OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

A supplement to the previous uploads under the theme "Azumino Valley in Spring." This is an alternative version of the Ooyamazakura grove by Lake Nakatsuna-ko.

Two photos were merged to get this image.

This photo was taken in late April.

A supplement to the series "Azumino and its vicinity in winter."

Kita Alps is half-hidden by snow clouds but this area does not have much snow unlike its neighbours of Hakuba and Otari.

Ikeda-Matsukawa Bridge over the Takasegawa river is locally known as a good view point of Kita Alps peaks, but the bridge itself is rarely shot.

It is so named as it is a boundary between Ikeda and Matsukawa municipalities.

 

Mt.Fuji-like peak near the centre is called Ariakesan (有明山 2,268 m). It is not very high but looks prominent. Hence it is regarded as a sacred mountain, and there are shrines at the foot and at the peak in Matsukawa village. It is not a volcano.

 

It is nicknamed Shinano Fuji. Shinano is the old name of Nagano prefecture. It is one of dozens of local Fuji mountains in Japan.

“The construction of beams

brings the fruition of dreams.

The casting of steel

makes your fantasy real…”

♫

 

Read this post on a little virtual keyhole ☂

 

Love and sparkles,

Dea

Red Deer - Cervus elaphus

 

In Rut!

 

The red deer (Cervus elaphus) is one of the largest deer species. The red deer inhabits most of Europe, the Caucasus Mountains region, Asia Minor, Iran, parts of western Asia, and central Asia. It also inhabits the Atlas Mountains region between Morocco and Tunisia in northwestern Africa, being the only species of deer to inhabit Africa. Red deer have been introduced to other areas, including Australia, New Zealand, United States, Canada, Peru, Uruguay, Chile and Argentina. In many parts of the world, the meat (venison) from red deer is used as a food source.

 

The red deer is the fourth-largest deer species behind moose, elk and sambar deer. It is a ruminant, eating its food in two stages and having an even number of toes on each hoof, like camels, goats and cattle. European red deer have a relatively long tail compared to their Asian and North American relatives. Subtle differences in appearance are noted between the various subspecies of red deer, primarily in size and antlers, with the smallest being the Corsican red deer found on the islands of Corsica and Sardinia and the largest being the Caspian red deer (or maral) of Asia Minor and the Caucasus Region to the west of the Caspian Sea. The deer of central and western Europe vary greatly in size, with some of the largest deer found in the Carpathian Mountains in Central Europe.Western European red deer, historically, grew to large size given ample food supply (including people's crops), and descendants of introduced populations living in New Zealand and Argentina have grown quite large in both body and antler size. Large red deer stags, like the Caspian red deer or those of the Carpathian Mountains, may rival the wapiti in size. Female red deer are much smaller than their male counterparts.

 

The European red deer is found in southwestern Asia (Asia Minor and Caucasus regions), North Africa and Europe. The red deer is the largest non-domesticated land mammal still existing in Ireland. The Barbary stag (which resembles the western European red deer) is the only member of the deer family represented in Africa, with the population centred in the northwestern region of the continent in the Atlas Mountains. As of the mid-1990s, Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria were the only African countries known to have red deer.

 

In the Netherlands, a large herd (ca. 3000 animals counted in late 2012) lives in the Oostvaarders Plassen, a nature reserve. Ireland has its own unique subspecies. In France the population is thriving, having multiplied fivefold in the last half-century, increasing from 30,000 in 1970 to approximately 160,000 in 2014. The deer has particularly expanded its footprint into forests at higher altitudes than before. In the UK, indigenous populations occur in Scotland, the Lake District, and the South West of England (principally on Exmoor). Not all of these are of entirely pure bloodlines, as some of these populations have been supplemented with deliberate releases of deer from parks, such as Warnham or Woburn Abbey, in an attempt to increase antler sizes and body weights. The University of Edinburgh found that, in Scotland, there has been extensive hybridisation with the closely related sika deer.

 

Several other populations have originated either with "carted" deer kept for stag hunts being left out at the end of the hunt, escapes from deer farms, or deliberate releases. Carted deer were kept by stag hunts with no wild red deer in the locality and were normally recaptured after the hunt and used again; although the hunts are called "stag hunts", the Norwich Staghounds only hunted hinds (female red deer), and in 1950, at least eight hinds (some of which may have been pregnant) were known to be at large near Kimberley and West Harling; they formed the basis of a new population based in Thetford Forest in Norfolk. Further substantial red deer herds originated from escapes or deliberate releases in the New Forest, the Peak District, Suffolk, Lancashire, Brecon Beacons, and North Yorkshire, as well as many other smaller populations scattered throughout England and Wales, and they are all generally increasing in numbers and range. A census of deer populations in 2007 and again in 2011 coordinated by the British Deer Society records the red deer as having continued to expand their range in England and Wales since 2000, with expansion most notable in the Midlands and East Anglia.

 

Thursday. Sunny and warm. Annoyed.

Nutritional supplements are not a substitute

for a nutritionally balanced diet.

(Deepak Chopra)

 

Looking close... on Friday! - REFLECTION on BLACK BACKGROUND

(photo by Freya, edit by me)

 

Thanks for views, faves and comments!

This patch of light shining on the whole food vitamins and supplements I take each day fascinated me. Seeing this reminded me it has been such a challenging, painful, intense, lonely journey to get to this point. I’ve also experienced some growth, support, light and a tiny glimpse of life slowly returning. As I tried to heal and recover I was led down a path that involved psychiatric medications that only made things worse for me and prevented me from growing, recovering, and healing (which eventually I courageously discontinued three years ago). And while I’m still struggling a lot I reached a point that I’ve learned the importance of caring for myself in healthy ways—among many things, one way I do this is through these whole food vitamins and supplements.

A slim Coyote in his streamlined summer coat pauses to stretch and yawn, unconcerned about the presence of humans. Three friends were with me for this dawn outing, in two vehicles; Coyote stopped to assess us for a few moments, then went about his business. In the background, some old fencing, left over from the ranching days. Acquisition of ranch lands for a new national park on the Saskatchewan prairie began in the early 1980s; that process continues on a willing buyer, willing seller basis, and is now 80% complete.

 

When I first began visiting the area, in 1989, a close encounter such as this with a Coyote was unthinkable - the animals were too wary. By now, successive generations have lived out their lives within park boundaries, subsisting on natural prey rather than supplementing it with livestock; consequently they have been left in peace and have lost some of their fear of humans. The result: excellent photo ops for us wildlife photographers. However, all predators tend to be elusive, and I still have to be persistent to get close shots like this.

 

Encounters are random. I go out there often. I was out at 4:30 this morning; didn't see anything of note (but I was shooting landscapes and some time lapse video, not really looking for wildlife). A large part of the adventure of wildlife photography is not knowing what surprise lies around the next bend in the road or over the crest of the next hill. Yes, we have hills!

 

Photographed in Grasslands National Park, Saskatchewan (Canada). Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission ©2020 James R. Page - all rights reserved.

Each to their own for whatever brings them health

Happy Macro Monday

Hummingbirds love nectar from flowers, but will come to the feeders as long as the sugar water is clean and fresh.

 

These RAW photos were taken while lying on my back, looking up with my camera, under the hummingbird feeder hanging from the corner of the screened-in porch. I only cropped them.

 

For more information about Ruby-throated hummingbirds that visit my garden, please click here:

 

njaes.rutgers.edu/fs1316/

I went for a nice ride on the e-trike today and saw this little scene. We have many little herds of cattle around us, but this one got a special treat. We have a local business here in Mount Gambier that makes delicious sweet and savoury scrolls, but when they don't sell on the day when they are at their freshest, they sometimes get donated to the cows who thoroughly enjoy their occasional sweet treat! Although the "delivery guy" had just dropped these scrolls over the fence, the cows would not come closer while I was there, possibly due to my day-glo safety jacket, but as soon as I left, the scrolls were quickly devoured and enjoyed!

 

It was finally a nice day for a ride after all the gale force winds we have had, but it also brought out the magpies. I had my first series of swoops for the season!

 

First trip out with the new 16mm ultra wide lens on the full frame RP body. A nice and very light weight lens to use!

© David K. Edwards.

On the fells, licking the extra vitamin food supplement.

magazine cover

 

Sunday Supplement

GASP !!!! Supplemental to my Anfield Murals series, and in the interests of courtesy and solidarity with our Blue neighbours, in their current predicament...also, because I don't want to raise the ire of lifelong Blue and super Flickr friend Elaine 55...I have decided to put my few Blue mural photos up, amongst the much more numerous ( and close to my heart ) Red ones.

These are all quite eye - catching, and are painted by the same artists that painted our murals...so...here we go.

Hummingbirds love nectar from flowers, but will come to the feeders as long as the sugar water is clean and fresh.

 

These RAW photos were taken while lying on my back, looking up with my camera, under the hummingbird feeder hanging from the corner of the screened-in porch. I only cropped them.

 

For more information about Ruby-throated hummingbirds that visit my garden, please click here:

 

njaes.rutgers.edu/fs1316/

Hummingbirds love nectar from flowers, but will come to the feeders as long as the sugar water is clean and fresh.

 

These RAW photos were taken while lying on my back, looking up with my camera, under the hummingbird feeder hanging from the corner of the screened-in porch. I only cropped them.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Supplemental irrigation is a must in the arid west and wheel-lines are among the most efficient way to get needed water to crops in the field. Primarily, very large fields.

I also find it nearly impossible to pass by a beautiful, back-lit wheel-line when the conditions for a compelling photograph are rather extraordinary, as they were in this particular instance near

Corvallis, Montana in the heart of the Bitterroot Valley.

Supplemental auditory devices may be necessary. Trying still recommended.

The epitome of a Golden-rumped Tinker Barbet with contrastingly marked face, strong bill, rather short tail. Both sexes of nominate race black above, with golden rump, golden-yellow in wings; white supercilia, white line across forehead and down to neck side, white throat; underparts pale olive-yellow, more olive laterally.It mainly eats fruit, supplemented with insects and nectar, foraging in the upper tree canopy.

Size: ±10-12 cm; 11-18•5 g. (Mabibi, Kwa-Zulu Natal, RSA).

 

Thank you for your views, faves and kind comments.

 

Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved.

 

for Macro Mondays - "Less than an inch"

Hummingbirds love nectar from flowers, but will come to the feeders as long as the sugar water is clean and fresh.

 

These RAW photos were taken while lying on my back, looking up with my camera, under the hummingbird feeder hanging from the corner of the screened-in porch. I only cropped them.

“The construction of beams

brings the fruition of dreams.

The casting of steel

makes your fantasy real…”

♫

 

Read this post on a little virtual keyhole ☂

 

Love and sparkles,

Dea

This is a top-to-bottom pano, inspired by MJ Northern's bikini stitching technique. With a rented 24mm PC-E I was able to try out MJ's technique on a subject that needed it. This is an exposure fusion of 2 images, with a SB-800 thru Gary Fong lightsphere CR to spotlight the drawers. Cropped to 4:5 aspect ratio.

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.

 

Yet 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. Tonight however, we are not at Glynes, but rather on the neighbouring property adjoining the Glynes estate to the south and are at Garstanton Park, the grand Gothic Victorian home of the Tyrwhitts. Whilst not as old, or as noble a family as the Chetwynds, the Tyrwhitts have been part of the Wiltshire landed gentry for several generations and Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt are as much a part of county society as the Viscount and Countess of Wrexham. The current generation of the two families have grown up as friends with the Viscount and Countess of Wrexham often visiting Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt and conversely. In fact, the families have become so close that Leslie has become engaged to Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt’s only daughter, Arabella, thus guaranteeing a joining of the two great county families.

 

We find ourselves in the library cum music room of Garstanton Park, the preserve of Lord Sherbourne Tyrwhitt who has always had a voracious appetite for reading, and a great passion for music. In fact, his love of music was how he and his wife, Lady Isobel, met, after attending a piano concert at the newly opened Bechstein Hall* in London in 1899. The library cum music room’s walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves full of Lord Tyrwhitt’s pride and joy, his enormous library, whilst on the rug covered floor stands his beloved Bechstein** piano covered with photos of his other pride and joy, his family. With the families now officially joined with the forthcoming nuptials of Leslie and Arabella formally announced, Lettice has been invited to a musical evening at Garstanton Park which she has happily agreed to, as she loves the company of Nigel, the Tyrwhitt’s eldest son and Arabella, as well as Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt, who like Gerald’s parents Lord and Lady Bruton, have been honourary uncles and aunts to her. The party is in full swing with cocktails, fortified wine and champagne aiding the high spirits as Nigel plays amusing music hall tunes on his father’s grand piano, accompanied by Arabella, Leslie and Lettice who stand about the piano, all taking turns to choose songs and be Nigel’s page turner as well as singing enthusiastically. The Bright Young Things*** can even occasionally get Lord Tyrwhitt, Lady Isobel and Lettice’s mother Lady Sadie to join in with a few of the less raucous songs.

 

“What shall we play next?” Arabella asks excitedly as she takes a drains her champagne flute.

 

“It’s your turn, old boy.” Nigel says to Leslie as he begins to limber up his fingers to play again.

 

“No, it’s not, Nigel! It’s mine!” cries Lettice.

 

“No it isn’t, Tice!” retorts her brother. “You chose ‘It's a Bit of a Ruin That Cromwell Knocked About a Bit.****’. It’s mine!”

 

“Oh, that was ages ago, Leslie.” Lettice pouts, snatching up her own glass of champagne and taking a sip from it.

 

Always the gentle adjudicator ever since they were children, Arabella says in a soothing purr, “Ages ago or not, Nigel’s right, it’s Leslie’s turn Tice.”

 

“You’re just standing up for him, Bella, because he is your intended now,” Lettice replies playfully.

 

“That’s not true!” laughs Arabella. “That’s jolly unfair!”

 

The two giggle together whilst Leslie shuffles through a pile of music sheets that lie in disarray across one of the comfortable gold striped armchairs next to the piano.

 

“It’s good to see your Leslie and our Bella looking so happy together,” Lady Isobel remarks with a wistfulness to her voice as she sits on the gold sofa that she shares with Lady Sadie. “I’m just sorry Cosmo couldn’t bear witness to it too this evening.”

 

“Oh now! Come, come my lamb,” Lord Tyrwhitt remarks kindly from his favourite reading chair in the corner of the room, reaching over his glass of rich burgundy and Lady Isobel’s champagne flute, gently squeezing his wife’s delicate hand with paper thin, almost translucent skin, comfortingly. “You mustn’t be sorry that our Bella is getting married. As the old adage goes, we aren’t losing a daughter, but gaining a son.”

 

“Oh I know Sherbourne. I’m not. I’m very happy for Arabella, oh, and Leslie too,” she adds quickly, looking across at Lady Sadie. “It’s just…”

 

“I know my dear Isobel,” Lady Sadie assures her friend, patting her on the other hand. “I felt the same when Lally married Charles. You don’t regret your daughters marrying, but you miss having them around the house.”

 

“Yes, that’s it, exactly Sadie. I shall miss her when she isn’t here any longer.” She sniffs and withdraws her hands from Sadie’s and her husband’s grasps, pulling a lace handkerchief from the long sleeve of her deep blue evening gown, hurriedly shoving it beneath her nose as she sobs, looking at Arabella leaning into Leslie as he lovingly drapes a protective arm around her whilst he fossicks through the sheet music with his free right hand.

 

“She won’t be far away, Isobel,” Lady Sadie assures her. “She’ll only be across the way in the Glynes Dower House. You can practically walk there.”

 

“It’s good of you to give them that to live in, Sadie.” Lord Tyrwhitt picks up his glass and cradles it thoughtfully in his hand.

 

“Oh, it’s a pleasure, Sherbourne. It’s only sitting there idol for now, and it will suit the two lovebirds to have a home of their own to begin with, before they inherit Glynes. Besides, it will be good to have someone living in the house until it’s ready for me.”

 

“Oh you mustn’t talk like that, Sadie!” Isobel gasps. “Cosmo is well, isn’t he?”

 

“Aside from the head cold that has kept him in bed for tonight, yes perfectly, Isobel. I’m just being pragmatic is all. It may happen one day. Besides, if Cosmo is to precede me and I am to become the Dowager Countess, I’d rather move into a house that isn’t decorated with his sister’s dreadful daubs!”

 

“But I thought Eglantine was quite an accomplished artist,” Lord Tyrwhitt remarks.

 

“It depends on your interpretation of art, Sherbourne” quips Lady Sadie.

 

“I always quite liked her watercolours of flowers when we were young.” he adds thoughtfully.

 

“You haven’t seen her work inspired by those Modernists at the Slade School of Art***** daubed all over the walls of the room she used as a studio during the war.” humphs Lady Sadie, screwing up her nose in distaste. “Sunset filled landscapes featuring twee characters dancing across it, supposedly influenced by the landscapes and folklore of Wiltshire. Morris Dancers, Stonehenge druids and white chalk horses.”

 

“Sounds rather intriguing to me,” Lord Tyrwhitt replies kindly.

 

“Naïve is what I call it!” retorts Lady Sadie with a snort of derision. “The liberties that woman took when she lived there during the war. Do you know that she brought her German staff with her and hid them in the Dower House?”

 

“They were Swiss-German, Sadie,” Lady Isobel corrects her friend. “And yes, I did know because I visited her at the Dower House.”

 

“They still spoke German,” argues Sadie. “She could have brought shame to the family, bringing potential German spies to Glynes like that.”

 

“And she only brought them to Glynes with her because she was afraid they would be, incorrectly,” Lady Isobel puts emphasis on the final word, pausing for effect, before continuing, “Labled as German spies, when in fact they were just simple Swiss domestics. Really Sadie! Next you’ll be saying there was a German recording device in Sherbourne’s Bechstein between 1914 and 1918! I’m surprised at your hostility to them.”

 

Lady Sadie’s eyes grow wide as she splutters in an unsuccessful defence, “They could have been spies, Isobel.”

 

“Well, I always liked Eglantine’s work,” Lord Tyrwhitt concludes, determined to change the subject. “Even if it isn’t to your taste, Sadie my dear.”

 

“You always had a soft spot for her Sherbourne, just like Cosmo did, and still does.” Lady Sadie scoffs. She turns to Lady Isobel. “She always was a beguiling creature with her Titian hair and green eyes. You’re lucky Sherbourne only had eyes for you, dear Isobel.”

 

“Sounds like someone else has green eyes,” remarks Lady Isobel under her breath with a secret smile, shared quietly with a loving glance at her husband.

 

“Aha!” Leslie cries triumphantly. “I have it!” He withdraws a sheet of music from amongst the pile. He hands it to Nigel.

 

“The Wibbly Wobbly Walk!******” laughs Nigel as he looks at the bright yellow and blue printed cover of the well worn sheet music. “Grand choice old boy! Bravo!” He opens the pages on the music stand in front of him. “Bella, will you do the honours?”

 

“Of course Nigel,” Arabella replies as she slips alongside him.

 

With a trill, Nigel gathers everyone’s attention and begins to play the piano as he sings the opening to the song.

 

“Now, have you ever heard about the Wibbley, Wobbley Walk?

Well, just in case you've not, I'll tell you on the spot!

The Wibbley, Wobbley Walk is just another kind of way,

Of saying that the b'hoys are out upon their holiday.

And note that half a dozen fellas out upon the spree,

In half a dozen minutes, they're full of jollity.”

 

Then with loud and carefree abandon, Lettice, Leslie and Arabella all join in on the chorus,

 

“So they all walk the Wibbley Wobbley Walk,

And they all talk the Wibbley Wobbley talk.

And they all wear Wibbley Wobbley ties,

And wink at all the pretty girls with Wibbley Wobbley eyes!

They all smile the Wibbley Wobbley Smile,

When the day is dawning!

Then all through the Wibbley Wobbley Walk,

They get a wibbley wobbley feeling in the morning.”

 

As they sing, Lady Isobel starts to cough, muffling her throaty gasps with her handkerchief so as not to disturb the fun and frivolity of the young people who stand oblivious about the piano. Quickly putting her hock and seltzer aside on the edge of the table being used for drinks, Lady Sadie wraps her arm around her friend, whilst Lord Tyrwhitt leans forward and takes her outstretched hand.

 

“Isobel!” Sadie gasps.

 

“Just try and catch your breath, my lamb.” Lord Tyrwhitt encourages his wife with a serious and steady gaze as he squeezes her fingers whilst her cough gets heavier and stronger.

 

“At the seaside health resort you see some gay old…” Nigel begins the first line of the next stanza of the song, but his voice falls away quickly and his fingers pause over the piano keys as he, Arabella, Lettice and Leslie all suddenly become aware of Lady Isobel’s coughing fit.

 

“Mummy!” gasps Arabella in horror, dropping the page of the music sheet and leaving Leslie’s and Nigel’s sides as she drops to her knees on the carpet before her mother. “Mummy!”

 

“It’s just another of your mother’s coughing fits, Bella my dear.” her father assures her. “Just give her a minute and she’ll be right as rain again.”

 

“Here Father, give her this!” Nigel hands a quickly poured glass of water to his father, which he gives to his wife.

 

Taking it gratefully in her shaking hand, Isobel takes a few gulps and sits back in her seat on the sofa, wheezing and still coughing, but less severely. She presses her free slender bejewelled hand to the beaded chest of her dress and gasps for air.

 

“Stand back everyone,” Leslie says urgently, gently pulling his fiancée away from the feet of her mother, backing away with Nigel and Lettice. “Let’s give Auntie Isobel some air.”

