View allAll Photos Tagged scepticism
As her birthday present Caithlin had a mechanical toy fish, which she at first wached with a bit scepticism. It was definitely not edible, but maybe a bit dangerous, when it wriggles...
Dushara Cathal Caithlin (Somali cat), 04.12.2022.
Olympus OMD EM5 Digital Camera
from Nelli, looking at the New Year with a mixture of eager anticipation and some (probably justified) scepticism ...
Welcome 2022!
It has been four, really long weeks that I have been sequestered to the house. I have developed a good routine though - I go from my bed, to the couch that is immersed in the healing warmth of the sun, and then onto the chair in front of the fire, then back to bed again.
The dogs watch me with a mix of scepticism, disbelief, and perhaps even a bit of sympathy. Their leashes lay dormant.
It won't be long before we will be out enjoying our coveted walks again. In the meantime, I can relive the many wonderful, rich memories through the photos I have taken in the past.
This is one of them.
The Butterfly House is always a sanctuary to me especially in chilly and foggy weather such as yesterday's. I noted that our Lacewing must be on the very verge of death. It fluttered a bit, lower and lower, and finally crept about on the concrete floor, unsure where it was going, not afraid of approaching Olymp.
The scientific name 'Cethosia' derives, according to famous biologist Louis Agassiz (1807-1873), Nomenclator Zoologicus, from a Greek word for 'mourning': "κῆδος, luctus, kêdos = lutto". I'm not entirely convinced he's correct because mostly Butterflies are named for the heroes and heroines of Classical Antiquity. Anyway, these Lacewings often have a 'funereal' look - regard here that quite black fringe. So perhaps my slight scepticism is out of place.
My last post for a few days I am having a small break to do very little.
I think this was the first photograph I took when I arrived in Tromso last December. It’s only an electrical shop but it did look so pretty in the permanent gloom of the Arctic winter. I knew as I took it that it would serve well as a Christmas card…so that’s what it is.
For those of you who celebrate Christmas have a wonderful one. For those who celebrate anything else I hope you enjoy it. Finally for those of you who like me just let the Christmas thing drift by us enjoy the drifting. I intend to do some walking and reread the excellent quartet of novels by Richard Ford about the life and times of Frank Bascombe. I like this character a lot he has a good heart and a healthy amount of scepticism useful qualities these days.
I shall be off Flickr for a few days but will catch up with you all before the New Year arrives. So whatever you do, have a good one.
PS it’s the winter solstice so at least the light starts to return
THANKS FOR YOUR VISIT AND FOR TAKING THE TIME TO WRITE A COMMENT IT’S MUCH APPRECIATED.
IF YOU WANT TO FOLLOW MY STREAM I SUGGEST YOU OUGHT TO READ MY PROFILE FIRST
“What of Art?
-It is a malady.
--Love?
-An Illusion.
--Religion?
-The fashionable substitute for Belief.
--You are a sceptic.
-Never! Scepticism is the beginning of Faith.
--What are you?
-To define is to limit.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
1.
uncertainty about what is happening, intended, or required.
"there seems to be some confusion about which system does what"
synonyms:uncertainty, lack of certainty, unsureness, indecision, hesitation, hesitancy, scepticism, doubt, ignorance,a situation of panic or disorder.
2.
the state of being bewildered or unclear in one's mind about something.
Entered in
"AWESOME ABSTRACTS" - SOTN
www.flickr.com/groups/1344849@N25/discuss/721576797139244...
This road of grace is not always easy to discover. When you are really at peace, listening to the heart is not difficult. But there are also moments of weariness and emptiness, of scepticism and almost of despair, when it takes courage to enter the barren landscape of one’s soul. The bitterness of existence can hit you in all sorts of ways. Don’t be too surprised when such shadows come. They will not last. They are never the whole story. Dawn will come after every darkness. And that emergence into light is one of the signs of the Spirit at work. It is more than ‘natural’. It is a healing liberation that comes from the artistry of God within us. In countless ways you experience God even though you may not realise it.
-FAITH MAPS Ten religious explorers from Newman to Joseph Ratzinger Michael Paul Gallagher SJ, chapter 3:
Karl Rahner: the magnetism of mystery
seen in Goslar/ Harz in the morning, when all Europeans were ordered to return to their home, churches were closed and hospitals were full.
To believe on kismet, karma,fate, god's will or devil's revenge allow to live a somnambulic life. Science, scepticism, principle of scientific falsification, public control of scientific findings, democratic separation of powers are relevant to give next generations a chance to live in dignity.
I visited Battersea to experience the newly opened £9bn Power Station redevelopment. The architecture is awe-inspiring, especially the Frank Gehry-designed apartments. The Power station has been beautifully restored, with lots of lovely steel and brickwork on display.
Has the development tempered my initial scepticism? Unfortunately, no. Firstly only 9% of the housing is affordable, 40% less than initially planned. The usage of the Power Station is pretty uninspiring, lacking any real imagination or cultural value. Despite looking impressive, it's pretty much a glorified shopping centre at its heart, a weird hybrid between Westfield and the Coal Drop Yards.
Lilleshall Abbey , Shropshire, England
Lilleshall Abbey Coordinates... 52°43′29″N 2°23′23″W
Lilleshall Abbey was an Augustinian abbey in Shropshire, England, today located 6 miles (9.7 km) north of Telford. It was founded between 1145 and 1148 and followed the austere customs and observance of the Abbey of Arrouaise in northern France. It suffered from chronic financial difficulties and narrowly escaped the Dissolution of the Lesser Monasteries in 1536, before going into voluntary dissolution in 1538.
Lilleshall was one of a small number of monasteries in England belonging to the rigorist Arrouaisian branch of the Augustinians. A persistent tale, possibly stemming from William Dugdale, the pioneering 17th century historian of Britain's monasteries, claims that there was an Anglo-Saxon church at Lilleshall, dedicated to St Alkmund. Even Dugdale sounded a note of scepticism, and by 1825, when Hugh Owen and John Brickdale Blakeway wrote their history of Shrewsbury, the scepticism was dominant and they would allow only they “could not disprove” the existence of the Anglo-Saxon foundation.
Click the pic to view explore ❤️
Mynydd y Dinas, from Fishguard - Sir Benfro/ Pembrokeshire - www.pembrokeshirecoast.wales/things-to-do/walking-in-the-...
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"[Yng Ngasa], ychydig iawn a newidiodd er pan gafwyd y "cadoediad' a drefnwyd gan Trump ac a ddaeth i rym yn Hydref 2025.
Mae'r rhan fwyaf o Balesteiniaid yn dal i gael trafferth i fwydo eu teuluoedd, ac erys y Llain heb fawr ddim cyfleusterau iechyd, heb fawr ddim addysg a heb nemor ddim carthffosiaeth,
Mae Gwasanaeth Iechyd Gasa yn dweud i fwy na 600 o Balesteiniaid farw am iddyn nhw gael eu saethu gan Israel, Roedd y bobl wedi gobeithio y byddai hynny'n dod i ben wedi mwy na dwy flynedd o ryfel hil-laddiadol a laddodd dros 72,000 o bobl, yn ôl yr ystadegau swyddogol."
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"Very little has changed since the 'ceasefire' agreement brokered by Trump went into effect in October last year.
Most Palestinians are still struggling to feed their families, while health, education and sanitary services are almost nonexistent.
