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Weaver ants moving a dead millipede.
Wikipedia: Weaver ants or green ants (genus Oecophylla) are eusocial insects of the family Formicidae (order Hymenoptera). Weaver ants live in trees (they are obligately arboreal) and are known for their unique nest building behavior where workers construct nests by weaving together leaves using larval silk. Colonies can be extremely large consisting of more than a hundred nests spanning numerous trees and containing more than half a million workers. Like many other ant species, weaver ants prey on small insects and supplement their diet with carbohydrate-rich honeydew excreted by small insects (Hemiptera). Weaver ant workers exhibit a clear bimodal size distribution, with almost no overlap between the size of the minor and major workers. The major workers are approximately 8–10 mm (0.31–0.39 in) in length and the minors approximately half the length of the majors. Major workers forage, defend, maintain, and expand the colony whereas minor workers tend to stay within the nests where they care for the brood and 'milk' scale insects in or close to the nests.
Weaver ants vary in color from reddish to yellowish brown dependent on the species. Oecophylla smaragdina found in Australia often have bright green gasters. Weaver ants are highly territorial and workers aggressively defend their territories against intruders. Because they prey on insects harmful to their host trees, weaver ants are sometime used by indigenous farmers, particularly in southeast Asia, as natural biocontrol agents against agricultural pests. Although weaver ants lack a functional sting they can inflict painful bites and often spray formic acid directly at the bite wound resulting in intense discomfort.
© Leanne Boulton, All Rights Reserved
Candid street photography from Glasgow, Scotland. Fighting with reams of supplements comes with the newspaper territory, I'd hate to have a 'paper round' these days - at least, way back when, it was only the Sunday papers that had all of those supplements in. Enjoy!
Setophaga pinus from Jasper County, Texas.
These are probably our most abundant local warbler. They are resident here, but more numerous in the summer when our residents are supplemented by migrants that breed here in the summer and winter farther south.
Though they're not as bright as the Prothonotary Warbler or as flashy as the Yellow-throated Warbler, I like they're muddy yellow coloration with grayish wings and white flanks. This male would regularly stop on this old pine stump, sing, and drop to the ground in search of tasty invertebrate snacks.
The manor Senden was in the Middle Ages under the name Benekamp owned by the family of Senden called Benekamp . The heiress of this sex, Kunigunde, married Alexander (Sander) Droste to Kakesbeck (1357-1401). His father Albrecht was a brother of Heinrich Droste to Vischering, progenitor of the later barons and Count Droste to Vischering , who are to this day, among others, at the castle Vischering , the moated castle Darfeld and the Erbdrostenhof in Münster resident. Under the name Droste zu Senden a new family branch was formed.
The son of Sander and Kunigunde, Ludeke Droste (1405-1466), built the much later supplemented Castle Send as a festival house in the form of a moated castle. His son Sander II Droste zu Senden (1448-1502) built the mansion in its present form, which is probably the oldest surviving architectural monument of this type and model for buildings of the Westphalian Renaissance with its three-level gable. Presumably from this time also comes the southern facing facade of the connecting structure with a series of stone cross windows and loopholes.
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.
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:
Garcinia cambogia, known also as gambooge, Brindal Berry, gummi-gutta, Malabar Tamarind or Kudam Puli, is a favorite ingredient in every Malayali's fish curry. It is the fruit of a moderate-sized, evergreen tree native to South India and Southeast Asia. This is regularly used in Indian medicine. It is now considered as herbal appetite suppressant and weight-loss supplement.
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:
Kampong Phluk is a commune in Prasat Bakong District in Siem Reap Province Cambodia. The name means "Harbor of the Tusks". The community largely depends on fishing for survival, spending Cambodia's wet season (May-October) fishing. During the dry season (November-April) as the river thins due to receding water, many turn to farming to supplement their income. Tourism, which started in the village approximately 10 years ago, is also a growing part of the local economy.
As of 2019, the commune has 911 families with a total population of 3,707. The commune consist of three villages: Tnaot Kambot, Dey Krahom and Kok Kdol.
The village is on the Tonlé Sap which is a seasonally inundated freshwater lake, Tonlé Sap Lake, and an attached river, the 120 km long Tonlé Sap River, that connects the lake to the Mekong River. Wikipedia
The muddy river is the Tahas River which flows through the Kampong Phluk village.
Notice that the river is narrow at this point and there is a person on the other side. The photo is blurry because the car is going fast on a bumpy road.
Kampong Phluk is a commune in Prasat Bakong District in Siem Reap Province Cambodia. The name means "Harbor of the Tusks". The community largely depends on fishing for survival, spending Cambodia's wet season (May-October) fishing. During the dry season (November-April) as the river thins due to receding water, many turn to farming to supplement their income. Tourism, which started in the village approximately 10 years ago, is also a growing part of the local economy.
As of 2019, the commune has 911 families with a total population of 3,707. The commune consist of three villages: Tnaot Kambot, Dey Krahom and Kok Kdol.
The village is on the Tonlé Sap which is a seasonally inundated freshwater lake, Tonlé Sap Lake, and an attached river, the 120 km long Tonlé Sap River, that connects the lake to the Mekong River. Wikipedia
The muddy river is the Tahas River which flows through the Kampong Phluk village.
Damselfly caught in sundew, a plant that "eats" insects to supplement its nutrician as it lives on barren soil. Don't be fooled by the "happy" expression. Its fate is sealed: dinner for the Sundew.
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).