 

After a few tense moments, Lady Isobel has enough air in her lungs to wheeze weakly, “You’ll have to… get used… to calling me your mother-in-law… Leslie dear. People will… think it odd that… your aunt is… also your… mother-in-law.”

 

The party release a combined held breath and laugh with a mixture of nervous and relieved chuckles and titters at her remark.

 

“I told you she would be alright,” Lord Tyrwhitt says, smiling at his wife.

 

“I am,” she concurs, taking a larger mouthful of water. “But I think it is my signal to retire for the evening.” She swallows a few times. “I’m sorry to spoil the frivolity, but I hope you’ll forgive me.”

 

“Oh don’t be sorry, Mummy.” Arabella says, coming forward again and kneeling before her mother.

 

“You’re a good girl, Bella,” she pats her daughter’s hand with her own as the young girl’s rests on her knee. “You’ll make Leslie a very fine wife.”

 

“And don’t we know it,” Lady Sadie says with a rare broad smile. “If we don’t hear it enough from Leslie when we are at Glynes,” She looks to her son, who blushes at the remark. “Then we hear of your virtues from his father. You’ve won the hearts of the two most important men on the Glynes estate, my dear.” She reaches out and caresses Isobella’s chin lovingly with her fingers, gazing at her future daughter-in-law with genuine affection. “And mine.”

 

Lettice feels as though she has just been stung by a hot poker as she witnesses the gaze and gentle touch her mother lavishes upon her future daughter-in-law: such affection never bestowed upon her. Whilst she doesn’t resent Arabella, for she is a genuinely kind person and Lettice firmly believes her mother’s words that she will make a good wife for Leslie, it still hurts her that Arabella should be granted the approval she has so sorely sought from her mother throughout all her life.

 

“Now,” Lady Isobel announces. “Before I retire, I should very much like to hear you sing, dear Lettice. You have such a pretty voice, and I should like to hear something a little less irreverent played on your father’s beloved Bechstein, Nigel.”

 

“Yes Mummy!” Nigel laughs good naturedly.

 

“Come on Bella,” Lettice says, reaching out her hand to her friend. “Come help me pick out something that your mother will like.”

 

Whilst the two girls return to the piles of sheet music, Nigel to the piano and Leslie by his side, Lady Sadie and Lord Tyrwhitt look on with concern at Lady Isobel as she settles back into the pile of cushions at her back.

 

“It’s just a result of the radiotherapy******* Sadie, nothing to worry about.” Lady Isobel says with a dismissive wave of her hand.

 

“Is it helping with the cancer?” she asks.

 

“Who knows?” the other woman shrugs and lifts her hands, the sequined lace shawl falling from about her shoulders as she does so. “It makes me feel sick enough, and don’t they say that things you don’t like are good for you?” Looking over at her children and those of Lady Sadie, she continues, “I’d just like to live long enough to see Arabella, and Nigel married. I’m just thankful Lettice has offered to help Arabella shop for her trousseau up in London. I’m not well enough to make the journey up to town.”

 

“I don’t know if I’d be too happy that my youngest is helping her shop. Goodness knows what her trousseau will look like.” Lady Sadie remarks disparagingly.

 

“Something modern and young, I should imagine Sadie dear,” Lady Isobel replies. “Just as it should be.”

 

“Here we are!” Lettice announces as Arabella takes a book of music with a prettily decorated cover over to her brother at the piano. “Something a little less irreverent for Uncle Sherbourne’s piano and Aunt Isobel’s ears.”

 

There are conspiratorial whispers at the piano between brother and sister as Lettice comes to stand beside Nigel, resting her hand lightly on the piano’s surface before he begins playing the opening to ‘I Dreamt That I Dwelt in Marble Halls’********.

 

With her beautiful singing voice, Lettice begins the opening stanza of the song.

 

“I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls

With vassals and serfs at my side.

And of all who assembled within those walls,

That I was the hope and the pride.

I had riches all too great to count,

And a high ancestral name.”

 

As she sings, Arabella nestles back into Leslie’s arms, Lord Tyrwhitt cradles his glass of wine without drinking it and Lady Sadie leans forward in her seat, proud of her daughter’s musical accomplishment, although she would never admit it to her.

 

Shrewdly observing Nigel’s occasional gaze at Lettice as he plays and she sings, Lady Isobel leans forward and whispers discreetly to Lady Sadie, “I don’t suppose there is any chance that your Lettice might take a shine to our Nigel?”

 

“If that ship was to sail, it would have happened long before now, Isobel, and well you know it.” Lady Sadie turns to her friend, a consoling look in her eyes, “I’m sorry my dear, but as you saw at the Hunt Ball, Lettice seems to have turned her attentions to the Duke of Walmsford’s eldest, Selwyn Spencely, and I’m not unhappy about that.” Turning back to her daughter, her mouth twists with disapproval. “Even if she insists on managing her romantic attentions herself, rather than leaving it to me. Marriages are made by mothers, you silly girl.”

 

“Yes,” sighs Lady Isobel heavily. “I did notice where here attentions went that night. I’m pleased for you Sadie, and hope that it all works out. Imagine your youngest one day, a duchess. I on the other hand, would just like to see Nigel settled to some nice young lady of any respectable rank or station before I die.”

 

“And you will, Isobel. I’m sure of it. Perhaps another Season in London might help now that the Season is back in full swing after the war.”

 

The two women turn back as Lettice as she finishes the song.

 

“But I also dreamt which charmed me most

That you loved me still the same

That you loved me

You loved me still the same,

That you loved me

You loved me still the same.”

 

*Wigmore Hall is a concert hall located at 36 Wigmore Street, London. Originally called Bechstein Hall, it specialises in performances of chamber music, early music, vocal music and song recitals. It is widely regarded as one of the world's leading centres for this type of music and an essential port of call for many of the classical music world's leading stars. With near-perfect acoustic, the Hall quickly became celebrated across Europe and featured many of the great artists of the 20th century. Today, the Hall promotes 550 concerts a year and broadcasts a weekly concert on BBC Radio 3. The Hall also promotes an extensive education programme throughout London and beyond and has a huge digital broadcasting arm, which includes the Wigmore Hall Live Label and many live streams of concerts.

 

**C. Bechstein Pianoforte AG (also known as Bechstein), is a German manufacturer of pianos, established in 1853 by Carl Bechstein (1826 – 1900).

 

***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.

 

****’It's a Bit of a Ruin That Cromwell Knocked About a Bit’ is a song written by Harry Bedford and Terry Sullivan sung by the famous British music hall performer Marie Lloyd in the early 1900s.

 

*****Established by lawyers and philanthropist Felix Slade in 1868, Slade School of Fine Art is the art school of University College London and is based in London, England. It has been ranked as the United Kingdom’s top art and design educational institution. The school is organised as a department of University College London's Faculty of Arts and Humanities. Two of its most important periods were immediately before, and immediately after, the turn of the twentieth century. It had such students as Dora Carrington, Mark Gertler, Paul Nash, C.R.W. Nevinson and Stanley Spencer.

 

******’They All Walk the Wibbly Wobbly Walk’ is a song written by Paul Pelham and J. P. Long sung by the famous British music hall performer Mark Sheridan in 1912. It was a song often sung during the Great War, and associated by the British general public with the survivors of the conflict who trembled due to shell shock or had misshapen walks thanks to injuries inflicted upon them.

 

*******By the 1920s radiotherapy was well developed with the use of X-rays and radium. There was an increasing realisation of the importance of accurately measuring the dose of radiation and this was hampered by the lack of good apparatus. The science of radiobiology was still in its infancy and increasing knowledge of the biology of cancer and the effects of radiation on normal and pathological tissues made an enormous difference to treatment. Treatment planning began in this period with the use of multiple external beams. The X-ray tubes were also developing with replacement of the earlier gas tubes with the modern Coolidge hot-cathode vacuum tubes. The voltage that the tubes operated at also increased and it became possible to practice ‘deep X-ray treatment’ at 250 kV. Sir Stanford Cade published his influential book “Treatment of Cancer by Radium” in 1928 and this was one of the last major books on radiotherapy that was written by a surgeon.

 

********"I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls", or "The Gipsy Girl's Dream", is a popular aria from The Bohemian Girl, an 1843 opera by Michael William Balfe, with lyrics by Alfred Bunn. It is sung in the opera by the character Arline, who is in love with Thaddeus, a Polish nobleman and political exile. It became a stalwart in the repertoire of young Victorian and Edwardian girls who often learned to play the piece on the piano and to sing it, if they had the aptitude for the latter.

 

Cluttered with books and with art on the walls, Garstanton Park’s library cum music room with its typical English country house furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection, including pieces from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The majority of the books that you see lining the shelves of the library cum music room are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Ken Blythe was famous in miniature collectors’ circles mostly for the miniature books that he made: all being authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection. However, he did not make books exclusively. He also made other small pieces like the sheet music you see scattered on the carpeted floor and across the arm and seat of the armchair closest to the camera. The book that rests upright against the armchair is a book of romantic ballads published in 1805. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make these miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago and through his estate courtesy of the generosity of 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 grand piano and matching stool appearing in the midground is a 1:12 miniature piece I have had since I was a teenager. It is covered in family photos, all of which are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal. The very lifelike daffodils are 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 empty champagne and wine glasses all of which are made of hand blown glass were made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The full glasses of champagne and red wine were made by Karen Lady Bug Miniatures in England.

 

The soda siphons on the silver tray to the left of the photo were made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, whilst the container of ice and tongs is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. The silver champagne bucket is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The bottle of Deutz and Geldermann champagne. It is an artisan miniatures and made of glass and has real foil wrapped around its neck. It was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

The chairs and sofa in the library cum music room are made by the high-quality miniature furniture manufacturer, Bespaq. The ebonised ornate occasional table I acquired Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom as I did the table in the foreground on which the drinks tray stands.

 

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

In the background you can see the book lined shelves as well as a Renaissance portrait of a young nobleman in a gold frame from Marie Makes in the United Kingdom, and a hand painted blue and white ginger jar from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom which stands on a Bespaq plant stand.

 

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

0030-25020064

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.

 

After a busy morning working at her desk, painting some interior designs for one of a flurry of new clients since the publication of her interiors for ‘Chi and Treth’, the country residence of her friends Dickie and Margot Channon, in the periodical ‘Country Life’*, Lettice prepares to curl up in one of her armchairs and enjoy the latest edition of Vogue whilst taking a reviving cup of tea provided to her in her favourite Art Deco teaset by her maid, Edith, when the telephone rings noisily on the occasional table beside her.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“Oh pooh!” Lettice curses. “And just as I was about to get comfortable.”

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

Edith, just a few paces away looks aghast at the sparkling silver and Bakelite telephone. “That infernal contraption!” she mutters to herself. She then adds more loudly, “If it inconveniences you, Miss, you should have it disconnected.”

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“Yes, I’m sure you’d like that, Edith.” Lettice says with a cheeky smile. “Aa it happens, it’s not an inconvenience at all. It’s actually a delight to have it, although exactly who is calling, it is yet to be determined as to whether they are a delight or not.”

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“Oh Edith, be a brick and get that, would you.” Lettice says sweetly to her maid as she snuggles herself comfortably into the rounded back of her armchair with a mirthful grin and picks up her magazine.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“I think it would be better if you answered it, Miss.” Edith says doubtfully. “You’re closer. You just have to reach across and pick it up.”

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“Nonsense,” Lettice answers dismissively. “It might be someone I might not wish to be at home to. You answer it.” She waves her hand dismissively at the telephone and turns back to her magazine, before she continues to flip through it in a desultory fashion.

 

Edith walks in and up to the black japanned occasional table upon which the telephone continues to trill loudly.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“I know you don’t like it, Edith, but this is for your own good. As I keep telling you, any household you work in will have one now, so you simply must get used to answering it.” Lettice says in a matter-of-fact way. “Just pick it up and speak clearly into it, Edith. Quickly, before whomever it is hangs up. It may be Selwyn!“

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“I should run the Hoover over your chord, you infernal contraption.” Edith mutters. “Let’s hear you ring then!”

 

Edith hates answering the telephone. It’s one of the few jobs in her position as Lettice’s maid that she wishes she didn’t have to do. Whenever she has to answer it, which is quite often considering how frequently her mistress is out and about, and how popular her services are with the raising of her profile thanks to the ‘Country Life’ article, there is usually some uppity caller at the other end of the phone, whose toffee-nosed accent only seems to sharpen when they realise they are speaking to ‘the hired help’ as they abruptly demand Lettice’s whereabouts.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

Smoothing her suddenly clammy hands down the apron covering her print morning dress she answers with a slight quiver to her voice, “Mayfair 432, the Honourable Miss Lettice Chetwynd’s residence.” Her whole body clenches and she closes her eyes as she waits for the barrage of anger from some duchess or other titled lady, affronted at having to address the maid. A distant female voice speaks down the line. “Yes, this is the residence of Miss Chetwynd.” she answers, wondering why the caller didn’t listen to her the first time. There is a barrage of sharp barks followed by scolding at the end of the line before the female caller asks to speak to Lettice. “I’ll… I’ll just see whether she is at home.” she replies awkwardly. “May I ask who is calling, please?” The female voice burbles down the line again. “Yes, thank you Mrs. Hawarden. Just one moment please.”

 

Lettice looks up at her maid queryingly, her gaze answered with a shrug of her maid’s shoulders as she covers the mouthpiece to muffle any conversation between the two of them as Lettice has wisely shown her.

 

“Hawarden?” Lettice ponders, chewing her bottom lip in concentration as she considers the names of her current clients in her head. “I don’t think I know that name. Has she called before, Edith?”

 

The maid shakes her head quickly, her eyes growing wide in concern at having to hold the telephone’s receiver. “She has a very broad accent, so I’d says she’s from up north.” Edith raises her eyes to the white painted ceiling, as if that indicates north as she holds out he receiver hopefully to her mistress, the mouthpiece still covered by her clammy hand.

 

“Oh!” Lettice exclaims with frustration, taking pity on her nervous maid. “Oh very well.” She throws down her magazine onto the black japanned surface of the coffee table next to her teacup and the sugar bowl of her tea set, and indicates to Edith to pass the telephone receiver to her. “You are positively exasperating sometimes, Edith.”

 

“Yes Miss. Thank you, Miss.” Edith says gratefully, beaming in delight as she bobs a quick curtsey and hands the receiver to her mistress, who shoos her away with an elegant, if dismissive wave.

 

“Good morning, this is Lettice Chetwynd speaking. Mrs. Hawarden is it?” Lettice introduces herself and asks politely.

 

“Oh Miss Chetwynd!” Edith may be reluctant to answer the telephone, but her hearing and observation skills are excellent. The female voice at the other end of the line is clearly from Manchester judging by the thick and syrupy accent. “I’m so pleased you’re in. My name is Mrs. Evelyn Hawarden.”

 

“And how many I help you, Mrs. Hawarden?”

 

“Well, I was hoping you might consider helping me redecorate the drawing room and dining room of my new home, Miss Chetwynd.” Mrs. Hawarden replies, a hopeful lilt detectable in her voice.

 

“Perhaps you’d care to tell me a little bit more, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice suggests as she presses herself into the white upholstered back of her chair.

 

“So, you’re free to take on the job then, Miss Chetwynd?” the Mancunian woman asks presumptively, releasing a sigh of relief.

 

“Not necessarily, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice tempers the woman’s enthusiasm politely. “I’m simply wishing to ascertain some basic facts first. Would you care to tell me in a little bit more detail about what you had in mind. Is it just the drawing room and dining room you wish to engage my services for to redecorate, or are there other rooms? What is the current standard of the rooms? Is it to be a complete redecoration, or are there some elements of your current décor that you would perhaps entertain retaining?”

 

“Well,” Mrs. Hawarden replies a little less eagerly, evidently disappointed by her inability to engage Lettice’s services on a modicum of detail. “Yes, it would be the drawing room and the dining room. Maybe the entrance hall too, now I think about it.”

 

Lettice can almost hear the woman thinking about it. Lettice pictures a more mature woman standing in her entrance hall on the telephone looking around her at the current decoration of the space.

 

“We’ve only just moved in you see,” Mrs. Hawarden continues. “So I’m still trying to take it all in.”

 

“You’ve only just moved in, Mrs. Hawarden?” Lettice queries. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to settle first and work out what’s what before you engage my services?”

 

“Oh no! No!” splutters the woman at the end of the telephone. “Oh no, I need it redecorating before I can possibly receive guests, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

Lettice’s eyes grow wide as she wonders what is wrong with the interiors. Diplomatically she asks, “Is it that the interiors are damaged, or perhaps a little shabby, Mrs. Hawarden?”

 

“Oh no!” Mrs. Hawarden replies. “No the interiors are in splendid condition, Miss Chetwynd. It’s not that…” There is suddenly a burst of angry yaps at Mrs, Hawarden’s end of the line. “No! Yat-See no! No!” screams the woman, causing Lettice to pull the end of the receiver away from her ear. “Barbara! Barbara! Barbara come and fetch Yat-See! He’s about to…” Mrs. Hawarden’s end of the line is suddenly muffled, no doubt by the woman covering the telephone receiver’s mouth piece with her hand. There are some more muffled cries and some more volleys of sharp barking before things go quiet again. A moment later Lettice can hear the fingers uncovering the telephone’s mouthpiece. “I am sorry about that, Miss Chetwynd.” the Mancunian replies, suitably composed again. “As I said, we’re new here, and my dear little baby, Yat-See is getting into all sorts of naughty doggie mischief.” She laughs awkwardly. “Now, where were we?”

 

“The décor, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice prompt politely.

 

“The décor? Oh yes, the décor isn’t shabby at all, Miss Chetwynd. It’s just, just somewhat, dated, shall we say.”

 

Lettice ponders what the woman is saying and wonders whether she has recently inherited the house and is trying to rid herself of the former owner’s influence on her new home.

 

“So, you have inherited the décor with the house then, Mrs, Hawarden?”

 

“Yes, quite literally lock, stock and barrel, Miss Chetwynd, and, well, after I saw what you did for Mr. and Mrs. Channon in ‘Country Life’, I thought you could do wonders here. You can bring in some light and modernity to the old place.”

 

Lettice reaches over to the occasional table the telephone’s base stands on and picks up her leather diary which sits in front of it. Flipping the silver clasp, she begins to flick through the pages.

 

“Well, that does sound interesting, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice begins.

 

“So, you’ll take it on then?” Mrs. Hawarden asks again.

 

“Well,” Lettice tempers her again. “We shall have to see. I’d like to consult with you a little more, here at my residence in Mayfair and meet you formerly, before I make my final decision. Perhaps you might be free next Wednesday, Mrs. Hawarden?”

 

“Oh no!” Mrs. Hawarden balks. “I couldn’t possibly do that. I’m far too busy getting things straightened out here.” The sound of the dog’s yapping and the chiming of a grandfather clock can be heard in the distance in the pregnant pause that hangs like the miles between the two women. “We really have only just moved in, and I’m still sorting things here. Couldn’t I entreat you to come here, instead? That way, we could as you suggest, meet formally, and you could see the interiors at the same time.”

 

“Well, it’s not my usual practice, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice retorts.

 

“Oh please!” Mrs. Hawarden pleads. “It would be so much easier if you would just come here, Miss Chetwynd. Really it would!”

 

“As I said, Mrs. Hawarden, it really isn’t…”

 

“I’m still interviewing for staff at present,” the woman bursts in, not allowing Lettice to finish here sentence. “But we did bring our cook down with us, and she makes a delicious lunch.”

 

“Well,” Lettice asks tentatively. “Where is your house, Mrs. Hawarden?”

 

“Oh, it’s only a short trip outside of London.” Mrs, Hawarden trills gaily. “No difficulty at all. I’m in Ascot**.”

 

“Well if it’s no trouble at all, Mrs. Hawarden, I don’t see why…”

 

“Next Wednesday didn’t you say? I do just happen to be free, and I can have our chauffer collect you from the railway station if you don’t feel like motoring down yourself.”

 

Lettice considers the invitation for a moment. Ascot Week*** is fast approaching, so she will have friends staying in the neighbourhood, so she could have luncheon with Mrs. Hawarden, and even if Lettice decides to decline her as a client, she can still visit friends before going back to London, and be given a, hopefully, delicious luncheon at Mrs. Hawarden’s expense.

 

“Very well, Mrs. Hawarden. I’ll come up via the railroad for the afternoon.”

 

“Excellent Miss Chetwynd!” Mrs. Hawarden purrs with pleasure. “I knew you’d come to see reason. Shall we say one o’clock then? If you’d be good enough to consult the railway timetables and advise me, I’ll have Johnston collect you from the railway station.”

 

Lettice picks up her silver pen. “If you would please give me your particulars, Mrs. Hawarden. I’ll write them down.”

 

“Splendid! Splendid!” twitters Mrs. Hawarden in delight so evident that Lettice can picture her squirming up and down on the spot like a concertina, crumpling her tweeds.

 

*Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

**Ascot is a town in the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead in Berkshire. It is six miles south of Windsor and twenty-five miles west of London. It is most notable as the location of Ascot Racecourse, home of the Royal Ascot meeting. The town comprises three areas: Ascot itself, North Ascot and South Ascot. It is in the civil parish of Sunninghill and Ascot.

 

***One of Britain's most well-known racecourses, Ascot holds a special week of races in June each year called Royal Ascot, attended by the reigning sovereign. Once a staple for the London Season, where mothers to parade their unmarried daughters dressed in the latest European and British fashions before eligible bachelors and British society could mix with royalty in a rarefied social environment, this week has become in the Twenty-First Century Britain's most popular race meeting, welcoming around 300,000 visitors over five days, all dressed up in their finest clothes and hats.