Gaza’s Ministry of Health has said that more than 600 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli gunfire since the truce, which Palestinians had hoped would end more than two years of genocidal war that has killed more than 72,000 people, according to official statistics." - www.aljazeera.com/features/2026/2/20/in-gaza-trumps-board...
Enlightenment Also known as "The Age of Reason".
It was thought during the Enlightenment that human reasoning could discover truths about the world, religion, and politics and could be used to improve the lives of humankind. Scepticism about received wisdom was another important idea; everything was to be subjected to testing and rational analysis.
Nothing rational about Glastonbury.
Glastonbury, Somerset, UK.
A very nice example of an old Fiat 500 in Macclesfield. This one wears the iconic scorpion logo of renowned Fiat tuners Abarth... but not the Abarth front grill, so forgive my scepticism!
It's still very cute!
Thousands of people, mainly representatives of Berlin’s Russian population, met on 9 May 2020 at the Soviet Memorial in Treptower Park, marking 75 years since the Nazis' unconditional surrender. From the early hours of the morning until late in the evening, they commemorated the end of World War II and the countless victims of this devastating war.
There are hardly any veterans left who could tell about their wartime experiences. In the meantime, their grandchildren have taken over the conductorship in these celebrations, some of them with touching gratefulness and respect, some others in a rather playful tune. But there are also several illustrious and disconcerting individuals and groups who, under the guise of commemoration, are spreading nationalist, history-distorting and war-glorifying slogans. In the emotionally charged memory of a day when peace returned to Europe, they scatter the seeds of new conflicts and confrontations.
My photo story "Victory Day" documents an experience between emotion and scepticism, between grateful remembrance and exuberant party atmosphere.
Thousands of people, mainly representatives of Berlin’s Russian population, met on 9 May 2020 at the Soviet Memorial in Treptower Park, marking 75 years since the Nazis' unconditional surrender. From the early hours of the morning until late in the evening, they commemorated the end of World War II and the countless victims of this devastating war.
There are hardly any veterans left who could tell about their wartime experiences. In the meantime, their grandchildren have taken over the conductorship in these celebrations, some of them with touching gratefulness and respect, some others in a rather playful tune. But there are also several illustrious and disconcerting individuals and groups who, under the guise of commemoration, are spreading nationalist, history-distorting and war-glorifying slogans. In the emotionally charged memory of a day when peace returned to Europe, they scatter the seeds of new conflicts and confrontations.
My photo story "Victory Day" documents an experience between emotion and scepticism, between grateful remembrance and exuberant party atmosphere.
Thousands of people, mainly representatives of Berlin’s Russian population, met on 9 May 2020 at the Soviet Memorial in Treptower Park, marking 75 years since the Nazis' unconditional surrender. From the early hours of the morning until late in the evening, they commemorated the end of World War II and the countless victims of this devastating war.
There are hardly any veterans left who could tell about their wartime experiences. In the meantime, their grandchildren have taken over the conductorship in these celebrations, some of them with touching gratefulness and respect, some others in a rather playful tune. But there are also several illustrious and disconcerting individuals and groups who, under the guise of commemoration, are spreading nationalist, history-distorting and war-glorifying slogans. In the emotionally charged memory of a day when peace returned to Europe, they scatter the seeds of new conflicts and confrontations.
My photo story "Victory Day" documents an experience between emotion and scepticism, between grateful remembrance and exuberant party atmosphere.
Thousands of people, mainly representatives of Berlin’s Russian population, met on 9 May 2020 at the Soviet Memorial in Treptower Park, marking 75 years since the Nazis' unconditional surrender. From the early hours of the morning until late in the evening, they commemorated the end of World War II and the countless victims of this devastating war.
There are hardly any veterans left who could tell about their wartime experiences. In the meantime, their grandchildren have taken over the conductorship in these celebrations, some of them with touching gratefulness and respect, some others in a rather playful tune. But there are also several illustrious and disconcerting individuals and groups who, under the guise of commemoration, are spreading nationalist, history-distorting and war-glorifying slogans. In the emotionally charged memory of a day when peace returned to Europe, they scatter the seeds of new conflicts and confrontations.
My photo story "Victory Day" documents an experience between emotion and scepticism, between grateful remembrance and exuberant party atmosphere.
Brussels, Belgium, 2024.
So, the state lies to us, does it? Who can tell? In this increasingly confusing world, no one can ever be too sure. Some people want to believe what the state keeps telling us because they just don't want to worry to much. Others don't believe everything they are told and project their scepticism to the political statements of the governments. And still others want to believe that the state is lying to us because they need it as justification for their own crude world view, for which they themselves are happy to lie.
Regardless of whether you agree or disagree with its message, the text should serve as a reminder that a healthy dose of scepticism and critical thinking is one of the key qualifications of democratic and informed citizens.
I am concerned about the widespread praise of artificial intelligence as a groundbreaking technology. Many people fail to see that relying on AI for tasks such as reading, summarizing, analyzing, evaluating, and forming educated opinions may lead to a decline in our own skills over time. If we become overly dependent on AI for these abilities, it could make it easier for dishonest politicians from both the government and the opposition to deceive us. There’s value in doing things yourself. It keeps our sense sharp and our skills honed.
There's more on www.chm-photography.com.
Enjoy!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=w25xghugIdg&feature=related
Hey Frederick/ The Jefferson Airplane
"How old do you have to be to stop your believing..."
Volunteers
"Either go away or go all the way in
Look at what you hold
Come back down on a spear of silence
When it flies
You go on through
You come on through
The ridiculous no
Oh no
One more pair of
Loving eyes look down on you
Sheets and a pillow
How old will you have to be before you
Stop believing
That those eyes will look down on you
That way forever
There you sit mouth wide open
Animals nipping at your sides
On wire wheels the four stroke man
Opens wide
The marching sound
The constant ride
On the gasket is mine
All mine
One more pair of
Wire wheels bear down on you
Gear stripping the willow
How many machine men will you see before you
Stop believing that speed
Will slide down on you
Like breaks in bad weather..."
Autumn is a bit of a lottery in Cornwall. Blink and you'll miss it around here. With the mildest climate in the UK the colours arrive later than anywhere else, often at the same time as the storm season, which rips them from the branches before they really get going. Around where I live the only real signs of the season are found on the Beeches, most of it in the canopy. It's a pain in the neck - quite literally. The Sycamores in the garden simply go brown and dump their foliage messily across the lawn. Already, most of the trees around us are bare, without having bothered to put on a show.
So Lee and I headed for Golitha Falls with no small degree of scepticism over what we might find, our reservations being replaced by almost boundless optimism as we drove the last few miles through the orange and gold glow of the Glynn Valley. It seemed we'd discovered an oasis of vibrance amid the drab greys and browns and the stubborn greens along the way. With our destination so close at hand it seemed a certainty that we'd be rewarded for our hundred mile round trip; but of course it never works like that does it? In retrospect we should have parked in a layby along the main road and set out tripods up right there. We might have got some funny looks from the endless flow of passing motorists, but we might have got some better pictures too. On arrival at the visitors' hotspot the colours were all over the ground and noticeably absent from the branches around us. We'd arranged to meet our friend Hudson, the only person I know with his own Wikipedia entry, and while we waited we queued at Inkies, the artisan fast food outlet that would prove to be the highlight of the day. As we ate enormous protein products nestling within huge hunks of bread, we watched the action at the bird feeding station, getting particuarly excited by a beautiful Nuthatch that was helping itself to the goodies on offer. When we'd finished eating I announced I might stay right where I was and try photographing the Nuthatch instead, unconvinced by the lack of autumn in the trees as I was. But instead I dragged myself towards the wood, full of bread and brisket to spend three hours stumbling around on slippery surfaces, wiping rain spots from filters and cursing mildly as I tinkered with the histogram on the back of the camera. Quite how any of my equipment didn't end up racing down the boulder strewn falls in a bid for freedom remains a mystery to me.