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The superb fairywren (Malurus cyaneus) is a passerine bird in the Australasian wren family, Maluridae, and is common and familiar across south-eastern Australia. The species is sedentary and territorial, also exhibiting a high degree of sexual dimorphism; the male in breeding plumage has a striking bright blue forehead, ear coverts, mantle, and tail, with a black mask and black or dark blue throat. Non-breeding males, females and juveniles are predominantly grey-brown in colour; this gave the early impression that males were polygamous, as all dull-coloured birds were taken for females. Six subspecies groups are recognized: three larger and darker forms from Tasmania, Flinders and King Island respectively, and three smaller and paler forms from mainland Australia and Kangaroo Island. Like other fairywrens, the superb fairywren is notable for several peculiar behavioural characteristics; the birds are socially monogamous and sexually promiscuous, meaning that although they form pairs between one male and one female, each partner will mate with other individuals and even assist in raising the young from such pairings. Male wrens pluck yellow petals and display them to females as part of a courtship display. The superb fairywren can be found in almost any area that has at least a little dense undergrowth for shelter, including grasslands with scattered shrubs, moderately thick forest, woodland, heaths, and domestic gardens. It has adapted well to the urban environment and is common in suburban Sydney, Canberra and Melbourne. The superb fairywren eats mostly insects and supplements its diet with seeds. 40953
Kampong Phluk is a commune in Prasat Bakong District in Siem Reap Province Cambodia. The name means "Harbor of the Tusks". The community largely depends on fishing for survival, spending Cambodia's wet season (May-October) fishing. During the dry season (November-April) as the river thins due to receding water, many turn to farming to supplement their income. Tourism, which started in the village approximately 10 years ago, is also a growing part of the local economy.
As of 2019, the commune has 911 families with a total population of 3,707. The commune consist of three villages: Tnaot Kambot, Dey Krahom and Kok Kdol.
LEGO Supplemental Set 433 contains six Light Gray HO Scale Street Lights. These Boxes in the 4XX series were UK/AUS issue only and had the tagline 'The Building Toy'. I personally like the box art with a painted arty way of showing the contents.
Vitamin D is needed to keep muscles and bones healthy (musculoskeletal health). However, we know that dietary sources of vitamin D are limited and that we obtain the majority of our vitamin D from exposure of our skin to the sun during the spring and summer.
Existing advice is for everyone to consider taking a daily dietary supplement of vitamin D between October and March, and for some at risk groups, including people who are not often outdoors such as the frail or housebound, and those with dark skin, to consider taking a dietary supplement throughout the year. However, we know that uptake of dietary supplements is poor and intakes of vitamin D fail to meet recommendations in all age groups.
Another STP working captured on a Sunday, as 66569 works north towards Craven Arms with a spent ballast engineers from Severn Tunnel Junction to Crewe Basford Hall. The former Onibury Station House is visible at the rear of the train.
The Marches is pretty devoid of freight traffic with the lack of coal workings, and less frequent steel trips to Shotton too, so anything is a bonus. Sunday 7.2.16
For the Phoenix Railway Photographic Circle on-line Journal - click on the link:
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.
Nes 30/11/2024 13h17
Street art Frankey gives the city small inconspicuous surprises. Sometimes quite large, sometimes very small. Every week a photo with one of his recent works appears in the supplement to the newspaper Het Parool. A great opportunity to take a closer look at his work. Sometimes you have to search to find it and sometimes it is already gone.
Hanging street lamppost transformed into a space rocket in the Amsterdam School architecture style. Made possible by companies and shops located at the Nes.
SPACE ROCKETS 020
Nes, Amsterdam Centrum
November 2024 (Het Parool, 21/11/2024)
Streetart Frankey
Streetart Frankey (pseudonym of Frank de Ruwe) is a Dutch artist who wants to positively influence the street scene with relatively small and often inconspicuous works of art.
He grew up in Nijmegen, father was an inventor at Philips Netherlands. He studied at Delft University of Technology (Industrial design). In daily life director of and working for design collective Natwerk. In Amsterdam, many of his works in the street art category can be found on buildings, streets and bridges, often in addition to existing building elements. He himself about his work;
"I want to push boundaries. Art has no boundaries, that's why I like it so much."
In 2019, a special page has been dedicated to his art in Het Parool for a number of years; first he took care of that section himself, later he had to leave that work to others because of busy work. A little later his work Eberhard van der Laan appeared above the entrance of Paradiso.
One of the works that inspired him is the Boomzagertje in the Leidsebosje, a work by an as yet unknown artist.
[ Wikipedia ]
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today we have not strayed far from Cavendish Mews and are still in Mayfair, but are far enough away in her mind that Lettice has chosen to take a taxi, hailed for her by her maid Edith from the nearby square, to Bond Street where the premises of the Portland Gallery stand. She is sharing the taxi with her friend Minnie Palmerston, a banker’s wife whom she met at the Embassy Club, which is also on Bond Street. Minnie decided to attempt to redecorate her own dining room with disastrous results, so she has enlisted the assistance of Lettice, who has already established a colour palette and has ordered wall hangings and fabric for new dining chairs, to repair the damage she has done. As the taxi pulls up to the kerb, Lettice and Minnie both peer through the window at the impressive three storey Victorian building with Portland stone facings, which is where the gallery takes its name from. The ground floor part of the façade has been modernised in more recent times, and now sports magnificent plate glass windows through which passers by may look at the beautiful objets d’art artfully presented in them. Currently one window is full of brilliantly painted pottery which reminds Lettice of her Aunt Eglantine’s works, whilst the other has a single modernist statue of white marble set up against a rich black velvet curtain, bathed in light from a spotlight, giving it a very dramatic look.