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Lettice’s tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The magazines from 1923 sitting on the coffee table and on the lower level of the occasional table were made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States.

 

On the tiered occasional table stands a black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out. In front of it is a black leather diary with the silver clasp which is an artisan crafted miniature made by the Little Green Workshop in the United Kingdom, who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures.

 

The vase of apricot roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium, whilst the tall vase of flowers to the right of the china cabinet has been made by Falcon Miniatures, who are well known for their lifelike floral creations.

 

Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden china cabinet with its mirrored back is a Chippendale design. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child. All date from the 1950s and have green backstamps on them. They come from various Limoges miniature tea sets that I own.

 

The high backed back japanned chair next to the china cabinet is Chippendale too. It has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric.

 

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

 

The green glass comport on the coffee table is an artisan miniature made from hand spun glass and acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. The geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.

1958 built Gloucester RC&W W55001 with 4-wheel GUV ambles downgrade passing Springside Farm with a Ramsbottom - Bury shuttle service at the 2017 DMU Gala.

 

*W55001 is the second of an original batch of 20 which were supplemented with a further 9 Driving Trailers, as with the similar Class 121 units built by Pressed Steel in 1960. None of the Class 122 Driving Trailers survive.

Unusually, W55001 was transferred from regular passenger work, becoming part of the departmental fleet in 1969 numbered TDB 975023. The unit was used extensively for route learning and was clearly suited to the role. Based for many years at Bristol and Reading, 975023 moved North around 1989, spending it's final years at Manchester's Longsight Depot. As well as L101, the unit was numbered as 'Set 01'.

Orignally preserved at the Northampton & Lamport Railway in 1998, mechanically the unit had been robbed of many parts and it is believed that plans were considered to convert the unit to an observation saloon style vehicle. Classmate W55003 donated much of its original interior panelling and fittings to W55001 when it was given a complete internal refit and it was decided to press on with a full restoration.

W55001 was acquired by Bury DMU group members in 2008 and the unit has seen extensive use at the ELR, often paired with Class 121 Driving Trailer W56289 (To make Bubble & Squeak!). The unit received an intermediate overhaul in 2014 with all exterior corrosion repaired followed by a repaint and re-upholstered seating. The vehicle returned to service in April 2014 transformed internally and externally. In April 2017 the vehicle was lifted and bogies sent away to Longsight for tyre turning, drive shafts were serviced and re-balanced along with fitting overhauled vacuum cylinders.

'Bubble' remains in regular service, especially during midweek summer periods plus Thomas and Santa shuttle services in multiple with other members of the ELR DMU fleet.

2020 saw W55001 used for line inspection and light Permanent Way trips towards the end of the Covid-19 Lockdown.

Spokesmodels for client Supplement-IT.com. They developed a vitamin supplement for IT professionals.

www.Supplement-IT.com

 

See the video here www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpaDlwlVhVU

Strobist:2 bare sb600's for BG illumination left and right rear. Sb800 shoot thru umbrella high camera right. Sb800 in 17" SB low camera left. Triggered by PW's processed in LR.

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 we are in the very modern and up-to-date 1920s kitchen of Lettice’s flat: Edith, her maid’s, preserve. With her mistress out, having a final fitting for her outfit for the Royal wedding of her friend Elizabeth* to the Duke of York**, Edith is enjoying the sense of tranquillity that falls upon the Cavendish Mews flat when Lettice is not home, and is sitting at the deal kitchen table in the middle of the room, looking through one of her small number of cookbooks as she works out a menu for the next few days. Having just boiled the brass kettle on the stovetop behind her, the young maid has made a pot of tea for herself, and it sits within easy reach of her right hand, the spout peeping out from the blue and white knitted tea cosy made for her by her mother. Steam rises from the spout, and from the Delftware cup featuring a windmill as she cradles it in both her hands as she consults ‘Miss Drake’s Home Cookery’*** and considers whether to cook fillets of whiting with oyster sauce or Clementine Sauce for Lettice’s luncheon on Tuesday.

 

“Let’s see,” Edith says quietly mulling over the recipe for Clementine Sauce aloud. “One ounce of butter, one ounce of flour, half a pint of fish stock, half a gill**** of cream, lemon juice, salt and cayenne to taste. Oh! Parmesan! I don’t have any of that. Well, I can get some from Willison’s easily enough.”

 

Just at that moment there is a tentative knock on the tradesman’s door leading out of the kitchen onto the back stairs of the flats, shattering Edith’s quiet contemplation and startling her so much that she almost spills tea onto her precious cookbook.

 

“That’s Frank’s knock.” Edith remarks aloud to the empty kitchen around her, recognising the slightly hesitant tap of her young man, Frank Leadbetter, delivery boy for Willison’s Grocery in Mayfair. “Frank? Frank is that you?” she calls cheerily, quickly standing up and self-consciously brushing down the front of her blue and white striped morning print dress uniform and quickly sweeping some loose strands of her blonde hair behind her ears in an effort to make herself more presentable for her beau.

 

“It is Edith.” Frank’s voice calls from the other side of the white painted door. “May I come in?”

 

“Oh yes, do come in Frank. It’s not locked.”

 

The door opens and Frank pokes his head around the door, his workman’s flat cap covering his head of mousy brown hair. He smiles, his pale skin flush from riding his bike and then climbing several flights of stairs to reach the Cavendish Mews flat from the ground floor.

 

“You’re just in time.” Edith continues with a smile. “I’ve just boiled the kettle. If you have time that is.”

 

“Yes, I do.” Frank indicates, walking into Edith’s cosy kitchen and closing the door behind him so as to keep the cool spring air outside. He is struck by the ghostly, yet comforting wafts of butter and herbs from last night’s Chicken a la Minute dinner that Edith cooked for Lettice. “Jolly good Edith. All this bicycling around Mayfair and Pimlico gives a man a thirst.”

 

Edith walks over to the pine dresser and takes down another Delftware cup and saucer whilst Frank lifts up the Windsor backed chair next to the back door and carries it across the waxed black and white chequered linoleum floor and puts it adjunct to Edith’s own Windsor chair.

 

“It’s funny, Frank. I was just making a mental note to myself to order some Parmesan cheese from Mr. Willison’s, and here you are!”

 

“Well,” Frank removes his cap and runs his fingers through his slightly wavy hair before depositing the cap on the surface of the kitchen table. “You know I’m always at your service, Miss Watsford.”

 

Edith giggles as she and Frank sit down at the table.

 

As Edith lifts the cosy clad pot and pours Frank a cup of steaming tea, she remarks, “But I don’t have a grocery order, Frank. What are you doing here?” She quickly adds, “Not that I mind, of course.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Frank laughs good naturedly.

 

“Don’t tell me that Mr. and Mrs. Willison have shown some heart and given you the morning off.”

 

“Not likely, Edith!” Frank scoffs casting his eyes to the ceiling above, taking up the sugar bowl and adding two large heaped spoonfuls of sugar to his tea. “No, I finished my round of deliveries early, so I thought I had just enough time to pop in and have a cup of tea with my sweetheart before I was missed back at the shop.”

 

‘Well, we better make the most of this impromptu visit then, before you are missed.”

 

“Oh yes! That old Mrs. Willison is a tartar! I think she is more of stickler for time than Mr. Willison is.”

 

“So, to what do I owe the honour then, Frank?”

 

“What? Can’t a chap visit his girl just to say hullo?”

 

“Well of course, Frank.” Edith picks up her own teacup again. “I’m always delighted to be graced with your company.”

 

“That’s better.” Frank nods approvingly as he stirs his tea with a slightly tarnished teaspoon. He takes a sip and sighs with pleasure before adding, “But actually, I do have an ulterior motive to be here today, Edith.”

 

“Oh?” Edith queries warily. “What is it, Frank?”

 

“Well, I know I got off to a bad start with you family the other Sunday,” Frank begins.

 

“Oh, are you still worried about that, Frank? I thought we’d been through all this on Easter Sunday.” Edith admonishes. With a brave smile she assures him, “I told you: we’ll win Mum over easily enough, given a bit of time and you keeping quiet about some of your more progressive workers’ ideas.”

 

“I know, Edith, but I’ve got a little something with me that might calm the waters a little, at least with your dad.”

 

“What is it? What have you got, Frank?”

 

“These.” Frank reaches into the inside of his white shirt beneath his russet coloured woollen vest and withdraws a small envelope from his breast pocket.

 

Handing it to Edith with a beaming smile he lets his sweetheart investigate it. The envelope is postmarked with yesterday’s date. Addressed to Frank by hand in a neat copperplate care of the boarding house in Holborn the return address, one in Wembley that she doesn’t recognise, is typed in the top left hand corner.

 

“What is it, Frank?” Edith asks suspiciously, holding the envelope aloft, poised in the air between them.

 

“Well, just open it and find out.” Frank encourages her with a broad smile. “It won’t bite.” He chuckles at Edith’s hesitancy.

 

Edith slips her fingers tentatively beneath the edge of the back of the envelope and hooks underneath it. It comes away easily, having already been opened and simply slipped back into place. Opening the envelope, she peers inside and withdraws several small pale yellow ticket stubs between her slightly careworn fingers. She gasps as she reads the black print on one of the four tickets.

 

“This is for the White Horse Finals***** at Empire Stadium******!”

 

“I know.” Frank replies matter-of-factly, but with pride beaming from his expression. “There are four tickets in there.”

 

“Four tickets!” Edith gasps, looking again, her eyes growing wide in amazement.

 

“Yes: two for us and one each for your dad and mum.”

 

“Four! That’s amazing Frank! You can’t get a ticket for the finals for love nor money!”

 

“I thought they might help make up for my somewhat awkward introduction to your parents, and show that I really do care about you, and them too, of course.”

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith leaps out of her chair and flings her arms around Frank’s neck as he sits there.

 

Unaccustomed to such fervent signs of affection from Edith, who is usually very reserved, Frank is taken aback at first, but then settles comfortably into the embrace, smiling as he inhales the sweet smell of his sweetheart: freshly laundered clothes and Lifebuoy soap intermixed with the fragrance of her hair. He wraps his arms around Edith’s waist carefully and for a moment is lost in his love for her before the moment is broken as Edith regains her composure and finally pulls away from him, albeit a little reluctantly.

 

“How on earth did you get these?” Edith asks in astonishment, resuming her seat. “Magic? Dad’s been trying to get hold of tickets for weeks and weeks, pulling every string and pulling in every favour that he can!”

 

“I guess they just weren’t the right strings he pulled.” Frank beams elatedly.

 

“But how did you do it?”

 

“Well, you know how I said when we had lunch with your parents that there was some doubt as to whether the Empire Stadium will be completed on time.”

 

“Yes Frank.”

 

“Well, I know a bit more than the papers let on because I’m friendly with a couple of chaps who are working on the building of it, you see.”

 

“Really Frank?”

 

“Yes. Anyway, one of them has a girl who works at the booking office for the football final tickets, and my friend pulled a few strings for me, and there you go!” He waves a hand theatrically towards the envelope, which Edith has now placed face down on the kitchen table between them.

 

“Oh Frank! You are a wonder!” Edith picks up her cup of tea and takes a sip.

 

“Well, think of it as more of a good will gesture from me to your parents, than a gift from me to you.”

 

“But Frank, don’t you see? It is a gift! This will help brush over that awkwardness from the other day, and calm the waters as you say. You’re so clever!”

 

“Well,” Frank says happily, looking very pleased with himself. “You’re my girl, Edith, and I want your parents’ blessing as well as my Gran’s, when it comes to marrying you one day. I need to make sure that your parents know that even though I may be a bit of a radical thinker, I have your best interests at heart: first and foremost.”

 

“And this will go well towards building the foundations of their trust in you, Frank! It really will!” Edith enthuses. “Dad’s been like a child with a broken toy according to Mum, moping about the house when he comes home empty handed after seeing friends down at the pub who haven’t been able to get him tickets. He was even thinking of just taking Mum for a picnic and the pair of them would sit outside the stadium and listen to what was going on inside.”

 

“Well now he won’t have to, Edith! He can go! We all can go!”

 

“How lucky am I, to have you as my beau, Frank Leadbetter?”

 

“About as lucky as I am to have you as my best girl, Edith Watsford.”

 

The par of young lovers laugh as they settle back in their chairs, chatting away happily, making the most of the unexpected stolen moment together before Frank must return to his job delivering groceries and Edith to her household chores around the flat.

 

*Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, as she was known at the beginning of 1923 when this story is set, went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to". He proposed again in 1922 after Elizabeth was part of his sister, Mary the Princess Royal’s, wedding party, but she refused him again. On Saturday, January 13th, 1923, Prince Albert went for a walk with Elizabeth at the Bowes-Lyon home at St Paul’s, Walden Bury and proposed for a third and final time. This time she said yes. The wedding took place on April 26, 1923 at Westminster Abbey.

 

**Prince Albert, Duke of York, known by the diminutive “Bertie” to the family and close friends, was the second son of George V. He was never expected to become King, but came to the throne after his elder brother David, the Prince of Wales, abdicated in 1936 so that he could marry the love of his life American divorcée, Wallis Simpson. Although not schooled in being a ruler, Bertie, who styled himself as George VI as a continuation of his father, became King of United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952, and saw Britain through some of its darkest days, becoming one of the most popular monarchs in British history.

 

***’Miss Drake’s Home Cookery’ is a book of standard household recipes suitable for a plain cook or maid-of-all-work like Edith. First published in 1915 it was compiled by Miss Lucy Drake, a trained cookery teacher at the Education Department of Melbourne, and a student of the National Training School of Cookery and other branches of Domestic Economy , Buckingham Palace Road, London.

 

****The gill or teacup is a unit of measurement for volume equal to a quarter of a pint. It is no longer in common use, except in regard to the volume of alcoholic spirits measures, but was certainly a well known measure in the years prior to the Second World War.

 

*****The first football match to be played at Wembley Stadium was between the Bolton Wanderers and West Ham United. This match became known as the White Horse final, and was played just a few days after the completion of the stadium.

 

******Originally known as Empire Stadium, London’s Wembley Stadium was built to serve as the centerpiece of the British Empire Exhibition. It took a total of three hundred days to construct the stadium at a cost of £750,000. The stadium was completed on the 23rd of April 1923, only a few days before the first football match, between the Bolton Wanderers and West Ham United, was to take place at the stadium. The stadium's first turf was cut by King George V, and it was first opened to the public on 28 April 1923. Much of Humphry Repton's original Wembley Park landscape was transformed in 1922 and 1923 during preparations for the British Empire Exhibition. First known as the "British Empire Exhibition Stadium" or simply the "Empire Stadium", it was built by Sir Robert McAlpine for the British Empire Exhibition of 1924 (extended to 1925).

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Central to our story is the envelope containing the four tickets to the White Horse final, which is a 1:12 size miniature made to incredibly high standards of realism by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Although known predominantly for his creation of miniature books, Ken has also created quite a number of other items, including envelopes and even tiny legible letters that go inside them. 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.

 

Also on Edith’s deal table stands her teapot. The tea cosy, which fits snugly over a white porcelain teapot, has been hand knitted in fine lemon, blue and violet wool. It comes easily off and off and can be as easily put back on as a real tea cosy on a real teapot. It comes from a specialist miniatures stockist in England. The Delftware cups, saucers and milk jug are part of a 1:12 size miniature porcelain dinner set which sits on the dresser that can be seen just to the right of shot.

 

The little cookbook, a non-opening 1:12 artisan miniature of a real cookbook, comes from a small American artisan seller on E-Bay.

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Well done, Hilda!” Frank congratulates her.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“What do mean, Frank?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“She did.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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.

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

 

Today however we are northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid, is staying with her parents for Christmas. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith. What is especially exciting is that Edith's brother, Bert is home for Christmas too. He is a dining saloon steward aboard a passenger ship, so he is lucky to be on shore leave just in time of Christmas!

 

The kitchen has always been the heart of Edith’s family home, and today it has a particularly festive feel about it is Christmas Day and Christmas dinner is about to be served. Strings of brightly coloured paper chains have been strung around the room, draped over the old Welsh dresser, across the mantle of the kitchen range and across the room from corner to corner, hanging in jolly festoons. Ada had pulled out one of her best table cloths with an orange rose pattern on it which now adorns the round kitchen table, hiding its worn surface and the best blue and white china dinner service is being used today. Ada has even conceded to Edith’s constant reminders that she promised to use the pretty Price Washington ‘Ye Old Cottage’ teapot that Edith bought her from the Caledonian Markets* a few months ago because she and her brother Bert are both home for Christmas.

 

The kitchen is filled with the rich smells of Christmas: turkey and potatoes roasting and Yorkshire puddings baking in the oven, gravy warming over the grate and the faint fruity aroma of Ada’s Christmas cake as it sits waiting to be served for dessert on the dresser’s pull out extension.

 

“Bert love,” Ada calls to her son as she stirs the pan of gravy made with juices from the turkey mixed with Bisto Gravy Powder**. “Be a treasure and set the table would you?”

 

“Right-oh Mum!” Edith’s brother pipes up as he rises from his seat on a ladderback chair pulled up to the table where he has been admiring the fabric of his new cobalt blue tie, a Christmas gift from Edith. “First Class Steward Watsford of the SS Demosthenes*** is always ready to assist.”

 

“Thanks love.” Ada replies gratefully as she pushes a few stubborn strands of hair that keep falling loose into her face, back behind her right ear.

 

“It’s just like being at sea, isn’t it, son?” George chuckles good naturedly from his comfortable seat in his Windsor chair where he reads the newspaper and sips a cup of tea.

 

“Better watch out George Watsford, lest I give you a job ‘n all.” Ada warns her husband teasingly as she smiles over at him and winks.

 

“What? I’ve done my job by getting you the best Christmas turkey money can buy from Mr. Ludlow’s butcher’s shop.” he splutters. “Anyway, I can’t do anything dressed in my best bib and tucker****, now can I Ada? I’ll only spoil all your good washing and pressing.”

 

“It won’t stop me giving you one if you stir up trouble for me.” She wags her wooden spoon coated in thick brown gravy warningly at him.

 

“You’re in trouble now, Dad,” Edith laughs as she goes to open the small bread oven of the range. “Mum’s waving her spoon at you.”

 

“No Edith!” Ada gasps. “Don’t open the door yet! All the hot air will come out and the Yorkshire puds will go flat! Didn’t I teach you anything?”

 

“Oh you did, Mum, but I was just going to take a peek at them. Otherwise, how will we know they’re done.”

 

“Even a peek will make them go flat. No, I’ll know when they're ready love. I’ve been using this range,” Ada gently pats the mantle over the range like a faithful dog. “Ever since I married your Dad. It took me a while to learn its ways, but we understand each other now. Don't we old girl? Here, you want to help me, love?”

 

Edith nods.

 

“Then stir the gravy so it doesn’t burn whilst I check on the turkey.” Ada replies.

 

Edith dutifully takes over stirring the pan with the wooden spoon.

 

“Thanks again for my tie, old girl!” Bert says to his sister as he sets out the last of the blue and white dinner plates featuring a central flower on each. “It’s spiffing.”

 

“Oh you’re welcome, Bert.” Edith replies, turning around and smiling at her brother. “Now you’re moving up the ranks, you need to look smart when you’re off duty as well as on.”

 

“Don’t know how you could afford something as smart as this for me.”

 

“Well, Miss Lettice pays me a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work, and living so centrally in London, I have access to lots of places to find you presents.”

 

“Petticoat Lane*****?” Ada asks in a quiet whisper as she rises from being bent over the oven.

 

Edith nods.

 

“Oh that reminds me Bert, I’ll have to show you the present that Miss Lettice gave me for Christmas after dinner.”

 

“She spoils you, Edith.” Ada remarks. “Dinner,” she says in a posh voice. “Tea is what we call it, my girl.” she corrects. “All these fancy words have no place in my kitchen.”

 

“Oh Ada!” George counters, looking sharply at his wife over the top of his newspaper. “If Edith learns new, more refined words to describe something, there isn’t anything wrong with that.” He gives his blushing daughter a beatific smile. “Betterment is good for the girl, especially if she wants to get on in the world.”

 

“Well tea was always a good enough word to describe our meal as far as I’m concerned.” Ada replies huffily.

 

“Now, now Ada!” George folds his paper and drapes it over the arm of his chair. Heaving his portly figure out of his well worn chair he walks over to his wife and wraps his arms around her shoulders. “What’s gotten into you today? Where's your Christmas spirit? Christmas is always a jolly time for us Watsfords, not a time for bickering about words.”

 

“Oh I’m sorry, George,” Ada replies, sinking into the comforting embrace of her husband. “I suppose I’ve been running myself ragged getting everything nice for Christmas over the last few days.” She looks at her daughter, who quickly casts her eyes down at the pot of gravy she is stirring. “I’m sorry, Edith love,” she apologies. “I’m not really cross with you. I’m just tired and a bit snappy.”

 

“It’s alright Mum,” Edith replies. “I know.”

 

“I’m happy you’re learning new words.” Ada continues, but then adds, “I just don’t want you getting above your station. One day you’ll leave Miss Chetwynd, and I just don’t want you spoiled for your next mistress. You know not everyone’s generous like she is.”

 

“I know Mum, and I promise I’m not getting above my station. I’m just proud of what she gave me is all, and I want to show it to Bert.”

 

“Of course you do, love.” Ada puts a comforting hand on Edith’s shoulder. “And why not indeed. It’s beautiful, and you’re very lucky to have it. Show it off, love.”

 

“Goodness Edith,” Bert exclaims. “What did she give you?”