After lots of grumbling and a brief discussion as to whether we should abort our mission and head for nearby Respryn I began to see compositions and settled into my zone, entering the rushing water as far as my wellies would allow me to go. Convinced I was beginning to make sense of things I relaxed and started to enjoy myself. At some point in the afternoon my phone made an unheard noise from somewhere in the depths of the bag to tell me that Lee had returned to the cafe. Hudson had departed already for his appointment with someone from the medical profession wielding a booster jab. At the point I realised an attempt to make contact with me had been made, I was engaged in an ultimately fruitless focus stack at the bottom of a waterfall and said I'd be a while. Gradually I made my way back towards the top of the falls, gazing vacantly into the space, often wandering in and out of the river to try and grab a composition with some colourful leaves and mostly failing. But I felt that I'd got something worthwhile from the outing at least. Or at least until I got home and downloaded the raw files onto my computer. My progress back to the car was delayed by an encounter with a fellow photographer whom it seemed would be able to talk the hind legs off a Brontosaurus if he were allowed to, and so I eventually stumbled out of the woods to find Lee waiting by the car. I really ought to give him the spare key next time, but he was clearly quite contented, having helped himself to an ice cream at the cafe and he'd kept himself entertained by watching the activity at the bird feeders. Apparently the Nuthatch had been joined by a Woodpecker and some Blackcaps, so I stopped feeling guilty about keeping him waiting. A few hours later I was feeling pretty underwhelmed by the results of the day's efforts. Too many cluttered scenes and too much over exposed water. At least in this shot there were no black shadows and no clipped highlights. Perhaps I should have had an ice cream and taken a picture of a Nuthatch instead.
Thousands of people, mainly representatives of Berlin’s Russian population, met on 9 May 2020 at the Soviet Memorial in Treptower Park, marking 75 years since the Nazis' unconditional surrender. From the early hours of the morning until late in the evening, they commemorated the end of World War II and the countless victims of this devastating war.
There are hardly any veterans left who could tell about their wartime experiences. In the meantime, their grandchildren have taken over the conductorship in these celebrations, some of them with touching gratefulness and respect, some others in a rather playful tune. But there are also several illustrious and disconcerting individuals and groups who, under the guise of commemoration, are spreading nationalist, history-distorting and war-glorifying slogans. In the emotionally charged memory of a day when peace returned to Europe, they scatter the seeds of new conflicts and confrontations.
My photo story "Victory Day" documents an experience between emotion and scepticism, between grateful remembrance and exuberant party atmosphere.
Thousands of people, mainly representatives of Berlin’s Russian population, met on 9 May 2020 at the Soviet Memorial in Treptower Park, marking 75 years since the Nazis' unconditional surrender. From the early hours of the morning until late in the evening, they commemorated the end of World War II and the countless victims of this devastating war.
There are hardly any veterans left who could tell about their wartime experiences. In the meantime, their grandchildren have taken over the conductorship in these celebrations, some of them with touching gratefulness and respect, some others in a rather playful tune. But there are also several illustrious and disconcerting individuals and groups who, under the guise of commemoration, are spreading nationalist, history-distorting and war-glorifying slogans. In the emotionally charged memory of a day when peace returned to Europe, they scatter the seeds of new conflicts and confrontations.
My photo story "Victory Day" documents an experience between emotion and scepticism, between grateful remembrance and exuberant party atmosphere.
The Valley of the Rocks is a section of the coastline on the northern edge of Exmoor, Devon, England.
For me with a "scepticism" towards heights not the best spot, but somehow I appear to be drawn to these locations nevertheless. For everyone without that specific problem, a comfortable asphalted path for a walk with a fantastic view…
It was already quite windy, though, a day before storm "Ciara"/Sabine" started (have storms always been named per nation? Why??), making me even less comfortable up there.
Our group of Friends from Venlo living in Amsterdam decided to have an outing on the Amstel River. So we divided ourselves between two motor boats - 8 apiece - and from Amsterdam's Kromhoutwerf we steered upriver to the picturesque town of Ouderkerk aan de Amstel to picnic in the shade of two magnificent Horse Chestnut trees in back of the protestant church (in the right of the photo).
The church is a monumental neoclassical structure designed by Jacob Eduard de Witte (1738-1809). Building commenced in 1773, a year or so after he was appointed Director-General of the Municipal Buildings of the city of Amsterdam under the jurisdiction of which Ouderkerk still resided. The church wasn't completed until 1809 and under another architect because De Witte was caught in a building fraud and promptly fired already in 1777.
This was all within municipal history, but Ouderkerk has a more cosmopolitan side too.
Just behind the church on the other side of the street is the entrance to the huge Jewish cemetery Beth Haim (= House of Life). It was established in 1614 and is the last resting place of many whose influence reached much further than Amsterdam. Allow me as someone interested in the history of scepticism to mention only Menasseh ben Israel (1604-1657) and the parents of great Benedictus Spinoza (1632-1677), who himself was buried in a Christian churchyard in The Hague.
And again - given the present animadversions between the governments of Morocco and The Netherlands - let me also mention that fascinating diplomat, the Moroccan Jew Samuel Pallache (ca.1550-1616). Pallache was a go-between for Sultan Mawlay Zidan el Nasir (?-1627) of Morocco and the Dutch. He was instrumental in preparing one of the first treaties between a European Christian nation and a Muslim government (1609).
So as we picnicked, these men wandered through my mind while the Sun was setting in multi-colored hues.
Salford Quays
A little bit of background history... The Lowry is a theatre and gallery complex at Salford Quays, within Greater Manchester. It is named after the early 20th century painter L. S. Lowry, known for his paintings of industrial scenes in North West England and was officially opened on 12th October 2000 by Queen Elizabeth II.
To redevelop the derelict Salford docks, Salford City Council developed a regeneration plan in 1988 for the brown field site highlighting the leisure, cultural and tourism potential of the area, and included a flagship development that would involve the creation of a performing arts centre. The initial proposals were for two theatres and an art gallery on the prominent Pier 8 site.
Between 1990 and 1991 a competition was launched and architects James Stirling Michael Wilford Associates was selected. After the death of James Stirling in June 1992 Michael Wilford continued the project. The city council bid for Millennium and other British and European funds and private sector finance to progress the project. Funding was secured in 1996 and The Lowry Trust became responsible for the project which comprised The Lowry Centre, the plaza, a footbridge, a retail outlet shopping mall and Digital World Centre. The National Lottery provided over £21 million of funding towards its construction. The project was completed in 1999 at a cost of £106 million. The Lowry name was adopted in honour of the local artist, L. S. Lowry.
Another from the night visit with Muddy Boots UK.