“That’ll be four and six, mum.” the taxi driver says through the glass divider between the driver’s compartment and the passenger carriage as he leans back in his seat. Stretching his arm across the seat he tips his cap in deference to the well dressed ladies swathed in fox furs and stylish hats in the black leather back seat.
After paying the taxi fare for them both, Minnie encourages Lettice to alight from the taxi first. As they spill from its door, they are both mid laugh over an amusing story about a mutual acquaintance that Minnie shared with Lettice.
Minnie remarks excitedly as the taxi chugs away belching out fumes, “And thinking of gossip, I read in the newspapers that your friend Elizabeth* is going to be the Princess of Wales**.”
“You’re such a gossip, Minnie darling.” Lettice chides her friend mildly as she guides them both across the busy footpath and towards the door. “You’d be the last person I’d share Elizabeth’s confidences with.”
“So she has…”
“If she had shared any with me!” Lettice quickly extinguishes Minnie’s burrowing for gossip with a definite statement in serious and well modulated tones. “As it is, I haven’t seen her since she went to spend Christmas at St Paul’s, Walden Bury. Now come along. We are here to pick objets d’art for your dining room, not prattle about idle gossip.”
“You’re such a spoil sport!” Minnie sulks.
“I’m not when it comes to interior design.” Lettice assures her. “Now let’s find something to go with those wonderful paintings of your husband’s.”
Lettice ushers Minnie through the full length plate glass doors on which the Portland Galleries’ name is written in elegant gilt font along with the words ‘by appointment only’ printed underneath in the same hand. As the door closes behind them, shutting out the sound of noisy automobiles and chugging busses and the clatter of footsteps on the pavement and the chatter of shoppers, the air about them changes. In the crisp and cool silence of the gallery the ladies’ heels click across the black and white marble floor.
“Now, I’ve ordered wall hangings from Jeffrey and Company*** to deck out the dining room. It’s metallic and red dioxide in colour,” Lettice enthuses, suddenly aware of how her well modulated tones bounce off the hard surfaces and objects on display in the gallery. “It’s so striking, I know you’re just going to love it.”
“Hhhmmm,” Minnie muses in a non-committal fashion as her eye flits around the red painted gallery hung with paintings and populated with tables, cabinets and pillars upon which stand different sculptures and other artistic pieces.
“The wallpaper, Minnie,” Lettice sighs in exasperation, misunderstanding Minnie. “I’ve ordered it. Goodness, I do wish you’d concentrate for more than five minutes for a change.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that, Lettice darling.”
“About what?”
“About the wall hangings Lettice darling.” Minnie purrs. “I’m wondering whether we shouldn’t reconsider how the dining room is to be furbished.”
“Reconsider, Minnie?” Lettice looks with shocked and wide eyes at her friend. “What on earth do you mean, reconsider?”
“Well, I was just wondering whether it mightn’t be better to have gold wallpaper instead.”
“Gold wallpaper?”
“You know darling, to represent the golden sands of Egypt.” Minnie says with a dramatic air, raising her right hand to her forehead, her eyes drifting upwards in the affected stance of a silent film star. “Everyone I know is going positively wild over anything Egyptian after the discovery of that boy king’s tomb****. Simply mad for it, darling! All of Charles’ frightfully boring banking friends can talk of nothing else, and nor can their wives.” She giggles. “They’ve finally got something interesting to talk about.”
“But we’re here today, Minnie darling, to pick ornaments to decorate the room with. The papers are already ordered at great expense.” Lettice looks with concern at her friend. “You can’t go and change your mind now.”
“Of course I can, Lettice darling!” Minnie scoffs with a wave of her maroon coloured leather glove clad hand. “Charles is footing the bill. He’ll pay for whatever you ask, carte blanche.” She cocks one of her well manicured eyebrows over her glittering eye. “He’s convinced that anything you choose will be a patch on anything I’ve done thus far, which in reality probably isn’t too far from the truth.”
“Exactly!” Lettice retorts. “And I’ve chosen red dioxide as the colour for the dining room, not gold.”
“But gold would be so fashionable, Lettice darling!” Minnie insists. “So now!”
“And it might just as quickly be yesterday, tomorrow.” Lettice retorts, irritated at little by the fickle nature of her friend. “I’m trying to help you come up with a dining room that won’t need redecorating for a while.”
“But I…”
Lettice silences Minnie by holding up her navy glove clad hands in protestation. “I promise that it will be modern and fashionable, and yet timeless too.” She plays her trump card knowingly. “Don’t you trust me, Minnie darling?” She gazes at her friend with dewy eyes. “After all, you did ask me to redecorate the room for you. Don’t you trust my judgement any more?”
“Oh… oh no!” Minnie stutters in reply. “No! Of course I do. Your taste is excellent. Of course, you’re right.”
“Then metallic red dioxide wallpaper it will be.” Lettice says with a satisfied sigh.
“Well, I’ll settle for some rather exotic looking Egyptian statues then,” Minnie says. “Like that one you have on your mantle.”
“My ‘Theban Dancer’***** do you mean?”
“Yes, yes! She’s the one!” Minnie enthuses. “Or that daringly modern one you have on your dining room sideboard.”