 

“It’s a dressing table set from Boots******, made of Bakelite*******.” Edith enthuses. “There’s a brush and comb and mirror and…” She stops herself quickly before she mentions the photograph frame which she has left sitting on the chest of drawers in her little bedroom at the Cavendish Mews flat with her fallen sweetheart Bert’s picture in it. “And… and I just love it!”

 

“That does sound fancy, Edith!” Bert says in an impressed tone. “Makes my box of Australian Fruit Biscuits look shabby in comparison.”

 

“Shabby?” Edith exclaims. “Don’t say that, Bert! I love my Christmas present from you!” she assures him. “I can practically feel the Australian sunshine you talked about radiating from that tin. I’ve never had anything from so far away before! They are exotic, Bert.”

 

“That table set, Bert?” Ada asks.

 

“Table set, shipshape and Bristol fashion********, Mum.” Bert replies proudly.

 

“Good! Then its time to serve up Christmas tea! Edith, pour that gravy into the jug and take out the potatoes. I’ll put out the turkey and the Yorkshire puds. George, you fetch the ale.”

 

“Now that’s a job I can do in my best bib and tucker.” George laughs.

 

Soon the table is covered in Ada’s splendid Christmas dinner: a tray of steaming golden roast potatoes, beautifully risen Yorkshire puddings, a pot of green brussels sprouts and a bowl of peas and carrots. However most impressive of all is the golden brown turkey, glistening in the gaslight of the kitchen, steam rising from its perfectly cooked flesh. The family take their places about the table and George fills everyone’s glass with thick, dark ale.

 

“Goodness Dad!” Bert gasps as he looks at all the delicious food. “How could you afford such a fine turkey? Did you cut a deal using broken biscuits with Mr. Ludlow?”

 

“Cheeky!” George replies with a smile, getting up from his seat and holding his tumber aloft. “I’d like you all to raise your glasses, please.”

 

“Who are we toasting, Dad?” Edith asks. “The King?”

 

“Well, we can toast good King George in a moment, but first I’d like to raise a toast to McVitie and Price’s********* newest Line Manager!”

 

“Oh George!” Ada gasps, jumping up from her seat and throwing her arms around her husband in delight. “You kept mum on that bit of news!”

 

“Congratulations Dad!” Edith says, standing and charging her glass.

 

“Yes! Congratulations Dad!” Bert follows, raising his own glass. “That’s spiffing news!”

 

“And that’s how I could afford such a fine turkey, son.” George replies proudly. “Now, let’s eat!”

 

“Merry Christmas everyone.” Edith says, sitting back down with a smile.

 

“A merry Christmas indeed!” agrees Ada as she returns to her seat. “The best Christmas the Watsford family have ever had I’d say, with you two children home and your Dad’s news!”

 

*The original Caledonian Market, renown for antiques, buried treasure and junk, was situated in in a wide cobblestoned area just off the Caledonian Road in Islington in 1921 when this story is set. Opened in 1855 by Prince Albert, and originally called the Metropolitan Meat Markets, it was supplementary to the Smithfield Meat Market. Arranged in a rectangle, the market was dominated by a forty six metre central clock tower. By the early Twentieth Century, with the diminishing trade in live animals, a bric-a-brac market developed and flourished there until after the Second World War when it moved to Bermondsey, south of the Thames, where it flourishes today. The Islington site was developed in 1967 into the Market Estate and an open green space called Caledonian Park. All that remains of the original Caledonian Markets is the wonderful Victorian clock tower.

 

**The 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.

 

***The SS Demosthenes was a British steam ocean liner and refrigerated cargo ship which ran scheduled services between London and Australia via Cape Town. It stopped at ports including those in Sydney and Melbourne. She was launched in 1911 in Ireland for the Aberdeen Line and scrapped in 1931 in England. In the First World War she was an Allied troop ship.

 

****The phrase “best bib and tucker”, which means one’s best clothes, emerged during the first half of the eighteenth century. It was used in New Memoires Establishing a True Knowledge of Mankind by Marquis d'Argens, published in 1747. It goes, “The Country-woman minds nothing on Sundays so much as her best Bib and Tucker.”

 

*****Petticoat Lane Market is a fashion and clothing market in Spitalfields, London. It consists of two adjacent street markets. Wentworth Street Market and Middlesex Street Market. Originally populated by Huguenots fleeing persecution in France, Spitalfields became a center for weaving, embroidery and dying. From 1882, a wave of Jewish immigrants fleeing persecution in eastern Europe settled in the area and Spitalfields then became the true heart of the clothing manufacturing district of London. 'The Lane' was always renowned for the 'patter' and showmanship of the market traders. It was also known for being a haven for the unsavoury characters of London’s underworld and was rife with prostitutes during the late Victorian era. Unpopular with the authorities, as it was largely unregulated and in some sense illegal, as recently as the 1930s, police cars and fire engines were driven down ‘The Lane’, with alarm bells ringing, to disrupt the market.

 

******Boots the chemist was established in 1849, by John Boot. After his father's death in 1860, Jesse Boot, aged 10, helped his mother run the family's herbal medicine shop in Nottingham, which was incorporated as Boot and Co. Ltd in 1883, becoming Boots Pure Drug Company Ltd in 1888. In 1920, Jesse Boot sold the company to the American United Drug Company. However, because of deteriorating economic circumstances in North America Boots was sold back into British hands in 1933. The grandson of the founder, John Boot, who inherited the title Baron Trent from his father, headed the company. The Boots Pure Drug Company name was changed to The Boots Company Limited in 1971. Between 1898 and 1966, many branches of Boots incorporated a lending library department, known as Boots Book-Lovers' Library.

 

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

 

********The saying “shipshape and Bristol fashion” means things are in good order, neat and clean.

 

*********McVitie's (Originally McVitie and Price) is a British snack food brand owned by United Biscuits. The name derives from the original Scottish biscuit maker, McVitie and Price, Ltd., established in 1830 on Rose Street in Edinburgh, Scotland. The company moved to various sites in the city before completing the St. Andrews Biscuit Works factory on Robertson Avenue in the Gorgie district in 1888. The company also established one in Glasgow and two large manufacturing plants south of the border, in Heaton Chapel, Stockport, and Harlesden, London (where Edith’s father works). McVitie and Price's first major biscuit was the McVitie's Digestive, created in 1892 by a new young employee at the company named Alexander Grant, who later became the managing director of the company. The biscuit was given its name because it was thought that its high baking soda content served as an aid to food digestion. The McVitie's Chocolate Homewheat Digestive was created in 1925. Although not their core operation, McVitie's were commissioned in 1893 to create a wedding cake for the royal wedding between the Duke of York and Princess Mary, who subsequently became King George V and Queen Mary. This cake was over two metres high and cost one hundred and forty guineas. It was viewed by 14,000 and was a wonderful publicity for the company. They received many commissions for royal wedding cakes and christening cakes, including the wedding cake for Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Phillip and Prince William and Catherine Middleton. Under United Biscuits McVitie's holds a Royal Warrant from Queen Elizabeth II.

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

On the table the Christmas dinner that really does look good enough to eat is made up of pieces from different suppliers and artisans. The Christmas turkey and the bowl of peas and carrots come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in Essex. The knife sticking out of the turkey comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniature Shop in the United Kingdom. The tray of potatoes in the foreground and the six Yorkshire puddings in the midground have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The gravy boat of gravy is also Frances Knight’s work. The blue and white crockery on the table I have bought as individual from several online sellers on E-Bay. I imagine that whole sets were once sold, but now I can only find them piecemeal. The cutlery and the glasses (which are made from real glass) I bought as a teenager from a high street dollhouse suppliers. The pottery ale jug comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in England. The tablecloth is actually a piece of bright cotton print that was tied around the lid of a jar of home made peach and rhubarb jam that I was given a few years ago.

 

The paper chains festooning Ada’s kitchen I made myself using very thinly cut paper. It was a fiddly job to do, but I think it adds festive cheer and realism to this scene, as fancy Christmas decorations would have been beyond the budget of Edith’s parents, and homemade paper chains were common in households before the advent of cheap mass manufactured Christmas decorations.

 

In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table, the Windsor chair and the ladderback chair to the left of the photo, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery and silver pots on them which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. There are also some rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and a bread tin in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I recently acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the Essex. There are also tins of various foods which would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. Amongst other foods on the dresser are jars of Marmite and Bovril. All these items are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans. Also on the dresser on the pull out drawer is a Christmas cake from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. Also from them is the cranberry glass cake stand, made of real glass, on which the cake sits. Next to it stands a cottage ware teapot. Made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson, it has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched roof and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.

 

Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.

 

Bovril is the trademarked name of a thick and salty meat extract paste similar to a yeast extract, developed in the 1870s by John Lawson Johnston. It is sold in a distinctive bulbous jar, and as cubes and granules. 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.

 

The large kitchen range in the background is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water).

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

 

Today however we have headed a short distance north-east across London, away from Cavendish Mews and Mayfair, over Paddington and past Lisson Grove to the comfortably affluent suburb of Little Venice with its cream painted Regency terraces and railing surrounded public parks. Here in Clifton Gardens Lettice’s maiden Aunt Eglantine, affectionately known as Aunt Egg by her nieces and nephews, lives in a beautiful four storey house that is part of a terrace of twelve. Eglantine Chetwynd is Viscount Wrexham’s younger sister, and as well as being unmarried, is an artist and ceramicist of some acclaim. Originally a member of the Pre-Raphaelites* in England, these days she flits through artistic and bohemian circles and when not at home in her spacious and light filled studio at the rear of her garden, can be found mixing with mostly younger artistic friends in Chelsea. Her unmarried status, outlandish choice of friends and rather reformist and unusual dress sense shocks Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, and attracts her derision. In addition, she draws Sadie’s ire, as Aunt Egg has always received far more affection and preferential treatment from her children. Viscount Wrexham on the other hand adores his artistic little sister, and has always made sure that she can live the lifestyle she chooses and create art.

 

As Lettice pulls the well worn brass hand that triggers the doorbell next to the brightly painted red front door, she stands beneath the columned portico of her aunt’s house and admires the terracotta pots of brightly coloured tulips that flank the front doorstep, which make her terrace stand out from all the others in the row. A faint female voice with a Germanic accent calls from within before the door is answered by Augusta, Eglantine’s Swiss head parlour maid, dressed in her formal black uniform with a white lace trimmed apron and with a large black bow in her hair.

 

“Good morning, Augusta,” Lettice greets her brightly. “Is my Aunt home?”

 

“Good morning, Fräulein Chetwynd.” Augusta answers politely. “Please do come in. Ya, your Tante is in ze studio.”

 

Lettice steps across the threshold of her aunt’s terrace and is immediately enveloped in the rich mixture of exotic scents that she has always associated with the artist: a blend of heavy floral perfumes, cigarette smoke and oil paint. She sighs as she inhales the welcome smell and shirks off her dark blue coat with a mink collar into Augusta’s waiting hands. “Don’t bother to introduce me, Augusta. I’ll just show myself through to the studio.” she says.

 

“Ya! Ya!” the parlour maid enthuses as she watches Lettice disappear down the hall, which like the rest of the house, is filled with ornate, yet artistic, furnishings, paintings and a general jumble of clutter which keep her and the three maids under her very busy cleaning and dusting all year round.

 

“Aunt Egg! Yoo-hoo, Aunt Egg!” Lettice calls as she approaches the ivy covered studio at the rear of the rambling cottage garden filled with a hotchpotch of brightly coloured spring blooms.

 

She pushes down on the latch and opens the door to the studio, the familiar earthy smell of potter’s clay, oil paint and linseed oil greeting her as she does. The studio is flooded with light thanks to a large, almost full length window of plate glass that fills the northern wall. The space is filled with benches and shelves cluttered with everything from pieces of ceramics in different stages of completion to canvases to books on art. A sink stands at the rear of the studio with a row of fine Royal Doulton Art Nouveau tiles of white irises above it. An easel leans, unused against a bench next to it. And sitting at the large wooden table covered in a panoply of paints, brushes and ceramics that dominates the middle of the studio, is her beloved Aunt Egg.

 

“Well,” the older woman beams as she looks up from the pottery jug she is painting. “If it isn’t my favourite niece.”

 

“I’m sure you say that to Lally and all our female cousins.” Lettice replies as she walks over to her aunt’s seated figure and kisses her first on one proffered cheek and then the other.

 

“Well, you’ll never know, will you my dear,” the older woman answers with a cheeky smile and alert green eyes. “I like to keep you all guessing who will inherit my jewels when I die.”

 

“Oh Aunt Egg!” Lettice scoffs. “You mustn’t talk like that.”

 

“We all of us are going to die one day, Lettice. Anyway, you are probably the most like me out of all of you girls, with your artistic attributes, so why shouldn’t you be my favourite?”

 

Lettice pulls up a small stool and sits opposite her aunt. When she was young, Eglantine had Titian red hair that fell in wavy tresses about her pale face, making her a popular muse amongst the Pre-Raphaelites she mixed with. With the passing years, her red hair has retreated almost entirely behind silver grey, save for the occasional streak of washed out reddish orange, yet she still wears it as she did when it was at its fiery best, sweeping softly about her almond shaped face, tied in a loose chignon at the back of her neck. Large emerald coloured glass droplets hang from her ears that match the green glass necklace about her neck that cascades over the top of her white paint splattered dust coat. Lettice doesn’t need to see beneath it to know that her aunt is wearing her usual uniform of a lose Delphos dress** that does not require her to wear a corset of any kind, and a silk fringed cardigan of some description, both in beautiful colours.

 

“I hope Augusta brings us some tea soon,” Eglantine remarks as she focuses her attention once again on the task at hand a she paints a long green frond onto the jug with her adept hands, heavily bejewelled with an array of sparkling stones and gold.

 

“Shall I go and ask her, Aunt Egg?”

 

“No, no.” Eglantine says with a settling wave, her paint brush held in place by her interwoven fingers. “She’s been serving me for nigh on thirty years now. She knows when to serve tea.”

 

“What are you doing, Aunt Egg?” Lettice asks as she stares at her aunt’s delicate hands as they move up and down the bulbous body of the jug.

 

“I’m painting the ceiling, my dear,” she replies sarcastically without so much as a blink in her lowered eyelids. “Must you ask such obvious questions?”

 

“I’m sorry, Aunt Egg,” Lettice apologises, remembering that however much her aunt loves her, she cannot abide dull conversation and obvious questions, owing to the amount of time she spends with interesting and witty people. “I meant, what is the purpose of the jug you are painting? Where is it going?”

 

“Then that is what you should ask, Lettice.” Eglantine chides mildly, still not lifting her eyes from her task. “You will never succeed in business if you whitter away like most women do. Be clear, polite, and direct. Ask what you want to know without fear.”

 

“Yes, Aunt Egg.” Lettice replies, suitably chastened.

 

“Its not for anyone, yet. I’ve been inspired by the painted pottery of Capula*** in Mexico, and I also saw some of Carrington’s**** pottery recently. When I was visiting the Slade*****. I’m exploring the naïve style of folk art. What do you think?”

 

“I think it looks very beautiful Aunt Egg.”

 

“And how go your artistic pursuits, Lettice my dear?” Eglantine adeptly mixes a little more white paint into a pool of the gleaming dark green she shas been using and applies a thin line up the leaf’s middle to highlight a stem.

 

“My artistic pursuits?”

 

“Yes! How is the interior design business going?”

 

“I’d hardly call my business an ‘artistic pursuit’ Aunt Egg.” Lettice laughs.

 

“Nonsense my dear! Your interiors are just as artistic as my ceramics. It’s just your canvas is much bigger than mine, and involves many different facets.”

 

“Well, if you ask Mater, she’d say dreadfully.”

 

“Ahh,” the older woman sighs as she paints faint spiderweb thin veins coming off the stem of her leaf. “But I’m not asking Sadie, thank goodness. I’m asking you, Lettice. However, if Sadie says it’s not going well, that must mean business is flourishing. Is it?”

 

“It’s going swimmingly, Aunt Egg!” Lettice gushes. “I don’t need Mater to introduce me to people like the Duchess of Whitby anymore. I’m finally starting to develop a name for myself.”

 

“Good! Good!” replies Eglantine. “I’m pleased to hear it.” She dips her brush in the lighter coloured green again. “I’m not surprised of course. You’re very talented. However, I’m glad to hear it from your own lips. Too many people with talent are neglected, whilst ones with no talent get the recognition they don’t deserve.”

 

“I’m sure they wouldn’t agree, Aunt Egg. After all, weren’t you the one to teach me that art appreciation is a subjective thing?”

 

“Very good Lettice.” She looks up from her work and smiles broadly at her niece, her eyes gleaming with pride. “I’m glad to see all those afternoons at the Slade and Omega Workshops****** weren’t wasted, or smothered by your mother’s lack of imagination.” She looks back down and begins to work again, the concentration etched in the furrows that line her forehead. “So, it’s going well then?”

 

“Oh yes! I’m actually in the process of designing a few rooms for Margot Channon.”

 

“Ahh yes!” Eglantine gasps. “Little Margot de Virre finally grew up and got married, to the Marquess of Taunton’s son.”

 

“Yes, Dickie Channon.”

 

“Poor dear. No doubt a match made by her own meddling mother.”

 

“You have a very poor opinion of marriage, Aunt Egg.” Lettice opines.

 

“Well, as you can see, my dear, I’ve never needed the institution of matrimony myself to feel fulfilled.”

 

“Oh, but Margot and Dickie are in love, Aunt Egg. They met, well through me really, at the Embassy Club. Mrs. de Virre had no hand in their matrimony.”

 

“Oh well. I suppose that’s alright then. I read about their wedding in The Times. St. Mark’s******* wasn’t it?” She waits for Lettice to affirm with a nod. “And I saw that Gerald Bruton designed her gown. I’m pleased to see that he developed some independence like you, and that he’s making something of himself too.” She pauses before continuing. “I don’t object to people marrying for love: another point, one of many, about which Sadie and I will never agree. Which is why I refused to come to the Hunt Ball this year, knowing it was intended as a marriage market for you, my dear.” She pauses and puts down her brush onto her palette, thickly coated in layers of dried oils and reaches out to her niece, clasping her smaller hand in her larger gnarled one, giving Lettice’s a friendly squeeze. “I don’t mind if you marry for love. However, the amalgamation of two great families through the marriage bed, simply for the sake of ‘good breeding’, whatever that is, I find quite repugnant.”

 

“Well, “ Lettice blushes as she casts her eyes down onto her aunt’s hands, where she gazes at her winking jewels in their gold and platinum settings. “I did meet someone, actually. I wouldn’t say that we’re in love, but we’ve agreed to see one another when his next visit to London coincides with me being available. I told Pater and Mater that I wanted to do this my own way, and not have any interference.”

 

“No doubt Sadie was furious about that, and probably blames me for putting such independent ideas into your head”

 

“Were you a fly on the wall of the morning room, Aunt Egg?” chuckles Lettice.

 

The older woman withdraws her hand, picks up her brush and sets to work highlighting the leaf again. “I don’t need to. I know what cloth your mother is cut from. So, who is it, then?”

 

“Selwyn Spencely.”

 

The older woman pauses again and stares off into the distance, out the window, lots in her own thoughts. “Selwyn Spencely. Selwyn Spencely. I vaguely know that name.”

 

“He is the son of the Duke of Walmsford. He used to come to Glynes******** when we were children. He’s only a few years older than me.”

 

“Well, whoever he is, just don’t let him come between you and your design business, will you? As you say, you’ve worked hard to build yourself a name, Lettice. Don’t throw it all away for a marriage not of your making, or a marriage for the wrong reasons.”

 

“I promise, I won’t Aunt Egg.” Lettice assures her aunt.

 

“You’re a lucky girl, Lettice. You have choices in life”

 

“Try telling Mater that.” Lettice replies disparagingly.

 

“Oh pooh Sadie and her blinkered ideas that she infects you and your father with!” Eglantine spits hotly. “You’re an independent woman now you’re of age Lettice. You have a sizable allowance, thanks to your forward-thinking grandfather, which no-one can take from you, and now you have your own money from your business. That’s more than a lot of women have. Don’t waste the advantages you have and whatever you do, be it in love, work or marriage, be true to yourself.”

 

A quiet tapping on the glass panes of the door interrupts the two women. Looking to the entrance, they see Clotilde, the second parlour maid looking hopefully through the glass.

 

“I’ll go.” Lettice says as she leaps up from the stool and hurries over to open the door.

 

“Danke schön, Fräulein Chetwynd.” Clotilde says gratefully as Lettice opens the door, to reveal the girl in her morning print dress and cotton apron carrying what looks like a heavy tray laden with tea things.

 

True to her independent form, when the Great War came and there was much resentment towards people of Germanic heritage in Britain, Eglantine refused to dismiss her three Swiss parlour maids, even though they all spoke German fluently and preferred to speak it in the household. She simply packed herself and her servants off to her brother’s estate of Glynes in Wiltshire, where they could live a sheltered life of safety with her in the disused Glynes Dower House, seeing very few people and not being subjected to bigotry. In spite of her immense dislike of her sister-in-law, whom she inevitably crossed paths with when she went up to the estate’s Big House, she had a pleasant enough war growing vegetables in the garden to help supplement their diet and assist with the war effort, without having to actually involve herself in the war, being a pacifist. It was also during this time that she had her greatest influence on Lettice, preparing her niece for the more independent life of a women after the war ended.

 

“Bitte schön,” Eglantine replies to Clotilde, standing herself and clearing a space on the crowded work space for the tea tray, a cloud of glowing dust motes filling the air around them as they tumbled through the spring sunbeams pouring through the window of the studio.