For me this is the real heart of the Quays complex and if this is my 45th photographic trip then I must have visited well over a hundred times for theatre events since its opening. Countless comedians, touring West End productions, lectures and the odd classic of Shakespeare, opera and ballet, although once is enough for those, but as they say... don't knock it till you've tried it! And not forgetting the permanent display of Lowry's work... always worth a visit.
I've said in the past, good architecture and design is good for the human soul and every visit is a joy for me. The wacky design - there's not a straight line in the place, and as for the colour scheme - yellow, orange and purple, it's a full on attack of the senses. It's hard to be down-hearted the moment you walk into the foyer. I've heard it described as "not quite Salford's Guggenheim" and maybe not, but for me this is my Sydney Opera House... both dared to be different in concept and design, and after the public's initial scepticism are very much loved buildings today.
I've always wanted to capture this bold " in yer face" version of the Lowry, but I've never been happy with past efforts for one reason or another. Yes, it should be a cliché image, but considering the tens of thousands of pictures taken around the Quays over the years, it's surprisingly overlooked. It has always played havoc with my sense of symmetry, but I'll forgive it for that. This may be my best effort to date and the illuminated trees a bonus as I've not often seen them. I'll settle for this for the time being, but there's always visit 46!
London, “Dark secrets” exhibition, November 2025.
The Metascience Foundation, founded by American engineer George Meek, was dedicated to scientific research on the survival of consciousness after death. Its most famous project was Spiricom, an electronic device for direct communication with the dead. Developed together with medium William O’Neil, the instrument used 13 radio frequences to create an “audio bridge”.
Meek and O’Neil claimed to have recorded the voice of a deceased scientist guiding them from beyond the grave in the construction of the device. Although Spiricom became widely known, its results were never replicated by independent researchers, provoking criticism and scepticism. Nevertheless, it remains one of the earliest examples of Instrumental Transcommunication (ITC).
On a close but cloudy day last May, a pair of hikers take little notice of GBRf 'Celebrity' Shed, 66721, as she restarts the 11.25am Arcow Quarry - Pendleton Brindle Heath (6M37) loaded limestone from the Blea Moor loop.
The locomotive is named "Harry Beck" after a draughtsman who worked for the London Underground Signals Office and who, in his spare time (and uncommissioned), drew up a schematic map of the system in 1931.
Despite LU's initial scepticism for his proposal, it was tentatively introduced to the public by way of a small pamphlet in 1933 where it proved an immediate hit. Successive London Underground maps, right through to the present day, use Harry Beck's style to depict the system.
In addition to carrying his name, the locomotive has been finished to incorporate a section of the London Underground map to properly commemorate Harry's achievement - as can be seen in this shot.
(Background info courtesy of Wikipedia)
12.27pm, 30th May 2018
'Don't think I'm talking rubbish!'
Gossip and scepticism in the Jardin du Palais-Royal (1er)
Paris, France 20.09.2021
"Denke nicht, ich rede Blödsinn!"
Tratsch und Skepsis im Jardin du Palais-Royal (1er)
Paris, Frankreich 20.09.2021
Leaving Berlin:
Sold a car on Saturday.
Lost some faith on Sunday.
My team got smashed on Monday.
Wouldn Have it any other way.
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Via Instagram, so excuse the compression, and the sharpening.
if you want to see more of my photo stuff
or check out my website www.christopherratter.com
A Glow in the Mist - Chapter 2: Hasekura’s Lighthouse
After an hour of navigating, a faint light began to pierce the veil of clouds. Hasekura’s lighthouse stood as a sentinel, marking the entrance to a perilous zone where thousands of islands, scattered in all shapes and sizes, posed a constant threat to unwary sailors. In winter, when visibility plummeted and fierce winds raged, the lighthouse became an essential beacon. Despite the biting cold, Hasekura was already waiting for his grandson on the front porch.
Once a exceptional fisherman and intrepid explorer, Hasekura now moved with difficulty, his once vigorous frame slowed by age. Summers were spent tending to his modest garden, but in the harshness of winter, he found comfort in reading traditional tales. His attic was overflowing with these ancient books, piled up alongside his old fishing gear, relics of a glorious past.
With a final maneuver, Matsuura moored his fishing ship and made his way up to greet his grandfather. Each visit was primarily an opportunity to restock the lighthouse with provisions and coal, ensuring the lantern stayed lit. But it was also a chance to sit together, sharing tea while listening to Hasekura recount the adventures of his youth.
Before Matsuura left, Hasekura presented him with an ancient book he had discovered in the depths of the attic—a weathered tome detailing the traditions and myths of the region. Matsuura, though respectful, greeted these types of stories with scepticism. To him, these were nothing more than the fantasies of an aging man, a mind slowly yielding to time. Nevertheless, he accepted the book out of courtesy, and bid farewell to the lighthouse. As he set sail, his thoughts were already on the fishing grounds that awaited him the next day.
Une Lueur dans la Brume - Chapitre 2 : Le Phare de Hasekura
Après une heure de navigation, une lueur finit par émerger à travers l’épais manteau de nuages. Le phare de Hasekura se dressait, immuable, signalant l’entrée dans une zone périlleuse : une multitude d’îles, éparpillées comme autant de pièges, menaçaient les navigateurs imprudents. En hiver, lorsque la visibilité chutait et que les vents violents déchaînaient leur fureur, ce phare devenait un repère indispensable. Malgré le froid mordant, Hasekura attendait son petit-fils sur le seuil.
Autrefois pêcheur d’exception et explorateur infatigable, il avait désormais du mal à se déplacer. L’été, il s’occupait de son modeste jardin, l’hiver, il trouvait refuge dans la lecture de contes traditionnels. Son grenier débordait de ces récits anciens, entassés aux côtés de son vieil équipement de pêche, vestiges d’un passé glorieux.
Dans une ultime manœuvre, Matsuura amarra son navire de pêche au ponton usé par les années et rejoignit son grand-père. Chaque visite était avant tout l’occasion de lui apporter vivres et charbon pour alimenter la lanterne du phare. Mais c’était aussi un moment privilégié pour écouter, autour d’un thé chaud, les récits des exploits d’autrefois.
Avant que Matsuura reparte, Hasekura lui tendit un viel ouvrage qu’il avait déniché au fond du grenier. Le livre regorgeait de légendes et de mythes sur la région. Matsuura, bien que respectueux, accueillait ce type d’histoires avec scepticisme. Pour lui, il ne s’agissait que des divagations d’un vieil homme, dont l’esprit commençait à vaciller sous le poids des années. Néanmoins, il accepta le grimoire par politesse, salua son grand-père, et quitta le phare, l’esprit déjà tourné vers les eaux poissonneuses où il jetterait ses filets le lendemain.
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Built for Wandering Skies Contest 2024, in the "Seasonal Bliss" category.
Stay tuned for the final chapter!
Instagram: www.instagram.com/loic.glbr
There are two false attitudes to reason, according to Pascal. One is overconfidence in reason, which often leads to barren scepticism. The other is resignation to stupidity coming from laziness or disinterest. Truth is reached by avoiding these two pitfalls.
-PAUL GLYNN A Song for Nagasaki The Story of Takashi Nagai Scientist, Convert and Survivor of the Atomic Bomb
To view more of my images, of Danesfield House, please click "here" !