“Well, they both came from the Portland Gallery, so I’m sure we can find some beautiful examples to suit you here.” Lettice assures her as she entwines her arm with her friend. “Come on, let’s see what there is.”
“Ah! Miss Chetwynd!” a mature frock coated man greets Lettice with a broad smile. Taking her hand, he kisses it affectionately, yet with respect. “How do you do.”
“Mr. Chilvers!” Lettice greets the smartly dressed man with a warm smile and the familiarity of the regular client that she is. “How do you do.”
“And to what do we owe this great pleasure of your visit today, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Chilvers asks obsequiously, releasing Lettice’s fingers and clasping his hands together in front of him.
Born Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde in the Russian seaside resort town of Odessa, the patrician gallery owner with the beautifully manicured and curled handlebar moustache fled Russia after the Revolution, escaping aboard the battleship HMS Marlborough****** from Yalta in 1919 along with the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family. Arriving a in London later that year after going via Constantinople and Genoa, the Russian emigree was far more fortunate than others around him on the London docks, possessing valuable jewels smuggled out of Russia in the lining of his coat. Changing his name to the more palatable Peter Chilvers, he sold most of the jewels he had, shunned his Russian heritage, honed his English accent and manners, to reinvent himself as the very British owner of an art gallery in Bond Street, thus enabling him to continue what he enjoyed most about being Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde and enjoy a thriving arts scene. As one of his more high profile customers, Mr. Chilvers happily fawns over Lettice, delighted that she chooses to patronise his very exclusive gallery for pieces to decorate the interiors of her clients’ homes with.
“Mr. Chilvers, this is my friend Minnie Palmerston. I’m redecorating her St John’s Wood dining room. Minnie, this is Mr Chilvers. He owns and runs the Portland Gallery.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” Mr. Chilvers raises Minnie’s hand to his lips and kisses it, all the while admiring the beautiful redhead with striking green eyes, swathed in maroon and draped in red fox furs.
“Minnie’s taken rather a shine to my ‘Theban Dancer’ and my ‘Modern Woman’, Mr. Chilvers,” Lettice explains. “Perhaps you can show us something of a similar vein?”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Chetwynd, Miss Palmerston,” Mr. Chilvers croons. “Right this way. I think I might have just the thing.”
“He’s the gallery owner,” Lettice whispers to her friend behind her hand. “He always thinks he has something.” She pauses. “Although to be fair, this is an amazing gallery and he often does.”
Minnie looks at Lettice with a hopeful smile.
Indicating for them to follow him with an open palm gesture, Mr. Chilvers leads the ladies through the gallery.
The rich red walls are hung with all kinds of modern paintings, many not dissimilar to those that grace the walls of Minnie and Charles’ dining room. Lettice’s own drawing room paintings come from the gallery. Dour street scenes and vibrant abstract still lives hang alongside dynamic portraits. Most of the furnishings are black japanned wood and made in a very stark, yet stylish way, so as not to distract from the artworks that sit upon their surfaces. Hand painted pottery in bright colours and ornate spun glass pieces sit upon tables and buffets and inside mirrored cabinets whilst statues stand proudly on pillars and stands. The air is rich with the fragrance of ornate floral arrangements strategically set about the gallery as colourful foils to compliment various artworks. Everywhere there is colour and interest.
“What kind of display are you looking for, ladies?” Mr. Chilvers asks as Lettice and Minnie follow in his sweetly spiced eau de cologne wake.
Minnie looks alarmingly at Lettice, who quickly answers for them both, “I have two rather tall pillars that will stand either side of an existing new tile fireplace. I also have a simple black japanned sideboard.”
“Is there a mantle on the fireplace?” the gallery owner asks as they walk.
“A small central recess only, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice says knowledgably, much to Minnie’s surprise, for even as the owner of the fireplace she has never so much as considered whether it has a mantle or not.
“And the specifics of the room?” Mr. Chilvers asks, running his index finger along the edge of a display table as he does, rubbing his clean thumb and forefinger together and releasing a satisfied sigh as he does.
“It’s my dining room.” Minnie begins. “I tried to do the redecoration myself but…”
Lettice quickly places a forbidding arm across Minnie’s chest, silencing her. Minnie glances at her friend whose eyes widen as she shakes her head to indicate that the gallery owner doesn’t need to know about Minnie’s decorative disasters.
“The room,” Lettice says smoothly over the top of her friend. “Is in an early Victorian townhouse, so it has high ceilings and is tall rather than wide. I have metallic red dioxide papers embossed with leaves and flowers on order from Jeffrey and Company. Mr. and Mrs. Palmerston are devotees of modern art, Mr. Chilvers, so the paper, whilst striking, is really there to support their paintings already chosen for the room.”
“Always the arbiter of smart and select taste, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Chilvers replies with a smile as he glances back at the two ladies and tweaks his moustache. “So, something tall, perhaps, with some gilding?”
“Quite so, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice agrees.
“And nothing too ornate, of course.” he adds.
“Indeed no, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice concurs.
“You are very fortunate in your choice of interior designer, Mrs. Palmerston.” He turns back and keeps walking. “Too many women with too much time on their hands take it upon themselves to redecorate rooms, creating a disastrous and gauche pale imitation of what they have seen elsewhere, which simply doesn’t suit their homes.”
Minnie’s eyes grow wide as she glances at Lettice in alarm. Lettice silently raises he finger to her lips to indicate that she hasn’t said anything about Minnie’s attempt to redecorate her dining room herself, which makes Minnie sigh with relief.
