gently. He feels her arms tighten around his middle. After a few minutes the pair slowly break apart again and resume their seats properly.
“So, what else do you want to do this year, Edith?” Frank smiles.
“Well, besides going to a few galleries, and,” she pauses for effect. “Meet your Granny,”
“I promise Edith! Just a few weeks from now you’ll be sitting in her kitchen in Upton Park and you won’t be able to get away. I swear!”
“Then I was thinking again about having my hair bobbed.”
“Oh no, Edith love!” Frank reaches out a hand which he lovingly runs along the chignon at the back of her neck poking out from beneath her black straw cloche decorated with purple silk roses and black feathers. “Not your beautiful hair.”
“Oh it’s easy for you to say, Frank. You aren’t wearing it all day, every day. It gets awfully hot when I’m cooking and cleaning at Miss Lettice’s, and it takes ages to wash and dry.”
“Well, don’t do anything rash just yet. Meet my Granny first before you decide to bob your hair.”
“Doesn’t she approve of girls with bobbed hair then?”
“She gets all her fashion tips from Queen Mary, Edith!” Frank laughs. “Of course she doesn’t approve of bobbed hair!”
“Then I won’t,” Edith promises. The she adds the caveat, “Just yet.”
“That’s my girl!”
“Just yet, Frank.” she cautions again. “I have a feeling that nineteen twenty-three is going to be a year of change.”
“What gives you that idea, Edith?”
“I don’t know.” Edith admits. “But I just have this feeling.”
“Well, I don’t want things to change too much.”
“But I thought you were all about improvement and betterment, Frank.”
“And so I am.”
“Well improvement and betterment are just different words for change.”
“Well, as long as your feelings for me don’t change.” Frank says with a hopeful look.
“As if they would, Frank!”
“’Ere! Shurrup you lot!” the publican suddenly shouts loudly from the bar over the top of all the hubbub of human chatter. “It’s nearly midnight!”
Edith and Frank stand up and join everyone else in the Angel pub as they start the countdown to midnight. As Big Ben strikes, clusters of cheers can be heard momentarily in the distance across the inky black Thames before they are consumed by the cheers of the people around them as they begin to jump up and down and embrace one another.
“Happy nineteen twenty-three!” Frank yells, embracing Edith in his arms.
“Happy nineteen twenty-three!” Edith echoes as she sinks against his chest clad in a thick knitted vest and grey worsted wool jacket.
As a young woman begins to play the first few notes of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ on the old upright piano in the bar, Edith and Frank begin to sing along with everyone else, joining hands with each other and the people immediately around them.
*The Angel, one of the oldest Rotherhithe pubs, is now in splendid isolation in front of the remains of Edward III's mansion on the Thames Path at the western edge of Rotherhithe. The site was first used when the Bermondsey Abbey monks used to brew beer which they sold to pilgrims. It is located at 24 Rotherhithe St, opposite Execution Dock in Wapping. It has two storeys, plus an attic. It is built of multi-coloured stock brick with a stucco cornice and blocking course. The ground floor frontage is made of wood. There is an area of segmental arches on the first floor with sash windows, and it is topped by a low pitched slate roof. Its Thames frontage has an unusual weatherboarded gallery on wooden posts. The interior is divided by wooden panels into five small rooms. In the early 20th Century its reputation and location attracted local artists including Augustus John and James Abbott McNeil Whistler. In the 1940s and 50s it became a popular destination for celebrities including Laurel and Hardy. Today its customers are local residents, tourists and people walking the Thames Path.
**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.
***The Oxford English Dictionary dates the first use of the word “slumming” to 1884. It applies to a phenomenon called slum tourism, poverty tourism or ghetto tourism which involves wealthy people visiting impoverished areas of cities. Originally focused on the slums and ghettos of London and Manhattan in the Nineteenth Century, in London people visited slum neighbourhoods such as Whitechapel or Shoreditch to observe life in this situation – a phenomenon which caused great offence to the locals, since they seldom if ever gained from the ogling of their social superiors who were there for the spectacle rather than philanthropic reasons, the spoils going to the tour operators. By 1884 wealthier people in New York City began to visit the Bowery and the Five Points, Manhattan on the Lower East Side, neighbourhoods of poor immigrants, to see "how the other half lives". Sadly, slum tourism still exists today and is now prominent in South Africa, India, Brazil, Kenya, Philippines, Russia and the United States.