Currently, a Private Hotel, Danesfield House, is part of an estate, which previously belonged to the Ministry of Defence (Air); namely, Royal Air Force Station Medmenham.
A place that I served at, as a civilian engineer as a member of HQ Signals Command!
Most of the following information was extracted from Wikipedia, with addition of some personal knowledge!
RAF Medmenham history commenced in April 1941, when the RAF photographic Interpretation Unit (PIU) moved to Danesfield House. This unit, over time, merged with other organisations, performing similar functions, and was renamed the Central Interpretation Unit (CIU). During 1942 and 1943 the CIU gradually expanded and was involved in the planning stages of practically every operation of the war, and in every aspect of intelligence. In 1945 daily intake of material averaged 25,000 negatives and 60,000 prints. By VE-day the print library, which documented and stored worldwide cover, held 5,000,000 prints from which 40,000 reports had been produced. Of particular significance in the success of the work of Medmenham was the use of stereoscopic images, using a between plate overlap of exactly 60%. Having overcome the initial scepticism of Lord Cherwell, to the possibility of the new rocket technology, major operations made possible by the work at Medmenham included, on 17 and 18 August 1943, an offensive against the V-2 rocket development plant at Peenemunde. Later offensives were also made against potential launch sites at Wizernes and 96 other launch sites in Northern France. It is claimed that greatest operational success of Medmenham was with Operation Crossbow which, from 23 December 1943, destroyed the V-1 infrastructure in Northern France. In 1952, 591 Signals Unit moved to RAF Medmenham and stayed until 1955 when it moved to RAF Digby. It was during its stay at Medmenham that the unit's crest was conceived; a Kingfisher, watching over the river Thames, representing the unit's watch over the integrity and security of RAF communications. On 3 November 1958, RAF Signals Command (HQSC) (Motto: Aetherem Vincere - "To Conquer the Aether") was formed at Medmenham by raising No 90 Signals Group, RAF to Command status under Air Vice Marshal Leslie Dalton-Morris. It was a relatively short-lived Command, lasting only until 1 January 1969, when it was absorbed by Headquarters Strike Command (HQSTC) and reduced to Group status. At this time, RAF Signals Command was renamed to the RAF Signals Engineering Establishment (RAFSEE), moving temporarily to RAF Benson, until permanent accommodation was established at RAF Henlow!
I had planned to make a Part 2 to my Steetley Pier video ([youtu.be/_0j40Ktm_rA](youtu.be/_0j40Ktm_rA)), which would have included this location, but for whatever reason I just never got around to recording much footage. It's still worth a watch if you haven't seen it.
I think it came down to a combination of exhaustion and the rather challenging climb down the cliffs to reach the shoreline. A few slips here and there, combined with the thought of breaking a bone (or worse, smashing camera gear), does tend to take the enthusiasm out of filming.
And, of course, I have another excuse... the light wasn't particularly inspiring. Heavy mid-morning overcast conditions would have been perfect for photographing flowers, but not so much for dramatic seascapes.
These weathered relics only reveal themselves during an exceptionally low tide, and our timing couldn't have been better.
At first glance, they didn't seem like much—just rusted metal blending almost seamlessly into the barnacle-covered rocks. Compositions felt awkward, and you could sense a shared scepticism among the group. Was this really worth the effort?
But patience has a way of rewarding those who wait.
As the tide slowly crept back in, the scene began to transform. From the cliff tops, I'm sure we must have looked like a curious spectacle—six photographers in wellies, shuffling around this forgotten piece of history, each searching for the perfect composition.
Then the moment arrived. The waves wrapped themselves around the rusted frame, adding movement, texture and life to the scene. Suddenly everything clicked into place, and every one of us walked away with an image that captured a fleeting reminder of how time and tide can elevate even the most unassuming subjects.
Februar 2017
Amselmann Kurti ist wieder da und beäugt misstrauisch die Kamera. Er vertilgt jeden Tag ein Birne, wofür er ca. fünf Stunden braucht. Danach legt er eine Verdauungspause ein! - Blackbird Kurti is back und watches with great scepticism the camera. He is consuming every day a pear, which takes around five hours. After that he takes a digestion break.
Having walked over the aquaduct I drove down to the base to look back up.
The aqueduct, built by Thomas Telford and William Jessop in 1805 , is 1,007 ft (307 m) long, 11 ft (3.4 m) wide and 5.25 ft (1.60 m) deep. It consists of a cast iron trough supported 126 ft (38 m) above the river on iron arched ribs carried on nineteen hollow masonry piers (pillars). Each span is 53 ft (16 m) wide. Despite considerable public scepticism, Telford was confident the construction method would work: he had previously built at least one cast iron trough aqueduct – the Longdon-on-Tern aqueduct on the Shrewsbury Canal.
Scepticism
Antagonism
The more I learned and knew the more I had problems to make a decision.
All things in life come out 50/50…
I could never do it right.
But I could never do it wrong.
So what to do?
Nothing.
Whatever I do is ok...
HKD
Psychology
The intellectual aspect of doubt is caused by A5.
Example: Is Nietzsche right, when he says: God is dead? Yes and no can be the answer…
The emotional aspect of doubt is caused by B1.
Example: Do I love him? Yes and no may be the answer…
HKD
Zwiespalt
Der endlose Zweifel.
Antagonismus
HKD
Falls Psychologie interessiert:
Den hier abgebildeten Zweifel nenne ich auch den „Hamlet-Faktor“. Selbstzweifel und Unsicherheit auf der emotionalen Ebene werden von der Motivationsenergie B1 hervorgerufen. Auf der intellektuellen Ebene ist A5 dafür verantwortlich.
Welchen Weg könnte ich gehen? Skeptizismus kann sehr hilfreich sein, wenn man Fehler vermeiden möchte, doch er hemmt die Handlungsfähikgeit bis hin zur Lähmung.
Antagonismus - in dem obigen Bild zeige ich ihn - man bewegt sich in entgegengesetzte Richtungen gleichzeitig und befindet sich damit im Widerspruch.
Bis zur Auflösung dieses psychologischen "Dramas" musste ich auf meinem Weg einige Jahre in diesem inneren Zwiespalt verbleiben. Die Erlösung brachte der Wechsel in den widerstandslosen Fluss der Dinge. Der intellektuelle und emotionale Skeptizismus versiegte nachdem er für die notwendige Ausbildung des Verstandes und der Bewusstheit gesorgt hatte. Zweifel und Skeptizismus entstehen bei der Ausbildung des Logos.
Sobald man darauf verzichten kann, "klare" Entscheidungen zu treffen oder "Fünfe gerade sein lassen kann", ist der Spuk des Zweifels vorbei. Die Akzeptanz des "Nichtwissens" (was richtig und was falsch ist) lässt mich stets in die richtige Richtung gehen.
HKD
Faded.
Beschuldigende demonen overmatige geluiden psychedelische vreugden het ontdekken van innerlijke geheimen groeiende stemmen internationale dichter glimlacht zachtjes zachtjes als engelenvleugels,
beatitudo insignis, studia superaestimata, colores synthetici emergentiae, descriptiones insignes, effectus insignes.,
pseudonymes rêves lettré chroniqueur notes impressions pittoresque temps mené expériences imagination beau,
subconștient preluând diavoli grotești aproape de scepticism viață suspectând dimensiuni cotitură absurdități lipsite de grație trosnind oase,
dhúisigh dé-bhith streachailt neamhthaitneamhach feiniméan buaic na réime imill phriosmacha cúiteamh gealaí gan teorainn thíos,
le creature che remano e navigano nel territorio ricreativo, le ombre che girano e urlano, l'estasi sognante, il perpetuo svago,
疲労、笑い、過去の旅の終わり、不注意な教訓、遅れて響き渡る教え、意識、崩れゆく山々、牧師、近くの眠り.