 

After Clotilde closes the door behind her and retreats to the house, Lettice and her aunt resume their conversation.

 

“So, you said you were decorating the new Mrs. Channon’s house then, Lettice?” Eglantine picks up the conversation.

 

“Well yes. Lord de Virre and I came up with a plan. Since Margot is used to new things, but their country house in Cornwall is quite old, and poor Dickie hasn’t enough money to pay for refurbishment, Lord de Virre is footing the bill for electrification, new plumbing and for a connection to the telephone exchange. He also suggested that I might redecorate a few of the principal rooms of the house.”

 

“Which rooms?” Eglantine asks, setting out the tea things.

 

“The drawing room, the dining room, their bedroom and what must have been a sunroom, which they want to use for cocktail parties and dancing. Which is why I’ve come to see you, Aunt Egg. I need your advice.”

 

“Advice on what, my dear?” Eglantine pours tea into their cups, to which they both add milk and sugar.

 

“Well, Margot wants all new furnishings, which as you know isn’t my style. I prefer a mixture of old and new. Gerald came up with the perfect solution, which is to paint some of the old pieces and present them in a new style.”

 

“Very clever, Gerald. So how can I be of assistance, Lettice?”

 

“I need to know what sort of paint I should use on wooden furniture. I thought that if anyone would know, you would.”

 

“Ahh, well.” Eglantine starts to stir her tea. “There I can indeed be of assistance. Tell me, do you have any house paint lying around at Cavendish Mews?”

 

Aunt and nice sit together over the tea at the bench and discuss priming wood, coats of paint and varnish, all the while bathed in beautiful sunlight as the disturbed dust motes continue to play around them, dancing and swirling in the sunbeams that pour through the window of the studio.

 

*The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (later known as the Pre-Raphaelites) was a group of English painters, poets, and art critics, founded in 1848 by William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Michael Rossetti, James Collinson, Frederic George Stephens and Thomas Woolner who formed a seven-member "Brotherhood" modelled in part on the Nazarene movement. The Brotherhood was only ever a loose association and their principles were shared by other artists of the time, including Ford Madox Brown, Arthur Hughes and Marie Spartali Stillman. Later followers of the principles of the Brotherhood included Edward Burne-Jones, William Morris and John William Waterhouse. The group sought a return to the abundant detail, intense colours and complex compositions of Quattrocento Italian art. They rejected what they regarded as the mechanistic approach first adopted by Mannerist artists who succeeded Raphael and Michelangelo. The Brotherhood believed the classical poses and elegant compositions of Raphael in particular had been a corrupting influence on the academic teaching of art, hence the name "Pre-Raphaelite".

  

**The Delphos gown is a finely pleated silk dress first created in about 1907 by French designer Henriette Negrin and her husband, Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo. They produced the gowns until about 1950. It was inspired by, and named after, a classical Greek statue, the Charioteer of Delphi. It was championed by more artistic women who did not wish to conform to society’s constraints and wear a tightly fitting corset.

 

***Capula is a small village in Mexico in Michoacan state with a pre-Hispanic pottery tradition. Clay tableware delicately decorated with flowers and fishes, kitchen plates painted with the town's unique dotting style.

 

****Dora de Houghton Carrington, known generally as Carrington, was an English painter and decorative artist, remembered in part for her association with members of the Bloomsbury Group, especially the writer Lytton Strachey. From her time as an art student, she was known simply by her surname as she considered Dora to be "vulgar and sentimental". She was not well known as a painter during her lifetime, as she rarely exhibited and did not sign her work. An accomplished painter of portraits and landscape, she also worked in applied and decorative arts, painting on any type of surface she had at hand including inn signs, tiles and furniture. Her naïve pottery, like all her art is now described as progressive, because it did not fit into the mainstream of art in England at the time.

 

*****Established by lawyers and philanthropist Felix Slade in 1868, Slade School of Fine Art is the art school of University College London and is based in London, England. It has been ranked as the United Kingdom’s top art and design educational institution. The school is organised as a department of University College London's Faculty of Arts and Humanities. Two of its most important periods were immediately before, and immediately after, the turn of the twentieth century. It had such students as Dora Carrington, Mark Gertler, Paul Nash, C.R.W. Nevinson and Stanley Spencer.

 

******The Omega Workshops Ltd. was a design enterprise founded by members of the Bloomsbury Group and established in July 1913. It was located at 33 Fitzroy Square in London, and was founded with the intention of providing graphic expression to the essence of the Bloomsbury ethos. The Workshops were also closely associated with the Hogarth Press and the artist and critic Roger Fry, who was the principal figure behind the project, believed that artists could design, produce and sell their own works, and that writers could also be their own printers and publishers. The Directors of the firm were Roger Fry, Duncan Grant and Vanessa Bell.

 

*******St. Mark’s Church Mayfair, is a Grade I listed building, in the heart of London's Mayfair district, on North Audley Street. St Mark's was built between 1825 and 1828 as a response to the shortage of churches in the area. The population in Mayfair had grown with the demand for town houses by the aristocracy and the wealthy, as they moved in from the country. The building was constructed in the Greek revival style to the designs of John Peter Gandy. In 1878 the architect Arthur Blomfield made significant changes to the church, adding a timber roof, and introducing Gothic style features. The thirty-four feet (ten metre) façade, together with the elegant porch, is known as one of the finest in London. Being in Mayfair, it was a popular place for the weddings of aristocratic families. It was deconsecrated in 1974, and today it is used as a mixed use venue.

 

********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.

 

This rather delightfully chaotic artist’s studio scene may look very real to you, yet it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including some very special pieces that are very close to my heart.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The painted and glazed jug in the centre of the image, the brown one in the foreground, the jug standing on the edge of the trough, and the green and the white jugs on the bench all come from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The white jug is Parianware and is mid Victorian. The brown glazed jugs and pots are individually made and are impressed with Art Nouveau images, which is very apt considering that they were made as children’s toys in the early 1900s.

 

The unglazed pots on the table and the bench in the background were made by a Polish miniature potter and were given to me some twenty five years ago by one of my closest girlfriends as a gift for helping arrange her kitchen for her when she moved house. They are such beautiful pieces, and hold great sentimental value for me.

 

The trough on brick legs with its silvered taps and the easel leaning against the bench in the background come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The paints, paint brushes and paint palette on the table were all acquired from Melody Jane Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom.

 

The ladderback chair to the left of the photo is a recent 1:12 miniature which has a hand-woven rattan seat. It was acquired from an estate of a miniature collector in Sydney and dates from around the 1970s.

 

The tile frieze that appears along the back wall above the sink is an Art Nouveau design from the Lambeth works of Royal Doulton and features white Irises.

A box of film and milk *slurp*

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.

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

 

Today however, we are not at Cavendish Mews. We have moved north-east to the upper-class London neighbourhood of Fitzrovia, where Lettice has been summoned to the Duchess of Whitby’s four storey stuccoed Georgian townhouse. Lettice was pleasantly surprised when after luncheon with her father at Cavendish Mews, she received a note a few days later delivered in person by liveried footman from the Duchess of Whitby, requesting her presence in Fitzroy Square on Tuesday morning at half past nine.

 

Now, standing on the sweeping steps of Portland stone she looks up at the impressive Regency façade and knocks at the black painted front door with the polished brass knocker. A liveried footman, different to the one who delivered the Duchess’ letter, answers the door.

 

“The Honourable Lettice Cheywnd to see Her Grace.” Lettice says firmly and the footman steps aside, ushering her from the bright daylight outside into the cool marble hallway within.

 

The clip of Lettice’s louis heels echo throughout the lofty entrance hall which is lit from four storeys above by a lightwell. The footman politely asks her to wait whilst he strides silently up the sweeping carpeted spiral staircase to the upper floors of the townhouse. Lettice has not long been settled into the red velvet seat of a walnut Regency chair when he returns.

 

“Her Grace is in the morning room, if you’d be so good as to follow me, Miss Chetwnd.”

 

Lettice smiles smugly as she thinks of what was written on the thick monogrammed and gilt-edged paper within the envelope delivered to her flat: in it, Lettice has been promised the full sum owing for the work done remodelling her mother’s titled cousin’s small first floor reception room in her signature Modernist Classical Revival style. It was something Lettice had all but given up on after sending the elusive Duchess several written reminders, standing on the steps outside on Fitzroy Square several times, and making numerous unreturned phone calls to the Duchess, all to no avail.

 

“Miss Chetwynd, Your Grace.” the footman announces as he opens the door to the morning room.

 

Not a room Lettice has seen before, it looks like much of what she has seen of the Duchess of Whitby’s townhouse: the classical Robert Adam design overlaid with the comfortable Edwardian clutter of continual acquisition over the ensuing generations. Her own family home of Glynes in Wiltshire is furnished in the same style and spirit. A cosy and feminine room, it has pretty pink wallpaper and the surfaces are decorated with figurines made by Meissen and Worcester, silver boxes, photos in silver and gilt frames and vases of fresh roses. Georgian and Regency furniture is intermixed with pieces from later periods, including a comfortable looking pink floral armchair drawn up to the fire.

 

Seated at a Hepplewhite bonheur de jour* writing letters and sipping tea from a gilt Royal Doulton cup is the Duchess of Whitby. Aged in her fifties, she looks not unlike Queen Mary with her morning gown showing the abundant curves of her matronly figure. Her hair is still set in the ornate style that was popular before the war. Several strings of pearls hang around her neck and cascade down her front and diamonds wink cheekily at her wrists and on her fingers.

 

The Duchess looks up from her tea. “Thank you, Whitby.”

 

“Tea, Your Grace?”

 

“Oh yes! I…” Lettice begins.

 

“No! Thank you, Whitby.” the Duchess speaks sharply over her guest. “Miss Chetwynd is a busy modern woman and hasn’t time to take tea with an old matron like me.”

 

“Oh yes,” Lettice replies awkwardly with a false bonhomie to cover her embarrassment at the Duchess’ snub. “Yes, I am, frightfully busy just today.”

 

“Very good, Your Grace.” The Footman retreats and quietly closes the door to the morning room behind him.

 

The security and warmth Lettice felt moments ago as she stepped across the threshold of the morning room dies away, leaving her cold and decidedly uncomfortable. Silence falls thickly between the two women, with only the soft tick of the clock on the mantle and the twitter of a blackbird on a branch near the window outside to break it. The Duchess turns back to her bonheur de jour and slides open a drawer above her glittering array of silver and crystal ink pots.

 

“It’s very fortunate that your footman’s name is Whitby, Your Grace.” Lettice says nervously in an effort to break the silence. “It is easy to remember.”

 

“Indeed, and that’s why I christened him thus.” the Duchess replies haughtily, her back still turned as she rifles in another drawer for something else. “All the first footmen are always named Whitby, despite what name they may have been born with.”

 

“Oh.” Lettice says awkwardly. “At home in Glynes**, Mamma and Pappa just call the footmen by their surnames.”

 

“Yes, well,” the Duchess turns in her seat, resting her thick arms on the delicate arm of her chair and fixes Lettice, still standing in the middle of the morning room’s main carpet, with a steely stare. “You come from a rather inconsequential provincial family, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“With all due respect, Your Grace,” Lettice colours at the slur to her family. “You and Mamma are cousins.”

 

“Shall we dispense with the pleasantries, Miss Chetwynd?” the Duchess asks, ignoring Lettice’s remark.

 

Lettice, finding none of this encounter with her former client at all pleasant, does not reply.

 

“Good!” the Duchess snaps as if Lettice’s silence is agreement. “Your father contacted me because you have seen fit to complain to him that my account with your,” She sniffs derisively. “Establishment, is in arrears.”

 

“Well, I have sent you two politely worded reminders, Your Grace, and paid a few calls, and telep….”

 

“When Sadie telephoned me,” the Duchess cuts Lettice off with her sharp tone. “I was under the impression that as a newly established interior designer, you would be grateful for a commission from someone as well known and influential as I am.”

 

“Oh, I was… I am, Your Grace.”

 

“Yet you still expect to be paid, for what you have done?”

 

“Well, yes Your Grace. It was a business transaction.”

 

“And after all I have done, by graciously allowing you to redecorate my small reception room.”

 

“Well, I did discuss the approximation of costs with your steward.”

 

“Yes, yes!” the older woman testily sweeps away whatever else Lettice was going to say with a bejewelled hand. “This cheque will cover any amount you claim to be, in arrears.”

 

The Duchess scribbles in a blue cheque book with a silver fountain pen, her flourishing signature scratching across the bank’s paper. She stamps the cheque heavily with her silver ink blotter and withdraws the cheque, the perforation of the paper sounding crisply across the room as it tears from the book. She holds it out with obvious distain to Lettice, who approaches quickly and takes hold of it.

 

There is an awkward moment when both women hold either end of the cheque, both determined that they are the ones in the right. Then with an almost imperceptible sigh, the Duchess releases it into Lettice’s welcome grasp.

 

The Duchess turns back to her bonheur de jour and presses a silver bell to her left. Its shrill ding rings clearly, summoning a footman or another member of the Duchess’ staff, and indicating that their meeting is concluded.

 

“Your Grace?” the same footman who escorted Lettice in steps into the room.

 

“Whitby, Miss Chetwynd is leaving.” the Duchess replies dismissively. “Kindly show her out.”

 

“Miss Chetwynd,” the footman says politely with an almost apologetic smile.

 

“Oh Miss Chetwynd,” the Duchess calls out just as Lettice turns away to go.

 

“Yes, Your Grace?” she asks, turning back, trying as hard as she can to retain her good manners so as not to ignore the rude old woman and storm out.

 

“Miss Chetwynd, kindly tell your mother, that the next time she dares to telephone me, asking me for a favour for one of her ungrateful children, I no longer have a cousin named Sadie.”

 

The footman quickly glances down, obviously embarrassed by his mistress’ remark to the pretty young lady whom he assumed to be a guest.

 

Resorting to an inner strength she did not know she possessed, Lettice manages to retain her composure as she replies with an edge of defiance, “With pleasure, Your Grace.”

 

Thrusting the cheque into her crocodile handbag, Lettice walks purposefully from the room with her head held high, knowing that she is in the right, both financially and morally. The Duchess may be higher ranked than she or her parents, but that is all the more reason why her good breeding should prevent her from having treated Lettice so poorly.

 

As the footman quietly closes the shiny black painted door behind Lettice and she descends the steps to Fitzroy Square, she knows that she will never again set foot inside the Duchess of Whitby’s Fitzrovia townhouse. However, she also knows that as her reputation as an interior designer of exquisite taste is growing, she will no longer need the Duchess’ help to promote her business.

 

*A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.

 

**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.

 

Although cluttered and somewhat old fashioned by 1920s standards, the Duchess’ Edwardian style morning room is very elegant and would have been typical of a woman of her age in the upper aristocracy at this time. The upper classes, whether titled or not, tended to enjoy their opulent and lavish interiors. Only the brave or modern thinker would have swept away the accumulation of antiques over the generations for the clean lined, stripped back Art Deco interiors fashionable in the new houses, flats and hotels being built around Britain and the world. This upper-class domestic scene is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures, some of which come from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

 

The Eighteenth Century Hepplewhite bonheur du jour, which is hand decorated with leaves and gilding, was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. As shown in this photo, it has a fold down top and every drawer opens and closes easily: even the one in the apex of the desk. The Hepplewhite chair is also made by Bespaq.

 

On the desk are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles, stamps, a blotter, a roller, bell and letter rack, all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The ink blotter is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame. The stamp is made of brass. The silver letter rack which contains some 1:12 size correspondence, also made by the Little Green Workshop. There are also three pens and a letter opener also made of silver made by the Little Green Workshop. Atop a bill and some correspondence, which were made meticulously by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, sits a blue Bank of England cheque book, sold through Shepherd’s Miniatures in England. The gilt Art Nouveau teacup, featuring a copy of a Royal Doulton pattern, comes from a larger tea set which has been hand decorated by beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The walnut Queen Anne china cabinet in the corner of the room has a mirrored back and glass shelves. It is one of the first pieces of miniature furniture I was ever given when I was seven years old. It is filled with an array of china pieces I have acquired from various places over many years.

 

The Duchess’ family photos on the mantlepiece are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal.

 

The white and gold 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 Worcester canaries on the mantlepiece and the Meissen gentleman and lady on the sideboard were cast from pewter by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. They were hand-painted and gilded by me.

 

The silver Regency tea caddy and the Victorian biscuit barrel on the two tier Regency walnut occasional table are also made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland. The glass vase on the table is made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. It is especially fine. If you look closely you will see that it is decorated with lattices of fine threads of glass to give it a faceted Art Deco look. The gold roses in the vase and the pink vases on the sideboard were also hand made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures.

 

The round pictures hanging on ribbons were made by me when I was twelve years old. The ribbons came from my maternal Grandmother’s sewing box, and the frames are actually buttons from her button box. The images inside (two Victorian children paintings on one and three Redoute roses on the other) were cut from a magazine. The other gilt framed paintings around the room were made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.

 

The white resin Adam style fireplace is a recent acquisition. It and the Regency walnut two tier table came from an E-Bay dealer who specialises in re-selling high quality miniatures.

 

The pink floral armchair by the fireplace is made by Bespaq.

 

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

title.

figure.

  

(Panasonic Lumix G3 shot)

  

Charles de Gaulle Airport. Paris. France. year 2012. … 8 / 10

(Today's photo. It's unpublished.)

  

Images

SG Lewis, Lucky Daye - Vibe Like This ft. Ty Dolla $ign

youtu.be/abrkUzadDjU

  

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

Exhibition in 2023

  

theme

Camera kisses time.

  

Mitsushiro-Nakagawa

  

organizer

design festa

designfesta.com

  

place

Tokyo Big Site

www.bigsight.jp/english/

  

schedule

Nov. 11th. Sat. 12th. Sun. 2023.

  

exhibition.mitsushiro.nakagawa@gmail.com

  

images.

SEVENTEEN(세븐틴)-All My Love

youtu.be/RQ4yMA5PWnw

  

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

#WWDC23 #RealityPro #apple #applecar #apple

supplement. English was not translated until the end. Fixed.In Chat GPT, English translated after Japanese.

Apple car, presentation. Announced in the fall of 2023. (It's my delusion 😃)

 

#WWDC23 #RealityPro #アップルカー #アップル #apple #applecar #apple

補足。英語が最後まで翻訳されていなかった。修正しました。チャットGPTで、英語は日本語の後に翻訳しました。

【　アップルカー、プレゼンテーション。202３年秋、発表。（僕の妄想です😃）】

 

youtu.be/D3q3p5edLZA

  

みなさんおはよう。

  

偶然だが、おととしの今日、私は新型コロナウィルスのワクチンを接種した。

みなさんのなかには、すでに二度目の接種を受けた方もいるだろう。

 

この新型コロナウィルスは世界に1つの境界線を引いた。

それまでとそれ以降だ。

 

私たちを取り巻く環境は激変した。

ウィルスに対応するためあらゆる場所に除菌液が設置され、部屋の空気を浄化し、そんな環境が至る所に展開されてきた。

アップルも、これらを認識しつつ、新しいプロジェクトに臨んできた。

 

新しい価値観を受け入れるためには、新しいスタイルが必要だ。

私たちの周囲もアップデートされなければ、私たちは生き残れないだろう。

 

アップルは時代を生き残るために、いくつかを提示してきた。

 

パーソナルコンピューターであるマッキントッシュ。

音楽デバイスであるアイポッド。

携帯電話であるアイフォーン。

  

そして、今日、アップルはみなさんに伝えたいことがある。

それはもうひとつのサヴァイヴだ。

  

アップルカー。

アップルは車を再発明する。

  

【これまでの自動車の状態】

 

今までのガソリン車を振り返ってみよう。

ガソリンという化石燃料を使い、ガスを排出する。そして環境を悪化させてきた。

山林は業火に見舞われ、大雨の大洪水に街はさらわれ、乾いた大地が覆い尽くす。

これからもこの状態が続くという事は地球自体の崩壊を招く。

私たちはそれを止めなければならない。少なくとも見直しに取り掛かることが重要だ。

 

世界的にトップだったトヨタはこれに積極的に取り掛からなかった。

すでに多くの世界で走っているハイブリッドのプリウス。

これは１９９２年に発表されたにも関わらず、新しい車種でさえも未だにハイブリッドのままだ。

発売してからの約３０年もの間、いったい彼らは何を目的としてこの車に固執し、開発してきたのか？

なぜ彼らはこの車種を見直さなかったのか？

現状のハイブリット、プラグインハイブリット。そういった類は結局は化石燃料を使っている。

彼らはこの新しい展開に積極的に臨んできたというが、現状維持という考えを変えなかった。

むしろ現時点においても、それがベストだとさえ言ってるように思えてならない。

私たちはそこで他の会社も見渡してみた。

  

【電気自動車の現在】

  

テスラだ。

皆さんご存知のようにテスラは積極的に環境問題に取り組み、世界規模で大きく発展し貢献してきた。化石燃料を使わない、そして自動運転、洗練されたデザイン。これらは多くの人たちを魅了してきた。

しかし広く普及はしたものの、皆さんの家のそばにこの車は走ってるだろうか？

答えはノーだ。

 

なぜ車が走っていないか。

私たちは3時間ほどしっかり考えた。

まぁ、たった3時間だが。

答えは単純だ。

車が高いからだ。高価すぎるのだ。

 

これはテスラに限らず電気自動車を作っているすべての会社に言えることだ。

とにかく車の値段が高すぎる。

私たちはこれを念頭に置きつつ、車を再発明した。

  

【アップルカーのポイント】

 