****Craven A (stylised as Craven "A") is a British brand of cigarette, currently manufactured by British American Tobacco under some of its subsidiaries; it was originally created by the Carreras Tobacco Company in 1921 and made by them until its merger into Rothmans International in 1972, who then produced the brand until Rothmans was acquired by British American Tobacco in 1999. The cigarette brand is named after the third Earl of Craven, after the "Craven Mixture", a tobacco blend formulated for the 3rd Earl in the 1860s by tobacconist Don José Joaquin Carreras. The year of release of the Craven "A" brand coincided with the well-publicised death of the 4th Earl of Craven in a yachting accident on the 10th of July 1921. It was the first machine-made cork-tipped cigarette, and it became a household name in over one hundred and twenty countries with the slogan "Will Not Affect Your Throat".
*****’The Laughing Policeman’ is a music hall song recorded by British artist Charles Penrose, published under the pseudonym Charles Jolly in 1922, making it one of the most popular songs of 1922 in Britain. It is an adaptation of ‘The Laughing Song’ by American singer George W. Johnson with the same tune and form but different subject matter, first recorded in 1890. Charles Penrose used the melody of "The Laughing Song" as well as the same hook of using laughter in the chorus, but changed the lyrics to be about a policeman, and recorded it under the title of ‘The Laughing Policeman’. The composition of the song is, however, credited entirely to Billie Grey, a pseudonym of Penrose's second wife Mabel. The song describes a fat jolly policeman who cannot stop laughing and has a chorus in which the sound of laughter is made in a sustained semi musical way by the singer. It is thought that the character of the Laughing Policeman was inspired by real-life police officer PC John 'Tubby' Stephens, a popular figure in Leicester.
******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.
*******The Old Crown is a pub built on the corner of Hornsey Lane and Highgate Hill in the north London suburb of Highgate, opposite Highgate Cemetery. Established in 1821 on the steepest part of Highgate Hill, the current building dates from 1908 and features a very ornate and pretty façade including a corner turret with a green tower. The Old Crown closed its doors in 2018 to become a restaurant/bar called Tourian Lounge, where food and drink were still served, but not in an old English pub style. A century after our story is set in 2022, it is Brendan the Navigator, a self-styled gastropub with live music.
********Augustus John (1878 – 1961) was a Welsh painter, draughtsman, and etcher. For a time he was considered the most important artist at work in Britain: Virginia Woolf remarked that by 1908 the era of John Singer Sargent and Charles Wellington Furse "was over. The age of Augustus John was dawning." He was the younger brother of the painter Gwen John. Although known early in the century for his drawings and etchings, the bulk of John's later work consisted of portraits. Those of his two wives and his children were regarded as among his best. By the 1920s when this story is set, John was Britain's leading portrait painter. John painted many distinguished contemporaries, including T. E. Lawrence, Thomas Hardy, W. B. Yeats, Aleister Crowley, Lady Gregory, Tallulah Bankhead, George Bernard Shaw, the cellist Guilhermina Suggia, the Marchesa Casati and Elizabeth Bibesco.
**********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.
This jolly festive New year celebratory scene may not appear to be all it appears at first, for it is in fat made up of 1:12 scale miniatures from my large miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Made of polymer clay glazed to look oily and stuck to miniature newspaper print, the serving of golden hot chips on the table were made in England by hand 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. Made from real glass with great attention to detail on the labels, the bottles of ale come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom, as does the glass of dark ale, also made of glass. The glass of golden champagne is made of real glass and comes from Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The two glasses of port and lemon in the low glasses come from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay. The packets of Craven “A” cigarettes come from Shephard’s Miniatures in the UK. Great attention has been paid to the labelling which makes them clearly identifiable and specific to the time between the 1920s and the late 1940s. Made of cut clear crystals set in a silver metal frames the square silver ashtray is made by an English artisan for the Little Green Workshop. It is filled with “ash” and even has a tiny cigarette sitting on its lip. The cigarette is a tiny five millimetres long and just one millimetre wide! Made of paper, I have to be so careful that it doesn’t get lost when I use it! Also made by an artisan, only an Indian one, the black ashtray also features miniature cigarettes, although all of them are affixed within the ashtray. The other glasses on the table and the carafe are all made of clear glass and were acquired from a high street stockist of miniatures when I was a young teenager.
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 fireplace surround in the background comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Supplies in the United Kingdom.
On the mantle stand more glasses acquired from a high street stockist of miniatures when I was a young teenager. There is also a bottle of beer from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop and a bottle of champagne from Karen Ladybug Miniatures.
The Staffordshire hound and fox and the “Dieu et Mon Droit” (God and My Right) vase on the mantle have all been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys.
The parlour palm in the background comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The colourful paper chains were made by me.
The two chairs I acquired from a deceased estate as part of a larger collection of miniatures. They date from the 1970s.
The wood panelling in the background is real, as I shot this scene on the wood panelled mantle of my drawing room.