“Rather like creating a Maida Vale dining room in St John’s Wood, would you say, Mr. Chilvers?” Minnie asks a little nervously.
“Quite so, Mrs. Palmerston. Well said.” he agrees as his pace slows. “I do so dislike bored ladies like that. I have no time for artless women who dabble in art, and I won’t have them in my gallery.”
“Oh!” Minnie bluffs with false joviality. “Oh, my husband and I quite agree with you. There is nothing worse than a poorly decorated room, Mr. Chilvers, full of tasteless tatt.” She is so grateful that the imposing gallery owner has his back to her so that he cannot see the colour of her face betraying the truth of Minnie’s experience.
“Indeed, Mrs. Palmerston,” he agrees. “But that is something you won’t have to suffer under the skilled artistic eye and adept hands of Miss Chetwynd. She has found the profession that suits and showcases her skills admirably.”
“Yes,” Minnie says, blushing deeper and smiling coyly. “I’ve seen the work she has done to the home of friends of ours.”
“Ah,” Mr. Chilvers purrs as they reach a corner of the gallery. He stops in front of a beautiful, and unusually, round flame wood cabinet on a large pedestal. “I think, ladies, you might find something to your liking in here.” He opens up the doors and turns to the two ladies. “A selection of modern sculpture and some of my finest Venetian glass*******. There are also some rather fetching sculptures to either side.” he adds with a wave of his elegant hand. “Well, I’ll leave you to discuss your choices with your client, Miss Chetwynd. I do hope, Mrs. Palmerston, that you will find something to please you.”
The two ladies watch him sweep away before turning to the cabinet.
“Thank you for not telling Mr. Chilvers about my… you know.” Minnie starts gesticulating wildly.
“You nearly gave the game up yourself, Minnie.” Lettice chides her friend kindly in a conspiratorial whisper. “Mr. Chilvers is a frightful snob. It’s almost like he comes from the highest echelons of some European aristocracy, and yet even with Leslie’s help I’ve been unable to trace him prior to opening this gallery in 1920. He’s quite the mystery! And,” she adds. “He doesn’t let just anyone shop here, even by appointment.”
“Which would explain why Charles and I have never been here.” Minnie replies.
“Indeed. Well, I think Mr. Chilvers would refuse Charles automatically on face value. Being a banker, I think he would consider him far too gauche and newly minted for his establishment.”
“Oh.” Minnie casts her eyes downwards.
“Don’t do that, Minnie darling!” Lettice puts a comforting arm around her friend. “You are a good person, and so is Charles.” She rubs Minnie’s arm. “Don’t worry about Mr. Chilvers snobbery. I can already tell that he likes you. I knew he would admire you for your striking fiery red tresses and stunning green eyes. He finds you intriguing.”
“He does?”
“Yes. He didn’t even acknowledge poor Margot on the one occasion I brought her here.”
“But she’s richer and better connected than I am.”
“Sshhh!” Lettice shushes her friend with a finger to her lips. “He obviously doesn’t think so.”
“It’s a funny way to run a business, I must say.” Minnie says as she picks up a beautiful glass comport of aqua blue and toys with it in her hands, feeling the cool material between her fingers.
“Mr. Chilvers seems to rise above all that, which is why I think he is from a very aristocratic European family. Italian perhaps?” She picks up a tall Venetian glass vase with amber decoration around its base, holding it up as if it serves as proof as to Mr. Chilver’s lineage.
“With a name like Chilvers, he can hardly be Italian, Lettice darling!” Minnie replaces the comport on the shelf.
“Oh, you can be so dense sometimes, Minnie darling!” Lettice giggles. “You don’t imagine that Chilvers is his real name, do you?”
“Well…” Minnie gulps.
“Of course it’s not! If he’s an Italian prince, or count, he probably has a real family name of Chiavaroli or Chiodini.” Lettice giggles girlishly as the syllables roll around like a foreign language in her mouth. “Anyway, going back to what I was saying before, if through being connected with me, you receive a foray into the joys of exclusive shopping here, I know you will find many a fine piece to ornament your home with. Once Mr. Chilvers knows you have taste.”
“He hasn’t seen the disaster I made of my dining room.” Minnie blurts out, interrupting her friend.
“And he doesn’t have to know about it.” Lettice soothes quietly. “Just keep mum.”
“Yes!” Minnie sighs. “Me and my big mouth. One day you won’t be around, and I’ll get myself into real trouble.”
“Well, luckily I was here, Minnie darling.” Lettice says with a smile. “Anyway, once Mr. Chilvers knows you, he’ll forgive you if you bring Charles: especially if Charles brings an open chequebook.”
“Do you think he might be Russian?” Minnie asks quietly, looking discreetly over her shoulder to Mr. Chilvers as he sits at his black japanned desk in the middle of the gallery, scribbling notes into a ledger.
“Who?” Lettice asks, wide eyed as she removes the copy of the ‘Theban Dancer’ from the middle shelf of the cabinet and considers whether it will fit onto the recess of Minnie’s dining room fireplace.
“Mr. Chilvers, of course, Lettice darling! Now who’s being dense?”
“Good heavens no!” Lettice scoffs. “He’s English is far too good and his manners too impeccable to be a Russian emigree. Have you ever met any? They can be quite horrible and so terribly haughty, even if they are now all as poor as church mice.” She too looks over to Mr. Chilvers, who either doesn’t know he is being scrutinised, or is far too polite to acknowledge it. “No, he’s Italian, I’m sure of it.” She sighs as she admires his dark hair, pale skin, and sharp cheekbones. “Now, this isn’t helping us pick any pieces for your dining room, Minnie darling. I was thinking that the ‘Theban Dancer’ you like might just fit on the small recess on your fireplace. Do you really like her enough to want her? Is she exotic enough for your current tastes?”