Steve.D.Hammond.
Confucius (551–479 BCE) is seen as the pre-eminent Chinese sage, and the most influential person in China’s great history. He is the embodiment of all that has come to be associated with the religion that grew up around his teachings. The development of Confucianism is seen to have occurred during a period known to scholars as “The Axial Age”. This was a time of significant moral and spiritual development for humanity. The term was first coined by Swiss philosopher and psychiatrist Karl Jaspers (1883-1969). In a nutshell Jaspers summed up “The Axial Age” starting with the Chinese masters:
“Confucius and Lao-Tse were living in China, all the schools of Chinese philosophy came into being, including those of Mo Ti, Chuang Tse, Lieh Tzu and a host of others; India produced the Upanishads and Buddha and, like China, ran the whole gamut of philosophical possibilities down to materialism, scepticism and nihilism; in Iran, Zarathustra taught a challenging view of the world as a struggle between good and evil; in Palestine the prophets made their appearance from Elijah by way of Isaiah and Jeremiah to Deutero-Isaiah; Greece witnessed the appearance of Homer, of the philosophers—Parmenides, Heraclitus and Plato,—of the tragedians, of Thucydides and Archimedes. Everything implied by these names developed during these few centuries almost simultaneously in China, India and the West."
— Karl Jaspers, "Origin and Goal of History", (p.2)
Confucius had no idea that his ideas would become so influential in Chinese history. He failed to convince the politicians of his own day to see the virtue in his teachings about respect and harmony. Moreover, he had to endure a life of considerable hardship, even poverty. But through it all he gained to himself some loyal followers who after his death collected his principal sayings and developed the rudiments of a philosophy that some consider almost a religion. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confucianism
There is a very readable biography on Confucius by Meher McArthur published in 2010. And here is a nice little summary by Alain De Botton and his School of Life: www.youtube.com/watch?v=tUhGRh4vdb8
There is a long documentary by Dan Snow including major interviews with scholars on “The Story of The Real Confucius”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaFDr11g4Rg
* We don't know what the real Confucius looked like, so this porcelain figure of a wise man from China can stand in for the sage.
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 are in central London, near the palace of Westminster and the Thames embankment at the very stylish Metropole Hotel*, where Lettice is finally having her first assignation with the eldest son of the Duke of Walmsford, Selwyn Spencely after he telephoned her last week. After she hung up the receiver on the cradle, Lettice was beside herself with joy, causing somewhat of a kerfuffle with her downstairs neighbour, Mrs. Clifford after her jumping up and down caused the lady’s pendant lamps to rattle and sway from the ceiling above. Since then, Lettice has spent hours of her life over the ensuing days going through her wardrobes, trying on outfit after outfit, much to the irritation of her maid, Edith, who has to pick up after her. In a whirl of excitement and nerves, Lettice has gone from deciding to wear pale pink organdie, to navy serge, then to peach and rose carmine satin, to black velvet with white brocade trim. Yet now, as she shrugs her coat from her shoulders into the waiting arms of the liveried cloak room attendant of the Metropole, Lettice knows that her choice of a soft pale blue summery calf length dress with lace inserts accessories by a blue satin sash and her simple double strand of perfectly matched pearls is the perfect choice. The colour suits her creamy skin and blonde chignon, and the outfit is understated elegance, so she appears fashionable and presentable, yet doesn’t appear to be trying to hard to impress. Breathing deeply to keep the butterflies in her stomach at bay she immediately sees her companion for luncheon lounging nonchalantly against a white painted pillar.
“Darling Lettice!” Selwyn exclaims as he strides purposefully across the busy lobby of the Metropole. “You look positively ravishing.”
Lettice smiles as she sees the glint of delight in his blue eyes as he raises her cream glove clad right hand to his lips and chivalrously kisses it. “Thank you, Selwyn.” she replies, lowering her lids as she feels a slight flush fill her cheeks at the sensation of his lips pressing through the thin, soft kid of her glove. “That’s very kind of you to say so.”
“I’ve secured us a discreet table for two, just as you requested, my angel.” He proffers a crooked arm to her. “Shall we?”
Lettice smiles at his words, enjoying the sound of his cultured voice call her by a pet name. She carefully winds her own arm though his and the two stroll blithely across the foyer, unaware of the mild interest that she and Selwyn create as a handsome couple.
“Good afternoon Miss Chetwynd,” the maître d of the Metropole restaurant says as he looks down the list of reservations for luncheon. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Ticking the entry off the reservation list he takes up two menus. “Right this way, Your Grace.”
He leads the couple through the busy dining room of the hotel where the gentle burble of voices fills the lofty space and mixes with the sound of silver cutlery against the blue banded gilt hotel crockery, the clink of glasses raised and the strains of popular Edwardian music from the small palm court quartet playing discreetly by a white painted pillar.
“Your Grace.” Lettice says in a lofty fashion, giggling as she makes a joking bob curtsey to Selwyn as they follow the maître d.
Selwyn scoffs and rolls his eyes up to the ornately plastered ceiling above. “You know it’s only because of Daddy**.”
“I know,” Lettice giggles again. “But isn’t it a scream: ‘Your Grace’.”
“I’m not ‘Your Grace’ to you, my angel,” he smiles in return. “Just Selwyn will be fine.”
“As you wish, Just Selwyn.”
The crisply uniformed maître d stops before a small table for two surrounded by tables of suited politicians and a smattering of older, rather tweedy women. He withdraws a dainty Chippendale style chair from the table and Lettice takes a seat. The older man expertly pushes the chair in with her as she settles before the crisp white linen covered table.
“Does this table suit you, Lettice darling?” Selwyn asks a little nervously. “Discreet enough for you?”
“Oh yes, thank you Selwyn.” Lettice replies as she observes all the diners around them, busily involved in their own discussions with never a thought for the two of them, although she does notice an older couple at a table a short distance away observing them discreetly. The woman turns to her husband, indicating something about Lettice’s wide brimmed pale blue hat, judging by her gesticulation and his withering glance in response.
“Could that be one of your mother’s spies?” Selwyn asks, breaking into her quiet thoughts.
“What?” Lettice gasps. “Where?”
“There.” Selwyn gestures towards a potted palm, the fronds trembling with the movement of a passing waiter carrying two plates of roast beef to a nearby table scurrying past.
“Oh Selwyn!” Lettice slaps his hand kittenishly. “You are awful! Don’t be a tease and startle me like that.” She smiles as she returns to perusing her menu. “You know my mother’s spies are everywhere.”
“As are Lady Zinnia’s.” he replies.
Selwyn looks around the room taking in the Georgian revival furnishings, the restrained Regency stripe wallpaper, the watercolours of stately British homes in gilt frames as much as his architect’s eye pays close attention to the restrained fluted columns, ornately plastered ceilings and general layout of the room. “It’s so thoroughly English, don’t you think?” he concludes as he picks up the menu to peruse it.