アップルカーのポイントは三つだ。

 

ひとつめ。

価格。

電気自動車が普及しない理由は非常に簡単だ。

価格が高いからだ

なぜ電気自動車が高いのか。それは本体価格の大半を占めるバッテリーの値段が最も高いからだ。

それが大きく占めている。

そこでアップルはリン酸鉄リチウムイオンバッテリーと言う素材を使うことに行き着いた。

これは全個体電池のように高価ではなく安価で、iPhoneのように充電する時間は短く、すぐに使えることを優先させ、かつ、耐久性に優れていると言うポイントがある。

私たちはこの2点を重視した。

車を短時間で充電し、短距離を即、走行可能となることを目指した。

iPhoneやアップルウォッチと同じ結論を反映させたのだ。

 

現在、電気自動車は長距離を走ることを目標としているが、果たして、きょう、あなたが会社から帰る際に、長距離用のバッテリが必要だろうか？

何百キロも走ることが必要だろうか？

すぐに家に帰り、すぐに充電し、また朝には出勤する。

全個体電池などという長距離が走れる高価なバッテリは、現段階では不要なのだ。

アップルはそう判断した。

  

次にアップルが目指したポイントの2つ目は安全性だ。

WHOの報告では、年間で世界中の事故死者数は１３５万人に上る。

これは、２４秒にひとりが命を落としている計算になる。

 

アップルはこの事故を劇的に減らそうと考えた。

Apple Watchを腕に巻いた子供が車の下にいた場合。

iPhone 5Gを持っている人が側道にいたり、信号待ちをしている場合。

彼らを事前に感知し、彼らには接近しないように考えた。

人の居場所を事前に察知することができれば、車は避けられる。

私たちは、車自体が人から離れることを計算した。

  

3つ目は先進性だ。

 

これまでの車と言うのは、車に乗るとわかるが、ダッシュボードにはいつもの通風口が口を開けて待っている。

これは見慣れた光景で、もううんざりだ。飽き飽きだ。

私たちはこの風景を大きく前進させる。

 

フロントガラスにAR機能を搭載し、ナビゲーションで誘う。※１

また、ダッシュボードには皆さんが持っているiPhoneやiPadを貼り付け、聴いていた音楽をそのまま車内で流せる。

もちろん、望めばそのままエンジンもスタートだ。

ワイパーなんてもう不要だ。水滴なんて風圧で飛ばすした方が美しい。

シートベルトもあなたが座れば自動で閉まる。きつ過ぎず、ゆる過ぎず、あなたは快適な空間を提供されるだろう。

また、ハンドルを握って前を見据えた瞬間にドライバーの健康状態をアップルカーは察知する。

あなたが酔っていたら、車は決して動かない。もう酔っ払い運転の事故は発生しないだろう。

 

以上の三つがアップルカーのポイントだ。

 

１　価格

２　安全性

３　先進性

 

アップルはこれらを重視した。

 

そして、皆さんが最も気になるのは価格のはずだ。

価格は29,999ドル。

車の予約は来週から。半年後にまずはアメリカから発売する。

 

それでは実際にアップルカーをお見せしよう。

ティム・クック、自分のApple Watchに顔を寄せて車に呼びかける。

アップルカー登場。

  

備考。

ここで重要なのは自動運転に触れていないこと。

多分アップルは自動運転には触れず、車をまず普及させることをアピールしてくるはず。

自動運転のアップデートは後回し。

 

色はのちに5色を展開。

 

追記　２０２３年９時５９分

※１　ウィンドウにAR、VRは、上位機種。下位機種廉価版街乗りタイプは、ここがReality Pro になる。社内だけでなく、自転車、徒歩、あらゆるシチュエーションに対応。

  

CatGPTに以下は翻訳してもらいました😃

The following was translated by CatGPT😃

Sure, here's the translation:

 

#WWDC23 #RealityPro #AppleCar #AppleCarPresentation #Apple #AppleCarStrategy #iCar

#iCarPresentation #iCarStrategy #apple #applecar #car #presentation #pc #computer #Mac #Mac #iCar #AppleCar #AppleCarPresentation #Apple #AppleCarStrategy #iCarPresentation #iCarStrategy #apple #applecar #Car #Presentation #pc

  

Apple Car, presentation. Announced in the fall of 2023. (It's my delusion 😃)

(The video was uploaded hastily with the text, so it's not perfectly synchronized 😅 Please read the following text, which is the final version 😃)

  

Good morning, everyone.

 

Coincidentally, two years ago today, I received the COVID-19 vaccine. Some of you may have already received your second dose.

 

This novel coronavirus drew a line in the world. It divided time into “before” and “after.”

 

Our surrounding environment has undergone drastic changes. Disinfectants have been installed everywhere to combat the virus, rooms are being purified, and such measures have been implemented everywhere. Apple, too, has embarked on new projects while acknowledging these changes.

 

To embrace new values, we need a new style. If our surroundings don’t update, we won’t be able to survive.

 

Apple has presented several innovations to survive the times.

 

The personal computer, Macintosh.

The music device, iPod.

The mobile phone, iPhone.

 

And today, Apple has something else to share with you.

It’s another “Survive.”

  

Apple Car.

Apple is reinventing the automobile.

 

[The State of Existing Automobiles]

 

Let’s look back at traditional gasoline-powered cars. They use fossil fuels, emit gases, and have contributed to environmental deterioration. Forests have been engulfed in wildfires, cities have suffered from heavy floods, and dry lands have been covered. Continuing in this state would lead to the collapse of the Earth itself. We must put a stop to it, or at the very least, reevaluate.

 

Toyota, which was once a global leader, did not actively pursue change. Despite the introduction of the Prius, a hybrid vehicle that has been running in many parts of the world, even the latest models are still hybrids. Over the past approximately 30 years since its release, what was their purpose for sticking with and developing this model? Why didn’t they reconsider it? The current hybrids and plug-in hybrids still rely on fossil fuels. They claim to have embraced this new trend, but they haven’t changed their mindset of maintaining the status quo. In fact, it seems they still believe it is the best option. So, we looked at other companies.

 

[The Current State of Electric Vehicles]

 

Tesla. As you all know, Tesla has actively addressed environmental issues and made significant contributions on a global scale. They have used clean energy, implemented self-driving capabilities, and offered sophisticated designs that have captivated many people. However, despite its widespread popularity, do you see these cars driving near your homes? The answer is no.

 

Why aren’t these cars on the roads? We thought about it for about three hours. Well, only three hours, but the answer is simple: they are too expensive. The high cost of electric vehicles is the reason why they haven’t become mainstream. We kept this in mind when reinventing the car.

 

[Key Features of Apple Car]

 

Apple Car has three key features.

 

Firstly, price. The reason electric vehicles haven’t become popular is quite simple: they are expensive. Why are electric vehicles expensive? The battery, which constitutes a significant portion of the overall cost, is the most expensive component. Apple has chosen to use lithium iron phosphate batteries, a material that is less expensive than individual cell batteries, charges quickly like an iPhone, and offers durability. We emphasized these two points: charging the car quickly and enabling short-distance travel. We reflected the same conclusion as with the iPhone and Apple Watch.

 

Currently, electric vehicles aim to achieve long-distance travel. But do you really need a long-range battery when you return home from work today? Do you need to travel hundreds of kilometers? You want to arrive home quickly, charge the car immediately, and be ready to commute in the morning. Expensive batteries designed for long-distance travel, like individual cell batteries, are unnecessary at this stage. Apple has made that judgment.

 

The second point Apple aimed for is safety. According to the WHO, there are 1.35 million fatalities

 

The second point that Apple aimed for is safety. According to WHO reports, the annual number of fatalities worldwide due to accidents reaches 1.35 million, which translates to one person losing their life every 24 seconds.

 

Apple sought to dramatically reduce these accidents. For instance, if a child wearing an Apple Watch is underneath a car or if someone with an iPhone 5G is on a side road or waiting at a traffic light, Apple intended to detect their presence in advance and prevent any approaching danger. By anticipating the location of individuals, cars could be avoided, and Apple even calculated the distance that cars should maintain from people.

 

The third point is innovation. Previous cars had the familiar sight of air vents waiting on the dashboard, but Apple aimed to push this landscape forward significantly. They incorporated augmented reality (AR) features into the windshield, providing navigation guidance. Additionally, the dashboard allowed users to attach their iPhones or iPads, enabling them to play their favorite music directly in the car. Of course, if desired, the engine could start as well. Wipers were no longer necessary; it was more aesthetically pleasing to use wind pressure to blow away water droplets. Seat belts automatically closed at just the right tension level, providing a comfortable space for passengers. Moreover, the moment you grasp the steering wheel and look ahead, the Apple Car would detect the driver’s health condition. If you were intoxicated, the car would never move, eliminating the occurrence of accidents caused by drunk driving.

 

So, the three key points of the Apple Car are:

 

1.Price

2.Safety

3.Innovation

 

Apple emphasized these aspects. And the aspect that most people are concerned about is the price, which is $29,999. Car reservations will begin next week, and it will initially be released in the United States after six months.

 

Now, let me show you the Apple Car in action. Tim Cook leans towards his Apple Watch and addresses the car. The Apple Car makes its appearance.

 

Note: What’s important here is that there is no mention of autonomous driving. Apple probably intends to focus on popularizing the car first, without delving into autonomous driving. Updates related to autonomous driving will come later.

 

The car will be available in five different colors at a later time.

 

Update: 9:59 AM, 2023

Note 1: AR and VR on the window are available on the higher-end models. The lower-end models, affordable for city driving, will have Reality Pro at this position. It will cater to various situations, not only within the car but also for bicycles, pedestrians, and other scenarios.

  

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Notice regarding "Lot No.402_”.

  

From now on # I will host "Lot No.402_".

 

The work of Leonardo da Vinci who was sleeping.

That is the number when it was put up for auction.

No sign was written on the work.

So this work couldn't conclude that it was his work.

However # as a result of various appraisals # it was exposed to the sun.

A work that no one notices. A work that speaks quietly without a title.

I will continue to strive to provide it to many people in various ways.

 

October 24 # 2020 by Mitsu - Nakagawa.

  

Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©︎2022 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Profile.

In November 2014 # we caught the attention of the party selected to undertake the publicity for a mobile phone that changed the face of the world with just a single model # and will conclude a confidentiality agreement with them.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Interviews and novels.

About my book.

 

I published a book a long time ago.

At that time # I uploaded my interview as a PDF on the internet.

Its Japanese and English.

 

I will publish it for free.

For details # I explained to the Amazon site.

 

How to write a novel.

How to take a picture.

A sense of distance to the work.

 

All of these have something in common.

I wrote down what I felt and left it.

 

I hope my text will be read by many people.

Thank you.

 

Mitsushiro.

 

1 Interview in English

 

2 novels. unforgettable 'English version.(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

 

3 Interview Japanese version

 

4 novels. unforgettable ' JPN version.

 

5 A streamlined trajectory. only Japanese.

 

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

iBooks. Electronic Publishing. It is free now.

 

0.about the iBooks.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

1.unforgettable '(ENG.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216576828?ls=1&...

 

2.unforgettable '(JNP.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216584262?ls=1&...

 

3. Streamlined trajectory.(For Japanese only.)

itunes.apple.com/us/book/%E6%B5%81%E7%B7%9A%E5%BD%A2%E3%8... =11

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

My Novel : Unforgettable'

 

(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

  

Synopsis

Kei Kitami # who is aiming for a university # meets Kaori Uemura # an event companion who is 6 years older than her on SNS.

Kaori's dream of coming to Tokyo is to become friends with famous artists.

For that purpose # the presence of radio station producer Ryo Osawa was necessary.

Osawa talks to Kaori during the live radio broadcast.

"I have a wife and a child # but I want to see you."

Kay's classmate # Rika Sanjo # who thinks of him # was exploring Kaori's trends. .. .. .. ..

Synopsis.

 

Kei Kitami who aims at university.

A 6 year old older event companion woman. Meet Kaori Uemura on SNS.

 

The dream of Kaori who has moved to Tokyo.

It is to be a friend of the artist.

 

The producer of the radio station for that. The existence of Ryo Osawa was necessary.

Live on the radio.Osawa talks to Kaori.

 

"I have a wife and a child # but I want to see you."

Kei’s classmate Rika Sanzyou who is thinking of him.

She was searching for Kaori.

   

Mitsushiro Nakagawa

All Translated by Yumi Ikeda .

www.fotolog.net/yuming/

  

images.

U2 - No Line On The Horizon Live in Dublin

www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related

  

Main story

 

There are two reasons why a person faces the sea.

One # to enjoy a slice of shine in the sea like children bubbling over in the beach.

The other # to brush the dust of memory like an old man who misses old days # staring at the shine

quietly.

Those lead to only one meaning though they do not seem to overlap. It’s a rebirth.

I face myself to change tomorrow # a vague day into something certain.

That is the meaning of a rebirth.

I had a very sweet girlfriend when I was 18.

After she left # I knew the meaning of gentleness for the first time and also a true pain of loss. After

she left # how many times did I depend too much on her # doubt her # envy her and keep on telling lies

until I realized it is love?

I wonder whether a nobody like me could have given something to her who was struggling in the

daily life in those days. Giving something is arrogant conceit. It is nothing but self-satisfaction.

I had been thinking about such a thing.

However # I guess what she saw in me was because I had nothing. That‘s why she tried to see

something in me. Perhaps she found a slight possibility in me # a guy filled with ambiguous # unstable

tomorrow. But I wasted days depending too much on her gentleness.

Now I finally can convey how I felt in those days when we met.

  

1/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24577016535/in/dateposted...

2/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24209330259/in/dateposted...

3/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/23975215274/in/dateposted...

4/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24515964952/in/dateposted...

5/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24276473749/in/dateposted...

6/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24548895082/in/dateposted...

7/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24594603711/in/dateposted...

8/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24588215562/in/dateposted...

9/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24100804163/in/dateposted...

  

Fin.

  

images.

U2 - No Line On The Horizon

www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Title of my book : unforgettable'

Author : Mitsushiro Nakagawa

Out Now.

ISBN978-4-86264-866-2

in Amazon.

www.amazon.co.jp/Unforgettable’-Mitsushiro-Nakagawa/dp/...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

The schedule of the next novel.

Still would stand all time. (Unforgettable '2)

(It will not go away forever)

Please give me some more time. That is Japanese.

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

Exhibition in 2023

  

theme

The camera kisses time.

  

Mitsushiro --Nakagawa

  

The schedule for 2023 is unstable.

I plan to do one of the following two.

Both are scheduled around November.

  

I give priority to museums.

  

1 This will be done when the 1st attached gallery is released in 2023.

place

DIC Kawamura Memorial Museum of Art 1st attached gallery

kawamura-museum.dic.co.jp/

  

2 This is planned as a spare.

place

Design Festa

designfesta.com

  

images.

BTS… Film out Lyrics (방탄 소년단 / BTS Film out Japanese subtitles 가사) [Color Coded Lyrics / Kan / Rom / Eng]

youtu.be/az_6PrN-biI

  

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

My Works.

 

1 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48072442376/in/dateposted...

2 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48078949821/in/dateposted...

3 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48085863356/in/dateposted...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Do you want to hear my voice?

:)

 

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw

 

1

About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. First type.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw

 

2

About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. Second type.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=443

 

3

About when I started Fotolog. Architect 's point of view.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=649

 

4

Why did not you have a camera so far?

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=708

 

5

What is the coolest thing? The photo is as it is.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=776

 

6

About the current YouTube bar. I also want to tell # I want to leave.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=964

 

7

About Japanese photographers. Japanese YouTube bar is Pistols.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1059

 

8

The composition of the photograph is sensibility. Meet the designers in Milan. Two questions.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1242

 

9

What is a good composition? What is a bad composition?

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1482

 

10

What is the time to point the camera? It is slow if you are looking into the viewfinder or display.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1662

 

11

Family photos. I can not take pictures with others. The inside of the subject.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1745

 

12

About YouTube 's photographer. Camera technology etc. Sensibility is polished by reading books.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2144

 

13

About the Japanese newspaper. A picture of a good newspaper is Reuters. If you continue to look at useless photographs # it will be useless.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2305

 

14

About Japanese photographers. About the exhibition.

Summary. I wrote a novel etc. What I want to tell the most.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2579

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

I talked about how to make a work.

 

About work production 1/2

youtu.be/ZFjqUJn74kM

  

About work production 2/2

youtu.be/pZIbXmnXuCw

 

1 Photo exhibition up to that point. Did you want to go?

 

2 Well # what is an exhibition that you want to visit even if you go there?

 

3 Challenge to exhibit one work every month before opening a solo exhibition at the Harajuku Design Festa.

 

4 works are materials and silhouettes. Similar to fashion.

 

5 Who is your favorite artist? What is it? Make it clear.

 

6 Creating a collage is exactly the same as taking photos. As I wrote in the interview # it is the same as writing a novel.

 

7 I want to show it to someone # but I do not make a piece to show it. Aim for the work you want to decorate your own room as in the photo.

 

8 What is copycat? Nowadays # it is suspected to be beaten. There is something called Mimesis?

 

ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mimesis

kotobank.jp/word/Mimesis-139464

 

9 What is Individuality? What is originality?

 

www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

Explanation of composition. 2

 

1.Composition explanation 2 ... 1/4

youtu.be/yVbvneBIMs8

 

2.Composition explanation 2 ... 2/4

youtu.be/LToFez9vOAw

 

3.Composition Explanation 2 ... 3/4

youtu.be/uTR0wVi9Z7M

 

4.Composition Explanation 2 ... 4/4

youtu.be/h2LjfU6Vvno

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

My shutter feeling.

 

youtu.be/3JkbGiFLjAM

 

Today's photo.

It is a photo taken from Eurostar.

 

This video is an explanation.

 

I went to Milan in 2005.

At that time # I went from Milan to Venice.

We took Eurostar into the transportation.

 

This photo was not taken from a very fast Eurostar.

When I changed the track # I took a picture at the moment I slowed down.

  

Is there a Japanese beside you?

Please have my video translated.

:)

 

In the Eurostar to Venice . 2005. shot ... 1 / 2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/49127115021/in/dateposted...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

Miles Davis sheet 1955-1976.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

flickr.

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

instagram.

www.instagram.com/mitsushiro_nakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Pinterest.

www.pinterest.jp/MitsushiroNakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

YouPic

youpic.com/photographer/mitsushironakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

twitter.

twitter.com/mitsushiro

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

facebook.

www.facebook.com/mitsushiro.nakagawa

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Amazon.

www.amazon.co.jp/gp/profile/amzn1.account.AHSKI3YMYPYE5UE...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

My statistics. (As of May 11 # 2021)

youtu.be/UpezrGm4HYA

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Japanese is the following.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

Title of my book unforgettable' Mitsushiro Nakagawa Out Now. ISBN978-4-86264-866-2

 

Mitsu Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 204 _ . Copyright©︎2020 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

title.

人影。

  

(Panasonic Lumix G3 shot)

  

シャルル・ド・ゴール空港。パリ。フランス。2012年。… 　 　8 / 10

(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）

  

Images

SG Lewis, Lucky Daye - Vibe Like This ft. Ty Dolla $ign

youtu.be/abrkUzadDjU

   

次の小説のイメージ。

Still would stand all time.(unforgettable'2)

（いつまでもなくならないだろう）

    

重要なお知らせ。

 

僕は以下の条件を緩和します。

僕はTシャツを無料で世界中へ配布します。

m.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/50656401427/in/dateposted-p...

m.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/50613367691/in/dateposted-p...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

２０２３年の展示

  

テーマ

カメラは時間にキスをする。

  

Mitsushiro - Nakagawa

  

主催

デザインフェスタ

designfesta.com

 

場所

東京ビッグサイト

www.bigsight.jp

  

日程

１１月１１日。土曜日。12日。日曜日。2023年。

  

exhibition.mitsushiro.nakagawa@gmail.com

 

images.

SEVENTEEN(세븐틴)-All My Love

youtu.be/RQ4yMA5PWnw

  

_________________________________

_________________________________

   

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

” Lot No.402_ ” に関するお知らせ。

  

今後、僕は、” Lot No.402_ ”を主催します。

 

このロットナンバーは、眠っていたレオナルドダヴィンチの作品がオークションにかけらた際に付されたものです。

作品にはサインなどがいっさい記されていなかったため、彼の作品だと断定できませんでした。

しかし、様々な鑑定の結果、陽の光を浴びました。

誰にも気づかれない作品。肩書がなくとも静かに語りかける作品。

僕はこれから様々な形で、多くの皆様に提供できるよう努めてゆきます。

 

2020年10月24日 by Mitsu - Nakagawa.

 

Copyright©︎2021 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.

_________________________________

_________________________________

プロフィール

2014年11月、たった1機種で世界を塗り替えた携帯電話の広告を請け負った選考者の目に留まり、秘密保持同意書を結ぶ。

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

インタビューと小説。

僕の本について。

 

僕は、昔に本を出版しました。

その際に、僕のインタビューをPDFでネット上へアップロードしていました。

その日本語と英語。

 

僕は、無料でを公開します。

詳細は、アマゾンのサイトへ解説しました。

 

小説の書き方。

写真の撮影方法。

作品への距離感。

 

これらはすべて共通項があります。

僕は、僕が感じたことを文章にして、残しました。

 

僕のテキストが多くの人に読んでもらえることを望みます。

ありがとう。

 

Mitsushiro.