The two women begin to look earnestly at the objects around them to select pieces for Minnie’s dining room, and all the while, Mr. Chilvers writes in his ledger, the nib of his fountain pen scratching across the surface of the page, his ears ever alert to every whisper of conversation in his gallery, but his eyes remaining downcast out of deference for Lettice, one of his favourite customers.
*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.
**In early January 1923 a newspaper ran a gossip item that Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon was soon to be engaged to Prince Albert the Duke of York’s elder brother, the Prince of Wales – a story that reportedly annoyed her. Rumour has it that part of Elizabeth’s hesitance to marry Albert was due to her being in love with David – the loftier “catch” – however, these stories are highly unlikely and probably have more to do with trying to explain her later hatred for Wallis Simpson. More likely, she knew that the story meant more pressure for her to make up her mind about Albert and she knew the rumour would wound him
***Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Company’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.
****On the 4th of November 1922, English archaeologist Howard Carter and his men discovered the entrance to the boy king, Pharaoh Tutankhamun's tomb in the Valley of the Kings, sparking a worldwide interest in all things Egyptian. The craze he started became known as Tutmania, and it inspired everything from the architecture of public building and private houses alike to interior design and fashion. Famously at the time, socialite Dolores Denis Denison applied one of the earliest examples of getting the media of the day to pay attention to her because of her dress by arriving at the prestigious private view of the King Tut Exhibition in London, dressed as an Egyptian mummy complete in a golden sarcophagus and had to be carried inside by her driver and a hired man. Although it started before the discovery of the tomb, the Art Deco movement was greatly influenced by Egyptian style. Many of the iconic decorative symbols we associate with the movement today came about because of Howard Carter’s discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb in the Valley of the Kings.
*****The exquisite sculpture “Theban Dancer” was cast by the esteemed Belgian-French sculptor Claire Jeanne Roberte Colinet, and is one of the most recognised figures representing the exoticism and frenetic energy and movement of the 1920s. Cast in the 1920s, the “Theban Dancer” is gilt and enamelled bronze, usually sitting upon a marble plinth.
******In 1919, King George V sent the HMS Marlborough to rescue his Aunt the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna after the urging of his mother Queen Dowager Alexandra. On the 5th of April 1919, the HMS Marlborough arrived in Sevastopol before proceeding to Yalta the following day. The ship took Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family including Grand Duke Nicholas and Prince Felix Yusupov aboard in Yalta on the evening of the 7th. The Empress refused to leave unless the British also evacuated wounded and sick soldiers, along with any civilians that also wanted to escape the advancing Bolsheviks. The Russian entourage aboard Marlborough numbered some 80 people, including forty four members of the Royal Family and nobility, with a number of governesses, nurses, maids and manservants, plus several hundred cases of luggage
*******Venetian glass is glassware made in Venice, typically on the island of Murano near the city. Traditionally it is made with a soda–lime "metal" and is typically elaborately decorated, with various "hot" glass-forming techniques, as well as gilding, enamel, or engraving. Production has been concentrated on the Venetian island of Murano since the Thirteenth Century. Today Murano is known for its art glass, but it has a long history of innovations in glassmaking in addition to its artistic fame - and was Europe's major centre for luxury glass from the High Middle Ages to the Italian Renaissance. During the Fifteenth Century, Murano glassmakers created cristallo—which was almost transparent and considered the finest glass in the world. Murano glassmakers also developed a white-coloured glass (milk glass called lattimo) that looked like porcelain. They later became Europe's finest makers of mirrors.
Whilst this up-market London gallery interior complete with artisan pieces may appear real to you, it is in fact made up completely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces I have had since I was a teenager.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On the top shelf of the round Art Deco display cabinet are a selection of 1:12 artisan glass pieces. Each one is made from real blown glass and is decorated with spun glass patterning in a different colour. They all come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
On the middle shelf is a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality of the detail in their pieces, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925. She is flanked by two hand coloured spun glass comports. These I have had since I was a teenager. I acquired them from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house miniatures.
The New Woman Art Deco statue on the bottom shelf of the cabinet is a hand painted 1:12 artisan pewter miniature also from Warwick Miniatures Ireland. She is named “Christianne”, and she also comes in a more risqué form as a nude.
The very striking round mirror backed mahogany Art Deco cabinet is made by high end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. It comes from their Swanson range. The two pedestals either side of it were also made by Bespaq.
The two statues on the pedestals are 1:12 artisan miniatures also from Warwick Miniatures Ireland, however they have been had painted by me.
The black console table and the table in the foreground were made by Town Hall Miniatures.
The two porcelain vases on the console table have been hand painted and came from an online miniatures specialist on E-Bay. The glass comport is a 1:12 artisan glass piece made from real blown glass and is hand tinted. It comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The paintings on the wall come from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The vase of flowers in the foreground is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.