“Oh,” Lettice says a little deflated as she lowers her menu. “You’d prefer something a little more, European? Should we have dined at a French restaurant?”
“Oh no Lettice darling,” he assures her with a defending hand. “I was just remarking. As I think I told you on the telephone, I haven’t been here since before the war, and I think the décor is much improved. It’s so much lighter and free of that ghastly old Victorian look.”
“I was saying the same thing to Miss Wanetta Ward the last time I came here.” Lettice remarks.
“Wanetta Ward? Isn’t she the moving picture star?” Selwyn looks over the top of his menu at his luncheon companion.
“The very one!” Lettice elucidates. “Do you ever go?”
“To the kinema***? No.” He shakes his head vehemently. “Do you?”
“No, I don’t either, but Miss Ward insists that I must experience it some day. Not that Mater or Pater would approve if I ever worked up the gumption to go.”
“Surely you don’t need to tell them if you do go.”
“Are you encouraging me to be devious, Selwyn?”
“No,” Selwyn laughs, his eyebrows lifting over his sparking blue eyes. “I’m simply suggesting that you are of age, and your own person with your own life in London, whilst they live their lives in far away Wiltshire. You can go to kinema if you wish. No-one need see you. In saying that, my parents feel the same about it, especially Mummy. She is very much against what she calls ‘painted women who are a poor and cheap copy of great art, moving about overdramatically on screen’.”
“I’ll be sure not to tell Miss Ward your mother’s opinion of her the next time I see her.”
“My mother’s opinion is entirely uneducated, Lettice, I assure you. After all, like both you and I, she has never actually seen a moving picture before.”
“Well, considering that both my maid and my charwoman*** go to the pictures, I very much doubt that I ever will.” Lettice concludes. “How would it be if I sat next to them? Besides, I have heard picture theatres called fleapits***** before, which sounds none too promising when compared with a lovely evening at Covent Garden.”
“Well, I don’t know about you,” Selwyn announces, changing the subject. “But I rather like the look of the roast beef with Yorkshire pudding for luncheon. What will you have?”
Lettice looks disappointedly at her menu. “When I came here with Miss Ward, we shared a rather magnificent selection of savories and little deadlies******, but I suppose they must reserve them for afternoon tea, here.”
“Fear not!” Selwyn says, giving Lettice a beaming smile. He carefully catches the eye of the maître d and summons him with an almost imperceptible nod of his head.
“How may I serve Your Grace?” the maître d asks with a respectful bow as he approaches the table.
“Look here, my companion Miss Chetwynd had some sweet and savoury petit fours when she last came here and speaks very highly of them. I’d taken a fancy to trying them for myself, so might we have a selection for two, please?”
“Well Your Grace,” the maître d begins apologetically. “They are from our afternoon tea menu.”
“Oh, I’m sure you could have word to your chefs, especially to please such a charming guest.” He gestures with an open hand to Lettice as she sits rather awkwardly holding her menu, her eyes wide as she listens to Selwyn direct the manager of the restaurant. “It would please her,” He then plays his trump card with a polite, yet firm and businesslike smile that forms across his lips like a darkened crease. “Both of us really, if you could perhaps see about furnishing us with a selection from your afternoon tea menu.”
“Well I…” stammers the maître d, but catching the slight shift in Selwyn’s eyes and the twitch at the corner of his mouth he swallows what he was going to say. “Certainly, Your Grace.”
“Good man!” Selwyn replies, his eyes and his smile brightening. “And some tea I think, wouldn’t you agree, Lettice my dear?”
“Oh, oh… yes.” Lettice agrees with an awkward smile of her own.
As the uniformed manager scuttles away, shoulders hunched, with Selwyn’s request, Lettice says, “Oh you shouldn’t have done that, Selwyn. Poor man.”
“What? Are you telling me that you are displeased that you are getting what you desire for luncheon, even though it doesn’t appear on the menu?”
“Well, no.” Lettice admits sheepishly.
“See, there are advantages to having luncheon with a ‘Your Grace’.” He gives her a conspiratorial smile.
“You do enjoy getting your way, don’t you Selwyn?”
He doesn’t reply but continues to smile enigmatically back at her.
Soon a splendid selection of sweet petit fours and large and fluffy fruit scones with butter, jam and cream has been presented to them on a fluted glass cake stand by a the maître d along with a pot of piping hot tea in a blue and gilt edged banded teapot.
“So,” Selwyn says as he drops a large dollop of thick white cream onto half a fruit scone. “At the Hunt Ball we spent a lot of time talking about our childhoods and what has happened to me over the ensuing years,” He shakes a last drop off the silver spoon. “Yet I feel that you are at an unfair advantage, as you shared barely anything about yourself al evening.”
“Aahh,” Lettice replies as she spreads some raspberry jam on her two halves of fruit scones with her knife. “My mother taught me the finer points about being a gracious hostess. She told me that I must never bore my guests with trifling talk about myself. What I have to say or what I do is of little or no consequence. The best way to keep a gentleman happy is to occupy him with talk about himself.”
“You don’t believe that do, my angel?”
“Not at all, but I found it to be a very useful tactic at the Hunt Ball when I was paraded before and forced to dance with a seemingly endless array of eligible young men. It saved me having to do most of the talking.”
“I hope you didn’t feel forced to dance with me, Lettice darling.” Selwyn picks up his teacup and takes a sip of tea. “After all you did dance quite a bit with me.”
“You know I didn’t mind, Selwyn.” She pauses, her knife in mid-air. “Or I hope you didn’t think that.”
“I suppose a healthy level of scepticism helps when you are an eligible bachelor who happens to be the heir to a duchy and a sizeable private income. Such things can make a man attractive to many a woman.”
“Not me, Selwyn. I am after all a woman of independent means, and I have my own successful interior design business.”
“Ah, now that is interesting.” he remarks. “How is it that the daughter of a viscount with her own private income, a girl from a good family, can have her own business? It surely isn’t the done thing.”
“Well, I think if circumstances were different, I shouldn’t be able to.”
“Circumstances?”
“Well for a start, I am the youngest daughter. My elder sister, Lallage, is married and has thankfully done her bit for her husband’s family by producing an heir, and given our parents the welcome distraction of grandchildren, thus alleviating me of such a burden.”
“She and Lanchenbury just had another child recently didn’t they?”
“My, you are well informed. Yes, Lally and Charles had another son in February, so now my sister has provided not only an heir, but a spare as well.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “Secondly, and perhaps what works most in my favour is that I am my father’s favourite child. If it were up to my mother, I should have been married and dispatched off by the end of the first Season after the war. But Pater enjoys indulging his little girl, and I know just how to keep him continuing to do so, and keeping Mater and her ideas at bay just enough.”
“And how do you achieve this miracle, my angel?”
“I decorate mostly for the great and the good of this fair isle,”
“I don’t think I’d call a moving picture star a member of the great and good!” laughs Selwyn heartily.
“Yes, well…” Lettice blushes and casts her eyes down into her lap sheepishly. “I did rather get in trouble for that, but only because my mother’s awful cousin Gwendolyn, the Duchess of Whitby, told tales behind my back. Anyway, I design and decorate mostly for people my parents approve of, and I play my part socially and pretend to be interested in the things my mother wants for me.”
“Like marriage?”