 

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

  

１　インタビュー　英語版

 

２　小説。unforgettable’ 英語版。

 

３　インタビュー　日本語版

 

４　小説。unforgettable’ 日本語版。(この小説は未来のアーティストへ捧げます)

(四百字詰め原稿用紙４５６枚)

 

　あらすじ

　大学を目指している北見ケイは、SNS上で、6歳年上のイベントコンパニオン、上村香織に出会う。

　上京してきた香織の夢は、有名なアーティストの友達になるためだ。

　そのためにはラジオ局のプロデューサー、大沢亮の存在が必要だった。

　大沢は、ラジオの生放送中、香織へ語りかける。

　「僕には妻子がある。しかし、僕は君に会いたいと思っている」

　ケイの同級生で、彼を想っている三條里香は、香織の動向を探っていた。。。。。

  

本編

 

人が海へ向かう理由には、二つある。

　ひとつは、波打ち際ではしゃぐ子供のように、今の瞬間の海の輝きを楽しむこと。

　もうひとつは、その輝きを静かに見据えて、過ぎ去った日々を懐かしむ老人のように記憶の埃を払うこと。

　二つは重なり合わないようではあるけれども、たったひとつの意味しか生まない。

　再生だ。

　明日っていう、曖昧な日を確実なものへと変えてゆくために、自分の存在に向き合う。

　それが再生の意味だ。

 

　十八歳だった僕には大切な人がいた。

 

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

  

５　流線形の軌跡。　日本語のみ。

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

iBooks.電子出版。（現在は無料）

 

0.about the iBooks.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

1.unforgettable’ ( ENG.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216576828?ls=1&...

For Japanese only.

 

2.unforgettable’ ( JNP.ver.)(この小説は未来のアーティストへ捧げます)

itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216584262?ls=1&...

 

3.流線形の軌跡。

itunes.apple.com/us/book/%E6%B5%81%E7%B7%9A%E5%BD%A2%E3%8...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

僕の小説。英語版　

My Novel Unforgettable' (This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

 

Mitsushiro Nakagawa

All Translated by Yumi Ikeda .

www.fotolog.net/yuming/

   

1/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24577016535/in/dateposted...

2/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24209330259/in/dateposted...

3/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/23975215274/in/dateposted...

4/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24515964952/in/dateposted...

5/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24276473749/in/dateposted...

6/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24548895082/in/dateposted...

7/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24594603711/in/dateposted...

8/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24588215562/in/dateposted...

9/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24100804163/in/dateposted...

Fin.

  

images.

U2 - No Line On The Horizon Live in Dublin

www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Title of my book : unforgettable'

Author : Mitsushiro Nakagawa

Out Now.

 

ISBN978-4-86264-866-2

in Amazon.

www.amazon.co.jp/Unforgettable’-Mitsushiro-Nakagawa/dp/...

_________________________________

_________________________________

次の小説の予定。

Still would stand all time.(unforgettable'2)

（いつまでもなくならないだろう）

もう少し時間をください。それは日本語です。

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

僕の作品。

 

1 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48072442376/in/dateposted...

2 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48078949821/in/dateposted...

3 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48085863356/in/dateposted...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

あなたは僕の声を聞きたいですか？

:)

 

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw

  

1

フリッカーへ投稿した写真の構図について。１種類目。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw

 

2

フリッカーへ投稿した写真の構図について。２種類目。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=443

 

3

Fotologを始めた時について。 建築家の視点。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=649

 

4

なぜ、今までカメラを手にしなかったのか？

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=708

 

5

何が一番かっこいいのか？　写真はありのままに。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=776

 

6

現在のユーチューバーについて。僕も伝え、残したい。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=964

 

7

日本人の写真家について。日本のユーチューバーはピストルズ。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1059

 

8

写真の構図は、感性。ミラノのデザイナーに会って。二つの質問。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1242

 

9

良い構図とは？　悪い構図とは？

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1482

 

10

カメラを向ける時とは？　ファインダーやディスプレイを覗いていては遅い。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1662

 

11

家族写真。他人では撮れない。被写体の内面。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1745

 

12

ユーチューブの写真家について。カメラの技術等。感性は、本を読むことで磨く。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2144

 

13

日本の新聞について。良い新聞の写真はロイター。ダメな写真を見続けるとダメになる。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2305

 

14

日本の写真家について。その展示について。

まとめ。僕が書いた小説など。僕が最も伝えたいこと。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2579

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

作品制作について 1/2

youtu.be/ZFjqUJn74kM

 

作品制作について 2/2

youtu.be/pZIbXmnXuCw

  

１　それまでの写真展。自分は行きたいと思ったか？

 

２　じゃ、自分が足を運んででも行きたい展示とは何か？

 

３　原宿デザインフェスタで個展を開くまでに、毎月ひとつの作品を展示することにチャレンジ。

 

４　作品とは、素材とシルエット。ファッションと似ている。

 

５　自分が好きなアーティストは誰か？　どんなものなのか？　そこをはっきりさせる。

 

６　コラージュの作成も写真の撮り方と全く同じ。インタビューに書いたように小説の書き方とも同じ。

 

７　誰かに見せたい、見せるがために作品は作らない。写真と同じように自分の部屋に飾りたい作品を目指す。

 

８　パクリとは何か？　昨今、叩かれるパクリ疑惑。ミメーシスとは？

 

　　https://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/ミメーシス

　　https://kotobank.jp/word/ミメーシス-139464

  

９　個性とはなにか？　オリジナリティってなに？

 

おまけ　眞子さまについて

 

という流れです。

お時間がある方は是非聴いてください。

:)

 

www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

構図の解説２

 

1.構図の解説２ ... 1/4

youtu.be/yVbvneBIMs8

 

2.構図の解説２ ... 2/4

youtu.be/LToFez9vOAw

 

3.構図の解説２ ... 3/4

youtu.be/uTR0wVi9Z7M

 

4.構図の解説２ ... 4/4

youtu.be/h2LjfU6Vvno

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

僕のシャッター感覚

 

youtu.be/3JkbGiFLjAM

 

In the Eurostar to Venice . 2005. shot ... 1 / 2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/49127115021/in/dateposted...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Miles Davis sheet 1955-1976.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

flickr.

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

YouTube.

www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

instagram.

www.instagram.com/mitsushiro_nakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Pinterest.

www.pinterest.jp/MitsushiroNakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

YouPic

youpic.com/photographer/mitsushironakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

fotolog

www.fotolog.com/stealaway/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

twitter.

twitter.com/mitsushiro

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

facebook.

www.facebook.com/mitsushiro.nakagawa

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Amazon.

www.amazon.co.jp/gp/profile/amzn1.account.AHSKI3YMYPYE5UE...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

僕の統計。（2021年5月11日現在）

youtu.be/UpezrGm4HYA

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Japanese is the following.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

Title of my book unforgettable' Mitsushiro Nakagawa Out Now. ISBN978-4-86264-866-2

 

Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot no.204_ . Copyright©︎2020 Lot no.204_ All rights reserved.

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

” Lot No.402_ ” に関するお知らせ。

  

今後、僕は、” Lot No.402_ ”を主催します。

 

このロットナンバーは、眠っていたレオナルドダヴィンチの作品がオークションにかけらた際に付されたものです。

作品にはサインなどがいっさい記されていなかったため、彼の作品だと断定できませんでした。

しかし、様々な鑑定の結果、陽の光を浴びました。

誰にも気づかれない作品。肩書がなくとも静かに語りかける作品。

僕はこれから様々な形で、多くの皆様に提供できるよう努めてゆきます。

 

2020年10月24日 by Mitsu - Nakagawa.

 

Copyright©︎2020 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

#Paris #Lumix #写真 #France #パリ #フランス #ルミックス #Panasonic #空港 #airport #CharlesdeGaulleAirport #SGLewis #VibeLikeThis #kawamuramemorialdicmuseumofart #川村記念美術館 #デザインフェスタ #デザフェス #designfesta #tokyobigsight #東京ビッグサイト #WWDC23

  

やちまた市　写真解説　後編

youtu.be/IweS1CHG-Fk

 

１　アップル　ヘッドセットMR,ARは、既存ディスプレイを一掃する、

と２０２３年アップルカー発表

 

２　僕の、嵐、キスマイの再生回数は？　😄

 

３　やちまた市、写真解説、後編

 

　　A 僕が世界からなぜ、【きみは写真の世界に名前を残すだろう】と言われるのか？

 

　　B なぜ日本人が撮る写真は評価されないのか？

 

　　C なぜ海外へ行くべきなのか？

 

徹底的に熱く語りました。

老人よりも若手のみなさんにぜひ聞いてもらい、参考にしていただければと思います。

みなさんの感性に、日本のアートは委ねられています。😃

がんばって！！😃

  

前回の動画

やちまた市の写真解説前編？😃

  

• やちまた市の写真解説前編？😃

  

#アップルのヘッドセットはディスプレイを一掃する #WWDC23

#なぜ日本人が撮る写真は評価されないのか #きみは写真の世界に名前を残すだろう #アップルのヘッドセットはディスプレイを一掃する #なぜ海外へ行くべきか #アーティスト #写真家 #やちまた #八街 #アップルヘッドセット #appleheadset #AR #VR #xrOS #applecar #アップル #ちば #アップルカー #ジャニーズ #嵐 #キスマイ #ジャニーズ事務所 #arashi #kissmy #海外 #海外旅行 #千葉

 

#wwdc23 #Apple #Apple #iPhone #Mac #Headset #eyephone #wwdc23 #Apple #アップル #アイフォン #マック #ヘッドセット #eyephone

#WWDC23 #RealityPro #アップルカー #アップルカーのプレゼンテーション #アップル #アップルカーの戦略 #アイカー

#アイカーのプレゼンテーション #アイカーの戦略 #apple #applecar #車 #プレゼン #pc #パソコン #マック #Mac #icar #AppleCar #AppleCarPresentation #Apple #AppleCarStrategy #icarpresentation #icarstrategy #apple #applecar #Car #Presentation #pc

  

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 client, recently arrived American film actress Wanetta Ward.

 

Now that the flat is completely redecorated under Lettice’s deft hands, Miss Ward has vacated her suite at the Metropole Hotel* and has been living at her Pimlico address for a few weeks now. As a thank you to Lettice, the American has invited her to afternoon tea. And so, we find ourselves in the beautifully appointed, spacious drawing room.

 

“Now, darling girl!” Miss Ward says as she sweeps into the drawing room through the green baize door that leads from the service area of the flat. “You must try my own brew of coffee!” She enthusiastically hoists a beautiful china coffee pot decorated with cherry blossoms in the air. “I promise you that you’ll never go back to that sludge you British call coffee after you’ve had this.”

 

Lettice smells the rich aroma from the pot’s spout as Miss Ward places it with an appropriately theatrical swoop, enhanced by the brightly coloured Spanish shawl draped over her bare shoulders, onto the silver tray on the cherrywood table between the Queen Anne style settee and the matching pair of Chinese armchairs. “It smells divine, Miss Ward.”

 

“Darling!” Miss Ward enthuses. “Divine isn’t the word for this!”

 

“I look forward to tasting it, then.” Lettice replies with a bemused smile. “And afternoon tea, Miss Ward?”

 

“I know! I know!” the American brandishes her hands in the air. “I admit I said it was a quaint observance, but it’s one that I’ve come to enjoy since living here in England. We might not have petit fours like they do at the Metropole, but trust me, Harriet has found the most wonderful little local bakery that makes an amazing selection of cookies. Try one!” She indicates to the plate piled generously with an assortment of brightly coloured and delicious looking biscuits.

 

“Harriet, Miss Ward?”

 

The American picks up a biscuit as she speaks and then pauses with it to her lips. “My new maid, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

Lettice considers the woman with a rather angular face in black silk moiré afternoon uniform and lace collar, cuffs, cap, apron and cap who answered the door. She didn’t strike her as having such a lovely name. She looked to be more of an Augusta or Bertha.

 

Miss Ward’s American voice interrupts Lettice’s contemplation. “Oh, I must thank you too, for the number of that domestics employment agency you gave me.”

 

“You can thank my mother, Miss Ward.” Lettice selects a small pink macaron and takes a ladylike bite from it before depositing the remainder on her plate. She feels the pastry and filling melt in her mouth. “She and I may not agree about a good many things, but Mater certainly knows the best agency In London for staff.”

 

“Well, Harriet is perfect!” Miss ward exclaims. “She fits in here so well, and she doesn’t throw a fit with all my comings and goings at all hours to and from the studio, taking telephone messages for me with the efficiency of a secretary, and she doesn’t even seem to mind the unannounced arrivals when friends come to pay call.”

 

“I do hope you told her about me coming today, Miss Ward.” Lettice remarks in alarm.

 

“Oh I did, Miss Chetwynd! It’s quite alright!” She stuffs the biscuit into her mouth, rubbing her fingers together to rid them of crumbs which tumble through the air and onto her lap where they disappear amidst the fuchsia coloured georgette of her dress. “Mind you,” she continues, speaking with her mouth full. “I don’t think Harriet likes it when I insist on making my own coffee.” She gulps loudly. “She doesn’t like it when I go onto the kitchen. She says it’s her domain.” She looks across at Lettice perched elegantly on the settee, dressed in a pretty pastel yellow frock that matches the trim of her straw hat. “I imagine your maid is the same.”

 

“I’m sure I haven’t asked Edith, Miss Ward.”

 

“Well, perhaps you should, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“What a ridiculous notion!” Lettice laughs. “Of course she wouldn’t mind! It’s my flat. I can come and go where and when I please.”

 

“If you’ll pardon me, my dear girl,” Miss Ward picks up the coffee pot and pours the steaming, rich golden brown liquid first into Lettice’s cup and then her own. “But it’s a ridiculous notion that you don’t. If I may be so bold: it may be your flat, but you’re a lady, and even I, the egalitarian American in the room, knows that masters and servants don’t mix. You probably vex the poor little mouse when you swan into her domain, rather than ring the servant’s bell. Not that she would tell you that of course! Your maid is much to meek to speak her mind, whereas Harriet tells me that god invented servants’ bells, so I don’t have to go into her kitchen.” She smiles cheekily. “Mind you, I draw the line at her making coffee for me or my guests.” She indicates to the milk jug and sugar bowl. “Now, there is cream in the jug and sugar in the bowl Miss Chetwynd. Do help yourself.” She picks up the jug and glugs a dollop of cream into her coffee before scooping up two large heaped teaspoons of sugar.

 

After Lettice has added a small amount of cream and a flat teaspoon of sugar to her own coffee, she looks around the drawing room observantly whilst she stirs her cup’s contents. To her delight, and no little amount of surprise, the room remains as she designed it. She was quite sure that Wanetta would rearrange her well thought out designs as soon as she moved in, yet against her predictions the furniture remains where she had them placed, the gold and yellow Murano glass comport still standing in the centre of the mantelpiece, the yellow celadon vase with gold bamboo in place on the console table. Even the small white vase, the only piece left over from the former occupier’s décor, remains next to the comport on the mantle. The American was ready to throw it into the dustbin at every opportunity, yet it happily nestles between the comport and a large white china vase of vibrant yellow roses and lilies. It is as she notices the celadon vase that she sees the painting of Wanetta, which only arrived at the flat when its sitter did.

 

“So that’s the famous yellow portrait, Miss Ward,” Lettice remarks, admiring the likeness of the dark haired American, draped in a golden yellow oriental shawl, sitting languidly in a chair.

 

“Oh yes!” gasps Miss Ward as she turns around in her armchair to look at the painting hanging to the right of the fireplace, above a black console table. “You haven’t seen it, have you? Do you like it?”

 

“Yes I do,” acknowledges Lettice. “It’s a remarkable likeness, and the artist has captured the light in your eyes so well.”

 

“Thank you, darling girl! I think it’s beautiful.”

 

“So is your coffee!” Lettice remarks. “It’s quite delicious, and not at all what Bramley makes for me at Glynes**.”

 

“I told you, you British drink sludge.” She takes an appreciative, if overly large, gulp of her own coffee. “Now this, is real coffee.”

 

“So, have you christened your cocktail cabinet, yet?”

 

“Yes I have. I threw a cocktail party for the actors, actresses, director and crew when we wrapped up ‘After the Ball is Over’. It was quite the occasion!”

 

“Oh I could well imagine, Miss Ward.”

 

“Of course,” the American quickly adds. “I’m sure it wasn’t anywhere near as extravagant as your cocktail party that you threw for Mr. and Mrs. Channon.”

 

“You heard about that then, Miss Ward?”

 

“Heard about it? My darling girl,” Her eyes widen and sparkle with excitement. “I immersed myself in the article published by the Tattler, drinking in every little detail of your fabulous soiree. You looked stunning, darling!”

 

Lettice blushes and shuffles awkwardly in her seat on the settee at the brazen compliment. “Thank you, Miss Ward.”

 

“So did Mrs. Channon, of course! And wasn’t Lady Diana Cooper’s*** robe de style**** to die for?”

 

“Err, yes… quite, Miss Ward.” Lettice replies awkwardly. Anxious to change the subject and move away from her own private life, and thereby avoid the American’s potential attempts to try and gather some gossip to share with her fellow actors and actresses at Islington Studios*****, Lettice asks. “And what’s the next moving picture you will be making, Miss Ward? Another villainess role in a historical romance?”

 

“Oh, the studio is shutting for Christmas, so I’m sailing on the Aquitania****** on Monday, back to the States to visit my parents. I haven’t seen them in an age, and, well, they aren’t getting any younger. Besides, Islington Studios are paying for the journey and are organising for me to promote ‘After the Ball is Over’ at a few functions whilst I’m back home.”

 

“That will be lovely for you, Miss Ward.”

 

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll be back in the new year, when we start filming ‘Skating and Sinning’.”

 

“’Skating and Sinning’, Miss Ward?”

 

“Yes!” the American gushes as she picks up the coffee pot which she proffers to Lettice, who declines, and then proceeds to fill her own cup. “It’s the first picture planned for 1922. Another historical drama, set in London in the Seventeenth Century, when the Thames froze over.”

 

“Yes, 1607 I believe.”

 

“You’re a font of knowledge, Miss Chetwynd!” Miss Ward exclaims, clapping her ring decorated hands in delight. “You never cease to amaze me! A first-class interior designer and a historian!”

 

“Knowing trivial historical facts is just part and parcel of an education in a family as old as mine, Miss Ward.” Lettice deflects, taking another sip of her coffee. “And the sinning?”

 

“The sinning, Miss Chetwynd?” the American woman queries.

 

“Well, I assume the frozen Thames explains the skating part of the film’s title, Miss Ward.”

 

“Oh, the sinning!” Miss Ward settles back in her armchair with a knowing smile, placing her coffee cup on the black japanned table between the two Chinese chairs. “Well, that’s me, darling!” She raises both her arms dramatically, the Spanish shawl gathering about her shoulders as she does. “I will be playing a merry young, recently widowed, Duchess, with her eyes on our heroine’s young betrothed!”

 

“And do you succeed, Miss Ward?”

 

“Ah-ah! That,” She wags her finger playfully at Lettice. “Would be telling, darling girl. I can’t go giving away the ending, or you won’t come see the film.”

 

Lettice smiles at the actress. “Well, I’m glad that London has entranced you enough to return from the delights of America.”

 

“Well of course it has! And anyway, I have to come back to enjoy and show off my beautiful new home!”

 

Lettice blushes at the compliment.

 

“I’ll have you know Miss Chetwynd, that at my cocktail party, I had so many compliments about this beautiful room, the furnishings and the décor. You’ll be hearing from directors and future starlets in the new year, I’ll guarantee!”

 

“I shall have to see whether I can accommodate them, Miss Ward.” Lettice replies. “As you know, I will be decorating some of the principal rooms of Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s country house in the new year, and I have a few other potential commissions currently under negotiation.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to squeeze them in, darling! When the moving pictures come knocking, you just won’t be able to say no.”

 

“Well…” Lettice begins, imagining her mother’s face drained of colour, and her father’s flushed with anger, if she takes on another commission from a moving picture actress.

 

“Oh, and thinking of my flat. The other reason why I asked you here.” Miss Ward interrupts, standing up and walking over to the console table beneath her portrait, where some papers sit beneath the base of one of the Murano glass bottles. She fumbles through them and withdraws a small slip of paper. Walking over to Lettice she hands it to her. “A cheque to settle my bill before I set sail for home, darling girl.”

 

“Thank you, Miss Ward.” Lettice replies, opening her lemon yellow handbag sitting between her and her black and yellow straw hat on the settee and depositing the cheque safely inside. “I appreciate your prompt payment.”

 

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Chetwynd.” the American replies. “And thank you again for all that you have done.” Her glittering eyes flit about the room. “I just love being here! It’s so perfect! It’s so, so me! A mixture of the old, and the new, the oriental and the European, all of which I love.”

 

“I’m so pleased you approve, Miss Ward. It is your home, after all.”

 

“I even have to concede that you were right about having touches of white in here. It adds a touch of class. And that wonderful wallpaper you suggested,” She indicates to the walls. “Well, it is the pièce de résistance of this room’s décor!” Stepping over to the fireplace, she picks up the small white vase. “This puzzles me though.” Her face crumples. “Why were you so anxious that I keep this vase?”

 

“Well, “ Lettice explains. “Call me sentimental, but I felt that it is part of your home’s story and coming from an old family home surrounded by history, I thought it would be a shame to see it just tossed away. I hope you don’t disagree.”

 

Miss Ward considers the small Parian vase in her manicured hands for a moment before replacing it. “Not at all, you sentimental girl you!”

 

The pair smile at one another, happily.

 

*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.