The Clarice Cliff style Art Deco tea set and tray on the table in the foreground have been hand painted and came from an online miniatures specialist on E-Bay.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Tonight however, we are at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand*, near Covent Garden and the theatre district of London’s West End. Here, amidst the thoroughly English surrounds of wooden panelling, beautifully executed watercolours of British landscapes and floral arrangements in muted colours, men in white waistcoats and women a-glitter with jewels are ushered into the dining room where they are seated in high backed chairs around tables dressed in crisp white tablecloths and set with sparkling silver and gilt china. The large room is very heavily populated with theatre patrons enjoying a meal before a show and therefore it is full of vociferous conversation, boisterous laughter, the clink of glasses and the scrape of cutlery against crockery as the diners enjoy the traditional English repast that Simpson’s is famous for. Seated at a table for two along the periphery of the main dining room, Lettice and Selwyn are served their roast beef dinner by a carver. Lettice is being taken to dinner by Selwyn to celebrate the successful completion of his very first architectural commission: a modest house built in the northern London suburb of Highgate built for a merchant and his wife. Lettice has her own reason to celebrate too, but has yet to elaborate upon it with Selwyn.
“I do so like Simpson’s.” Lettice remarks as the carver places a plate of steaming roast beef and vegetables in front of her. Glancing around her, she admires the two watercolours on the wall behind her and the jolly arrangement of yellow asters and purple and yellow pansies on the small console to her right.
“I’m glad you approve.” Selwyn laughs, smiling at his companion.
“I’m always put in mind of Mr. Wilcox whenever it’s mentioned, or I come here.”
“Who is Mr. Wilcox?” Selwyn asks, his handsome features showing the signs of deep thought.
“Oh,” Lettice laughs and flaps her hand, the jewels on her fingers winking gaily in the light. “No-one. Well, no one real, that is.” she clarifies. “Mr. Wilcox is a character in E. M. Forster’s novel, ‘Howard’s End’**, who thoroughly approves of Simpson’s because it is so thoroughly English and respectable, just like him.”
“I can’t say I’ve read that novel, or anything by him.” Selwyn admits as the carver places his serving of roast beef and vegetables before him. “My head has been too buried in books on architecture.” Selwyn reaches into the breast pocket of his white dinner vest and takes out a few coins which he slips discreetly to the man in the crisp white uniform and chef’s hat.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” the carver says, tapping the brim of his hat in deference to the Duke of Walmsford’s son before placing the roast beef, selection of vegetables in tureens and gravy onto the crisp white linen tabletop, and then wheeling his carving trolley away.
Lettice giggles as she picks up the gravy boat and pours steaming thick and rich dark reddish brown gravy over her dinner.
“Well, what’s so funny, my Angel?” Selwyn asks with a querying look as he accepts the gravy boat from Lettice’s outstretched hands and pours some on his own meal.
“Oh you are just like Mr. Wilcox.”
“You know,” He picks up his silver cutlery. “And please pardon me for saying this, but I didn’t take you for reading much more than romance novels.”
“Oh!” Lettice laughs in mild outrage. “Thank you very much, Selwyn!”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Selwyn defends himself, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter onto the fluted gilt edged white dinner plate.
“Then what do you mean?” Lettice asks, trying to remain serious as she looks into the worried face of her dinner companion, which makes her want to reach out and stroke his cheek affectionately and smile.
“I… I merely meant that most ladies of your background have had very little education, or inclination to want to read anything more than romance novels.”
“Well,” Lettice admits. “I must confess that I do quite enjoy romance novels, and I wouldn’t be as well read if it weren’t for Margot.”
“Aha!” Selwyn laughs, popping some carrots smeared in gravy into his mouth.
“But,” Lettice quickly adds in her defence. “I’ll have you know that my father is a great believer in the education of ladies, and so was my grandfather, and I applied myself when I studied, and I enjoyed it.”
“It shows my Angel,” Selwyn assures her. “You are far more interesting than any other lady I’ve met in polite society, most of whom haven’t an original thought in their heads.”
“I take after my Aunt Egg, who learned Greek amongst other languages, which served her well when she decided to go there to study ancient art. Although Mater insisted that I not go to a girl’s school, so I would not become a bluestocking*** and thereby spoil my marriage prospects by demonstrating…”
“That’s what I was implying,” Selwyn interrupts in desperate defence of his incorrect assumptions about Lettice. “Most girls I have met either feign a lack of intelligence, or more often genuinely are dim witted. Admittedly, it’s not really their fault. With mothers like yours, who believe that the only position for a girl of good breeding is that of marriage, they seldom get educated well, and their brains sit idle.”
“Well, I have a brain, and I know how to use it. Pater and Aunt Egg drummed into me the importance of intelligence as well as good manners and looks in women of society.”
“Well, there are a great many ladies whom I have met who could take a leaf out of your book. I know you have a mind of your own, my Angel,” Selwyn purrs. “And that’s one of the many attributes about you that I like. Having a conversation with you about art, or my passion of architecture, is so refreshing in comparison to speaking about floral arrangements or the weather, as I shall soon have to when I start escorting my cousin Pamela for the London Season.”
Lettice cannot help but shudder silently at the mention of Selwyn’s cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers, for she is immediately reminded of what Sir John Nettleford-Hughes said to her at the society wedding of her friend Priscilla Kitson-Fahey to American Georgie Carter in November. He pointed out to her that Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, plans to match Selwyn and Pamela. From his point of view, it was already a fait accompli.
“I like my cousin,” Selwyn carries on, not noticing the bristle pulsating through Lettice. “But like so many of the other debutantes of 1923, she is lacking interests beyond the marriage market and social gossip and intrigues. You, on the other hand, my Angel, are well informed, and have your own opinions.”