“Like marriage.”
“So, if you aren’t interested in marriage, why are we having luncheon then, my angel?”
“I never said I wouldn’t get married someday, Selwyn,” Lettice defends with a coy smile. “I just want to do it in my own fashion, and I believe that marriage should begin with love. If I am to get married to a man I love, I need to know him first.” She pauses again and stares firmly into her companion’s sparkling blue eyes. “I’m sure you agree.”
“I’m quite sure my mother, Lady Zinnia, wouldn’t agree with you and your modern ideas about marriage.”
“Any more than my own mother does. When I told her that I wanted to do this my own way, by arranging to meet you myself she told me ‘marriages are made by mothers, you silly girl’.”
“And you don’t agree with that?” he asks almost unsurely.
“Would I be here if I did, Selwyn?” Lettice takes up the bowl of cream and begins to drop some on her scones.
Selwyn starts chuckling in a relieved fashion, consciously trying to smother his smile with his left hand, a hold and ruby signet ring glinting in the diffused light cast from the chandeliers above. He settles back more comfortably in his seat, observing his female companion as she stops what she is doing and puts down both the spoon and bowl of cream self-consciously.
“What? What is it Selwyn? What have I done?”
“You haven’t done anything other than be you, my angel, and that is a great blessed relief.”
“Relief?” Lettice’s left hand clutches at the two warm strands of creamy pearls at her throat.
“Yes,” Selwyn elucidates, sitting forward again and reaching out his hand, encapsulating Lettice’s smaller right hand as it rests on the white linen tablecloth. “You see, I was worried that it was a mixture of champagne and the romance of the Hunt Ball that made you so attractive. You were so naturally charming.”
Lettice bursts out laughing, the joyous peal mixing with the vociferous noise around them. “I was dressed as Cinderella in an Eighteenth Century gown and wig. I’d hardly call that natural, Selwyn.”
“Aahh, but you were my darling, beneath all that. I must confess that when I suggested luncheon today it was with a little of that healthy scepticism that I came here.”
“But I don’t need your income, Selwyn, I have my own.”
“But you do have a scheming mother, and many a mother like Lady Sadie want their daughters to marry a fine title, especially one that they may have desired for themselves. A Duchess is a step up from a Countess, I’m sure you agree.”
“Oh I don’t care…”
“Shh, my angel,” Selwyn squeezes her hand beneath his. “I know. However, that also makes you a rather exceptional girl, so I’m glad that my misgivings were misplaced. I’m pleased to hear that you’re in no rush to get married, and that you have set yourself some expectations and rules as to how you wish to live. Perhaps you were born at just the right time to manage as a woman in this new post-war era.”
“Please don’t tell Mater that,” Lettice says, lowering her spare hand from worrying her pearls. “She’ll be fit to be tied.”
“I promise I shan’t say a word to Lady Sadie, or my own mother. Both are cut from the same cloth in that respect.” He releases her hand and settles back in his chair. Picking up a scone he takes a bite. After swallowing his mouthful and wiping his mouth with his serviette he continues, “Now, do tell me about your latest piece of interior design. I should like to know more about it.”
Lettice sighs as she feels the nervous tickles in her stomach finally start to dissipate as she settles back in her own seat and starts to tell him about ‘Chi an Treth’ the Regency house in Penzance that belongs to her friends, the newly married Dickie and Margot Channon.
*Now known as the Corinthia Hotel, the Metropole Hotel is located at the corner of Northumberland Avenue and Whitehall Place in central London on a triangular site between the Thames Embankment and Trafalgar Square. Built in 1883 it functioned as an hotel between 1885 until World War I when, located so close to the Palace of Westminster and Whitehall, it was requisitioned by the government. It reopened after the war with a luxurious new interior and continued to operate until 1936 when the government requisitioned it again whilst they redeveloped buildings at Whitehall Gardens. They kept using it in the lead up to the Second World War. After the war it continued to be used by government departments until 2004. In 2007 it reopened as the luxurious Corinthia Hotel.
**The title of Duke sits at the top of the British peerage. A Duke is called “Duke” or “Your Grace” by his social equals, and is called only “Your Grace” by commoners. A Duke’s eldest son bears his courtesy title, whilst any younger children are known as Lords and Ladies.
***In the early days of moving pictures, films were known by many names. The word “cinema” derives from “kinema” which was an early Twentieth Century shortened version of “kinematograph”, which was an early apparatus for showing films.
****A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.
*****Early cinemas were often derisively referred to as “fleapits”, however the name given them was for very good reason. As cheap entertainment for the masses, with entry costing a paltry amount, early moving picture theatres often had problems with fleas infesting themselves on patrons who were free of them from those who had them. This was especially common in poorer areas where scruffier cinemas did not employ cleanliness as a high priority. Even as late as the 1960s, some filthy picture houses employed the spraying of children with DDT when they came en masse to watch the Saturday Morning Westerns!
******Little deadlies is an old fashioned term for little sweet cakes like petit fours.
An afternoon tea like this would be enough to please anyone, but I suspect that even if you ate each sweet petit four or scone on the cake plate, you would still come away hungry. This is because they, like everything in this scene are 1:12 size miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau:
The sweet petite fours on the lower tier of the cake stand and the scones on the upper tier and on Lettice and Selwyn’s plates have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Each petit four is only five millimetres in diameter and between five and eight millimetres in height!
The blue banded hotel crockery has been made exclusively for Doll House Suppliers in England. Each piece is fashioned by hand and painted by hand. Made to the highest quality standards each piece of porcelain is very thin and fine. If you look closely, you might even notice the facets cut into the milk jug and the steam hole in the teapot.
The fluted glass cake stand, the glass vase on Lettice and Selwyn’s table and the red roses in it were all made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The cake stand and the vase have been hand blown and in the case of the stand, hand tinted. The red roses in the vase are also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures.
The Chippendale dining room chairs are very special pieces. They came from the Petite Elite Miniature Museum, later rededicated as the Carol and Barry Kaye Museum of Miniatures, which ran between 1992 and 2012 on Los Angeles’ bustling Wiltshire Boulevard. One of the chairs still has a sticker under its cushion identifying which room of which dollhouse it came. The Petite Elite Miniature Museum specialised in exquisite and high end 1:12 miniatures. The furnishings are taken from a real Chippendale design.
The vases of flowers on the stands in the background are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The three plant stands are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, whilst the sideboard is made by high-end miniature furniture maker JBM. The paintings come from an online stockist on E-Bay.
Poor old 66 060 wasn't in the best of health on this day and showing its age seeing as its down to the grey primer and still in EWS makings including the 3 beasties logo.
The loco is working 6K27 14.43 Carlisle Kingmoor Yard to Crewe Basford Hall Yard the afternoon Network Rail trunk SCO service linking LDC's with a loaded consist of Falcon, Autoballaster and Red Lobster wagons tipping the scales at 1588 tonne. The loco had come to grief at Upperby with a traction motor earth fault that then caused a complete loss of power as the initial fault deteriorated into something more complex. It then decided to rectify itself and restore full power but not before causing delay to passenger services. With scepticism in Carlisle PSB the loco would get its train over Shap Summit the Carlisle Thunderbird was scrambled to follow the train to Shap should it fail again hence being looped here for some time waiting for a clear margin of time to get a run at the hills beyond Penrith.