 

**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.

 

***Born Lady Diana Manners, Diana Olivia Winifred Maud Cooper, Viscountess Norwich was an English aristocrat who was a famously glamorous social figure in London and Paris. As a young woman, she moved in a celebrated group of intellectuals known as the Coterie, most of whom were killed in the First World War. She married Duff Cooper in 1919. In her prime, she had the widespread reputation as the most beautiful young woman in England, and appeared in countless profiles, photographs and articles in newspapers and magazines. She was a film actress in the early 1920s and both she and her husband were very good friends with Edward VIII and were guests of his on a 1936 yacht cruise of the Adriatic which famously caused his affair with Wallis Simpson to become public knowledge.

 

****The ‘robe de style’ was introduced by French couturier Jeanne Lanvin around 1915. It consisted of a basque bodice with a broad neckline and an oval bouffant skirt supported by built in wire hoops. Reminiscent of the Spanish infanta-style dresses of the Seventeenth Century and the panniered robe à la française of the Eighteenth Century they were made of fabric in a solid colour, particularly a deep shade of robin’s egg blue which became known as Lanvin blue, and were ornamented with concentrated bursts of embroidery, ribbons or ornamental silk flowers.

 

*****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.

 

******The RMS Aquitania was a British ocean liner of the Cunard Line in service from 1914 to 1950. She was designed by Leonard Peskett and built by John Brown and Company in Clydebank, Scotland. She was launched on the 21st of April 1913 and sailed on her maiden voyage from Liverpool to New York on the 30th of May 1914. Like her sister ships the ill fated Lusitania and the renown Mauritania, she was beautifully appointed and was a luxurious way for first and second-class passengers to travel across the Atlantic between Britain and America.

 

This upper-class 1920s Art Deco drawing room scene may be different to how it may appear, for the whole scene is made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces I have had since I was a teenager and others that I have collected on my travels around the world.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The cherry blossom patterned tea set, which if you look closely at the blossoms, you will see they have gilt centres, I acquired from an online stockist on E-Bay. It stands on a silver tray that is part of tea set that comes from Smallskale Miniatures in England. To see the whole set, please click on this link: www.flickr.com/photos/40262251@N03/51111056404/in/photost.... The wonderful selection of biscuits on offer were made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The wooden Chinese dragon chairs and their matching low table ,that serves as Wanetta’s tea table, I found in a little shop in Singapore whilst I was holiday there. They are beautifully carved from cherrywood.

 

The Queen Anne settee made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, JBM with great attention to detail.

 

The black japanned cocktail cabinet with its gilded handles was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

All the glass comport on the mantlepiece has been blown and decorated and tinted by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The white and gold Georgian Revival clock next to it is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by Hall’s Miniature Clocks, supplied through Doreen Jeffries Small Wonders Miniatures in England. The ginger jar to the right of the clock is hand painted. It is an item that I bought from a high street doll house stockist when I was a teenager.

 

The yellow celadon vase with gold bamboo painted on it, I bought as part of a job lot of small oriental vases from an auction many years ago. The soapstone lidded jar in the foreground came from the same auction house, but from a different job lot of oriental miniature pieces.

 

Lettice’s black straw hat with yellow trimming and a yellow rose, which sits on the settee is made by Mrs. Denton of Muffin Lodge. It is an artisan miniature made just like a real hat! 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism 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. Lettice’s lemon yellow purse is also an artisan piece and is made of kid leather which is so soft. It is trimmed with very fine braid and the purse has a clasp made from a piece of earring. It come from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures in the United Kingdom. Lettice’s furled Art Deco umbrella is also a 1:12 artisan piece made of silk, acquired through an online stockist on E-Bay.

 

The vases of flowers on the mantle piece and side table are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.

 

The stylised Art Deco fire screen is made using thinly laser cut wood, made by Pat’s Miniatures in England.

 

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

 

Wanetta’s paintings, including the yellow portrait, were made in America by Amber’s Miniatures.

 

The miniature Oriental rug on the floor was made by hand by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney

 

The Georgian style fireplace I have had since I was a teenager and is made from moulded plaster.

 

The striking wallpaper is an art deco design that was very popular during the 1920s.

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 quartet of Bright Young Things** find themselves alone in the sprawling double storey Regency residence of white stucco with ample time on their hands owing to a lack of distractions beyond what parlour games from the Nineteenth Century they found mouldering in the games room cupboard. Encouraged by the consumption of several bottles of French champagne before, during and after dinner, Lettice, Margot, Dickie and Gerald have embarked upon a game of sardines*** after Lettice suggested them playing it earlier in the day. An old house, new to them all, full of wonderful nooks and crannies is too much of a temptation not to play the game. So far Gerald has been found hiding behind an old oriental screen in one of the disused bedrooms and Margot inside the capacious, if slightly musty, interior of an empty wardrobe. Lettice was the last of them to find Margot, so it is her turn to hide and await the other three sardines to seek her out.

 

Abandoning the ideas of the disused bedrooms upstairs, Lettice has returned to the ground floor of ‘Chi an Treth’ in search of a much better hiding place. Seeking out the service entrance, she quietly pushes open the green baize door studded with dull brass tacks. Like all the other doors and windows of ‘Chi an Treth’, it groans on its hinges, but gives way easily, leading Lettice into the servants’ quarters of the house with its white painted walls and bare lightbulb utilitarian décor. She is about to go into the kitchen to seek out the pantry or a dry store cupboard when her eye catches a narrow wooden door standing partially ajar at the end of a rather short corridor with no other doors off it and only a small bench for furniture.

 

“Perfect!” she breathes with excitement, scuttling along the old, worn flagstone floor, her louis heels clicking loudly. “Shhhh!” she hisses at them in her slightly inebriated state. “You’re sure to give me away if I don’t hurry!”

 

Unusually, the door opens outwards, and unlike the green baize door, whilst it does creak, its groaning protests are far quieter than its counterparts. Slipping inside, Lettice finds the light pull cord and with eyes closed, yanks on it, hoping that this rather out-of-the-way store cupboard has been electrified. Her wishes are granted as with a click and the almost imperceptible buzz of electricity, the room is suddenly flooded in a soft golden light from a naked bulb above. A small flurry of dust motes disturbed into the air are illuminated in the glow.

 

“Oh bully for Lord de Virre!” Lettice exclaims, clasping her elegant hands in delight. “Thank goodness he insisted the service area of the house was electrified as well as the living areas.”

 

Happy with her choice of hiding place, Lettice settles to await for the others to find her out and sardine with her.

 

Figuring it will take a little while for her friends to find her and finding sitting in one spot doing nothing rather boring, Lettice decides to explore her cupboard hiding place more thoroughly. She works out quickly that it must be a storage room for things for the nearby dining room as there are stacks of neatly folded table linens on the lower shelves. There are also interesting odd pieces of various dinner sets including tureens without lids, jugs, bowls and stacks of mismatched plates.

 

“Hhhmmm. No longer usable, but evidently too good to throw away.” she remarks as she picks up a blue and white sugar bowl without a lid bearing a pretty floral pattern. She turns it over in her hands thoughtfully. “This must be Regency era. I wonder if the old captain himself used this.”

 

Putting it back, she continues to explore, finding incomplete canteens of cutlery, lacquered stands for vases and bowls and boxes of any amount of different cleaning agents from different eras of the house’s history. Lettice quietly wonders whether there are cupboards like this at Glynes**** and if so, what she might find in them.

 

“Perhaps my own family’s long lost portrait,” she remarks aloud, even though there is no one to hear her. Peering curiously into a Huntley and Palmer’s***** biscuit box full of age discoloured napkins she adds, “Not that we have one that I know of.”

 

Stepping back, she suddenly discovers that the pale blue satin front of her bodice has come away with dust from the Huntly and Palmer’s box.

 

“Oh no!” she exclaims, batting at the sooty looking smears with her hands. “Oh, Gerald will kill me if I ruin one of his dresses!”

 

Unwilling to pull out any of the neatly folded table linens on the lower shelves out and sully them for fear of Mrs. Trevethan’s wrath if she is in fact the regular user of them, Lettice begins to fossick for alternatives to dust down her gown and manage, if not eradicate, any marks on her bodice. Forgetting the box of old linen napkins in her panic, she searches the shelves high and low for a cloth of some kind.

 

It is then that she spots a muslin cloth which looks quite clean dangling from a stack on an upper shelf. Lettice stretches up, but isn’t quite tall enough to reach it, even when she stands on her toes. She jumps up but misses it. She jumps again and feels the fabric teasingly caress her fingertips like a light breeze. She jumps a third time, and this time catches the fabric between her right index and middle fingers. Locking them tightly, she lands on the ground again, but doesn’t realise that by doing so she is also bringing with her the rest of the pile as well as the cloth, and down it comes, colliding crashing, making such a din that Lettice screams in fright, adding to the discordant cacophony as wood splinters, newspaper crumples and china shatters over the unforgiving flagstone floor.

 

The little broom cupboard is plunged into a thick silence in the immediate wake of the accident. Standing with her back against a shelf, Lettice is momentarily shocked into stillness before her body starts to react to the near miss of the shower of objects that now lie smashed and broken across the ground, as opening her tightly clenched eyes she starts to tremble and then sob.

 

“Lettice! Lettice!” Dickie cries are heard getting closer and closer to her hiding place along with the thunder of his approaching footsteps as he bursts into the cupboard. His eyes widen at the carnage of splintered porcelain, pottery and glass across the floor along with shattered pieces of wood. As he takes it in, he looks over at his friend, dusty and sobbing, but apparently unharmed. “Lettice dear girl! Are you alright?”

 

It is like the floodgates open with his words and Lettice stumbles across the broken items into Dickie’s arms and cries, uttering great juddering sobs as she clings to him.

 

“There, there, old girl,” Dickie soothes reassuringly, running his hands over Lettice’s blonde hair as she buries herself into his chest. “It’s alright. You’re alright. No harm done. You’ve just had a bad fright is all.”

 

“Lettice!” Gerald’s voice calls anxiously as his running steps grow louder before finding Dickie and Lettice on the threshold of the store cupboard. “Lettice are you alright? Answer me.”

 

“Shh. Shh.” Dickie mutters. “It’s alright old girl.”

 

“Oh my god, Lettice!” Margot gasps, appearing at the door. “Dickie! Dickie, is she injured? Oh! I’ll never forgive myself if she’s been hurt.”

 

“It’s alright darling, it’s fine Gerald.” Dickie assures them. “Lettice just had a rather nasty fright and a near miss is all.” He sways gently, rocking Lettice slowly as she continues to cry, only with less force now as she starts to calm down. Looking over his shoulder at his wife’s face, looking even more pale than usual against her dark hair he says, “Go fetch the brandy from the drawing room would you, my love?”

 

“Of course! Of course!” Margot replies breathlessly as she turns to leave.

 

“And for god’s sake, don’t run Margot. Just walk.” he chides as she goes. “We don’t want you turning an ankle on the flags to top it all off.”

 

“What happened?” Gerald asks, looking at the mess lying across the ground and the swirl of dust motes dancing in the golden light cast by the naked lightbulb above as it gently circles above.

 

“I’d say a few boxes went for a tumble, dear boy.” Dickie observes. “But there’s been no harm done to Lettice here. Now has there?” He directs his last comment to the young lady in his arms.

 

“Which is more than I can say for the captain’s old dinner service.” Gerald remarks, bending down and picking up a chunk of white pottery by its brightly painted handle. “What a mess you’ve made Lettuce Leaf.”

 

Sniffing, Lettice releases herself from Dickie’s arms and wipes her eyes with the back of her now rather grubby hand, smearing kohl across her cheek. “Don’t… don’t call me that, Gerald,” she says in a breaking voice. “You know I don’t like it.”

 

Gerald smiles gratefully firstly at her and then at Dickie. “No,” he smirks. “No harm done to Lettice.”

 

“Here’s the brandy,” Margot calls, appearing at the door clutching the crystal decanter from the drawing room and a faceted glass tumbler.

 

“Capital, my love.” Dickie says gratefully.

 

Gerald takes them from Margot and pours several large slugs of brandy into the tumbler and hands it to Lettice, who takes it in both of her still slightly trembling hands and raises the glass to her quivering lips.

 

“I say old girl,” Dickie pipes up cheerfully in an effort to break the tension. “I always took you for being an expert at playing sardines!”

 

“Yes darling,” Gerald adds. “You know that you’re supposed to let us find you, not alert us of your hiding place by creating a ruckus.”

 

“Or a mess,” Lettice snuffles. Looking down at the broken pieces she notices what is left of an old pendulum wall clock amongst the debris, it’s glass face covering shattered and its hands telling the incorrect time of ten past ten, no doubt never to move again. “Oh, I am sorry Dickie.”

 

“Come, come!” Dickie replies, placing a caring arm around his friend’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter about that. They’re just things. So long as you’re not hurt.” He smiles at her. “That’s what’s important.”

 

“Oh but Mrs. Trevethan!” Lettice protests. “She already has so much to do, looking after us and keeping the house tidy without this!” She extends a hand to the debris at her feet.

 

“Oh, pooh Mrs. Trevethan!” Margot replies, walking into the storeroom. “They don’t call this a broom cupboard for nothing!” She goes to a corner of the room which has remained undisturbed and pulls out a handmade birchwood broom and a metal bucket. “I’ll clean this up.” She looks over at Gerald, lolling languidly against the door frame holding the decanter of brandy. “And Gerald will help me, won’t you Gerald?”

 

“What? Me?” Gerald’s eyes grow wide as he looks back at Margot in shock as she withdraws a dustpan and brush. “But… but I’m a guest.”

 

“And such a helpful guest too,” Margot answers back in honeyed tones. “He designs frocks and sweeps floors.” She thrusts the dustpan and brush out to him forcefully. “What more could a hostess ask for?”

 

“But.. but what about Dickie?” he splutters.

 

“Dickie is playing nursemaid to Lettice,” she replies matter-of-factly. “So he’s got his hands full.”

 

“Evidently so have I.” Gerald replies glumly as he begrudgingly accepts the dustpan and brush from Margot.

 

Lettice giggles, but quickly smothers it with her hand as she receives a glare from her childhood friend.

 

“That’s better!” Dickie smiles. “Now, you just come out here, and we’ll leave Margot and Gerald to this.” He ushers Lettice out of the cupboard. “There’s a little seat out here in the hallway.”

 

The pair sit down on the small wooden bench in the hallway and watch in silence as Gerald and Margot start sorting things.

 

“Well, I don’t think this will ever go again.” Gerald chuckles as he picks up the wall clock and leans it against a corner of the shelves atop a stack of flour bags, its springs and cogs protesting metallically with its movement.

 

“If it even was going before, Gerald.” Margot replies. “I think our Mrs. Trevethan is a little bit of a hoarder, with so much space to store things and the run of the house her own until now.” She considers and assesses the mess on the floor with her left hand resting on her hip as she clutches the broom, looking a peculiar sight dressed in an elegant deep blue satin evening frock and high heels whilst holding it. “Now, any broken bits of wood can go into here.” She puts down a metal bucket. “And we’ll use it for firewood. And any broken glass and porcelain can go here.” She places a second bucket next to the first. “And I’ll get Mrs. Trevethan to deal with it in the morning.”

 

“I say,” Gerald remarks as he leans over a cracked square of wood and some discoloured tissue paper. “What’s this?”

 

“What’s what?” Margot asks as she starts sweeping broken pieces of pottery and shards of glass into a pile.

 

“This.” Gerald replies as he starts to move the splintered piece of wood.

 

“Gerald now isn’t a time for playing,” Margot says exasperatedly as she leans on the broom handle. “We’ll never get this cleaned up by breakfast time if you insist on fiddling with everything. Let’s just tidy this up. It won’t take long!”

 

“No!” protests Gerald, transfixed by what he has found. “I’m serious.”

 

“So am I, Gerald.” grumbles Margot.

 

Not hearing her querulous remark, he ignores her, and he moves closer to the pile of wood. “It looks like an old frame.” He shifts the wood aside. “A gilded frame.”

 

“Houses like this are full of old frames, Gerald,” Dickie calls from his seat on the bench next to Lettice where he cradles her with one arm, and the decanter of brandy in his other hand. “You know that. We English never like to throw away anything that might be of service at a later date.”

 

“No, this is different. It’s a beautiful frame. It must have been boxed up as it’s in splendid condition.”

 

Outside the store cupboard, Lettice and Dickie hear Margot’s broom cease its gentle swishing as the pair in the storeroom cease speaking.

 

“Margot? Gerald?” Dickie calls. “Are you alright?”

 

When no answer is forthcoming, both he and Lettice pick themselves up off the bench and walk to the door of the storeroom.

 

“I say you two,” Dickie continues. “What is going on here?” He looks at his wife and friend who are standing in the middle of the space, staring at the gilded frame as it gleams in the light, nestled comfortably amid a bed of crumpled tissue paper. His eyes widen.

 

“What is it, Gerald?” Lettice asks.

 

Gerald turns around and stares at Lettice, a look of amazement on his face. “See for yourself, darling.” he breathes.

 

Lettice looks at the painting inside the frame. Looking out from behind a thin layer of protective glass, a young lady with dark curls shaped into a stylish fashion by a host of red ribbons gazes over the bare shoulder. Two ropes of pearls hang about her elongated neck. However, it is her face, beautiful and radiant, with a knowing smile and soulful brown eyes that follow you about that catches her own eyes. She gasps.

 

“Lettice, dear girl,” breathes Dickie softly. “I think you may have inadvertently discovered the long lost Winterhatler****** of ‘Chi an Treth’.”

 

*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.

 

****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.

 

*****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.

 

******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 cluttered storage space full of interesting remnants of times past may not be all that it first appears, for this scene is made up of items from my miniatures collection, including pieces that I have had since I was a child.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The lost Winterhalter painting of ‘Chi an Treth’ in its gilded frame is a 1:12 artisan piece made by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The pendulum wall clock behind the frame I have had since I was a young child. It was either a Christmas or a birthday gift, but I cannot remember which.

 

The tin buckets, mop and birchwood broom are all artisan made miniatures that I have acquired in more recent years.

 

The feather duster on the top shelf I made myself using fledgling feathers (very spring) which I picked up off the lawn one day thinking they would come in handy in my miniatures collection sometime. I bound them with thread to the handle which is made from a fancy ended toothpick!

 

The table linens on the bottom right-hand shelves are all 1:12 size miniatures with beautiful tint stitching to finish each piece off. They were acquired from Michelle’s Miniatures in Sydney.

 

The porcelain jugs, bowls, tureens, plates and cups all come from different eBay online sellers.

 

The Huntly and Palmers’ box to the top right of the photograph comes from Jonesy’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom. 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 front bottom right hand corner of the photo is a can of Vim with stylised Art Deco packaging. It was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as was the box of Sunlight soap in the small tin bucked to the right of the photograph. Vim was a common cleaning agent, used in any Edwardian household. Vim scouring powder was created by William Hesketh Lever (1st Viscount Leverhulme) and introduced to the market in 1904. It was produced at Port Sunlight in Wirrel, Merseyside, a model village built by Lever Brothers for the workers of their factories which produced the popular soap brands Lux, Lifebuoy and Sunlight. Kleeneze is a homeware company started in Hanham, Bristol. The company's founder, Harry Crook, had emigrated to the United States with his family several years earlier, and whilst there joined Fuller Brush as a sales representative. He returned to Bristol several years later, and started a business making brushes and floor polish which were sold door-to-door by salesmen. Technically Kleeneze didn’t start until 1923, which is two years after this story is set. I couldn’t resist including it, as I doubt I will ever be able to photograph it as a main part of any other tableaux. Thus, I hope you will forgive me for this indulgence.

 

On the shelf to the left of the photograph is some Zebo grate polish made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in the United Kingdom. Zebo (or originally Zebra) Grate Polish was a substance launched in 1890 by Reckitts to polish the grate to a gleam using a mixture that consisted of pure black graphite finely ground, carbon black, a binding agent and a solvent to keep it fluid for application with a cloth or more commonly newspaper.

 

The tin buckets, wooden apple box, basket, mop, brush, pan and birchwood broom are all artisan made miniatures that I have acquired in more recent years.

Here are several add-on lenses and their home-made adapters for mounting on my Nikon 105mm f/2.5 AI-S lens. I keep an inventory of damaged filters for scavenging rings to make a variety of adapters for working with a number of primary lenses.

 

On the left is an RMS thread to 52mm adapter, shown fitted with a Gaertner 80 mm microscope objective. Below is an unmounted 60mm. Their knurled mounting "position" rings have been color coded with a marker for quick reference... red = very short working distance, blue = longer working distance. The mounted objective / aluminum disc (fitted with a 52mm ring), is ready to be mounted on the front of the 105mm with the Gaertner objective facing the subject.

 

At top center is an adapter made from empty 58mm filter rings, and a Zeiss Microscope "dove-tail" accessory adapter (silver ribbed screw). The adapter is shown fitted with a Voss 75mm enlarging lens, below is an unmounted Laminex 90mm. An enlarging lens is screwed into a lens mounting ring locked in place by the silver knob, its aperture always at its widest setting... to minimize vignetting. This mounting ring remains locked in place allowing for quick changing of a number of enlarging lenses. The short stack of empty rings on the right is screwed onto the lens adapter just above the red ring, serving as a spacer to prevent the enlarging lens from contacting the Nikon 105mm objective, the adapter being mounted with the enlarging lens facing the camera.

 

Both adapters have threaded rings that face the subject, for mounting a home-made frozen dinner bowl flash diffuser fitted with an empty Raynox UAC 2000 snap on lens mount adapter.

 

These lenses provide very good magnification when used on the 105mm, which is always used focused at infinity to provide the greatest working distance.

 

DSC-9298