“Well, you can thank Pater for instilling that in me. He hired some very intelligent governesses to school my sister and I in far more than embroidery, floral arranging and polite conversation.”
“And I’m jolly glad of it, my darling.”
“And Aunt Egg told me that I should never be afraid to express my opinion, however different, so long as it is artfully couched.”
“I like the sound of your Aunt Egg.”
“I don’t think your mother would approve of her, nor of me having a brain, Selwyn. Would she? I’m sure she would prefer you to marry one of those twittering and decorous debutantes.” She tries her luck. “Like your cousin Pamela, perhaps?”
“Oh, come now, Lettice darling!” Selwyn replies. If she has thrown a bone, he isn’t taking it as he rests the heels of his hands on the edge of the white linen tablecloth, clutching his cutlery. He chews his mouthful of roast beef before continuing. “That isn’t fair, even to Zinnia. She’s a very intelligent woman herself, with quite a capacity for witty conversation about all manner of topics, and she reads voraciously on many subjects.”
“I was talking to Leslie about what his impressions of your mother were when I went down to Glynes**** for his wedding in November.”
“Were you now?” Selwyn’s eyebrows arch with surprise over his widening eyes.
“Yes,” Lettice smirks, taking a mouthful of roast potato drizzled in gravy which falls apart on her tongue. Chewing her food, she feels emboldened, and sighs contentedly as she wonders whether Sir John was just spitting sour grapes because she prefers Selwyn’s company rather than his. Finishing her mouthful she elucidates, “Leslie is a few years older than us, and of course, I only remember her as that angry woman in black who pulled you away after we’d played in the hedgerows.”
“Well, she obviously left a lasting impression on you!” Selwyn chortles.
“But it isn’t a fair one, is it?” she asks rhetorically. “So, I asked Leslie what he remembered of her from time they spent together in the drawing room whilst you and I were tucked up in bed in the nursery.”
“And what was Leslie’s impression of Zinnia?”
“That, as you say, she is a witty woman, and that she liked to hold men in her thrall with her beauty, wit and intelligence.”
“Well, he’s quite right about that.”
“But that she didn’t much like other ladies for company, especially intelligent ones who might draw the gentlemen’s attention away from her glittering orbit.”
Selwyn chews his mouthful of dinner and concentrates on his dinner plate with downcast, contemplative eyes. He swallows but remains silent for a moment longer as he mulls over his own thoughts.
After a few moments of silence, Lettice airs an unspoken thought that has been ruminating about her head ever since Selwyn mentioned her. “You know, I’d love to meet Zinnia.”
Selwyn chuckles but looks down darkly into his glass of red wine. “But you have met her, Lettice darling. You just said so yourself. She was that angry woman yelling at you as I was dragged from the hedgerows of your father’s estate.”
“I know, but that doesn’t count! We were children. No, I’ve heard of her certainly over the years, but now that I’ve become reacquainted with you as an adult, and now that we are being serious with one another.” She pauses. “We are being serious with one another, aren’t we Selwyn?”
“Of course we are, Lettice.” Selwyn replies, unable to keep his irritation at her question out of his voice. “You know we are.” Falling back into silence, he runs his tongue around the inside of his cheek as he retreats back into his own inner most thoughts.
“Then I’d so very much like to meet her. You have met my toadying mother. Why shouldn’t I meet yours?”
“Be careful what you wish for, my Angel.” he cautions.
“What do you mean, Selwyn darling?”
Selwyn doesn’t answer straight away. He absently fiddles with the silver salt shaker from the cruet set in front of him, rolling its bulbous form about in his palm, as if considering whether it will give him an answer of some kind.
“Selwyn?” Lettice asks, leaning over and putting a hand on her companion’s broad shoulder.
“Just that you may not like her when you meet her.” He shrugs. “That’s all. Toadying is certainly not a word I would associate with Zinnia on any given day, that’s for certain.”
“Or you might be implying she might not like me.” Lettice remarks downheartedly. “Is that it?”
Softening his tone, Selwyn assures her, “I like you, and I’m sure she will too. You will get to meet her soon enough, Lettice darling. I promise. But not yet.” He suddenly snaps out of his contemplations and starts to cut a piece off his roast beef, slicing into the juicy flesh with sharp jabs of his knife. “We have plenty of time for all that. Let’s just enjoy us for now, and be content with that.”
“Oh of course, Selwyn darling,” Lettice stammers. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean, now.”
“I know you didn’t may angel.” He sees the look of concern she is giving him as she stiffens and sits back in her straight backed chair, afraid that she has offended him. “I just like it being just us for now, without the complication of Zinnia.”
“Is she complicated?”
“More than you’ll ever know, my angel. Aren’t most mothers?”
“I suppose.”
“Anyway, enough about Zinnia! I don’t want this evening to be about Zinnia! I want it to be about us. So not another word about her. Alright?” When Lettice nods shallowly, he continues, “I’m here to celebrate the success of Mr. and Mrs. Musgrave of Highgate being happy with their newly completed home.”
“Oh yes! Your first architectural commission completed and received with great success!” Lettice enthuses. “Let’s raise a toast to that.” She picks up her glass of red wine, which gleams under the diffused light of the chandeliers in Simpson’s dining room. “Cheers to you Selwyn, and your ongoing success.”
Their glasses clink cheerily.
“And what of Bruton?”
“Oh, Gerald is doing very well!” Lettice assures Selwyn, returning her glass to the tabletop. “His couture business is really starting to flourish.”
“It’s a bit of rum business*****, a chap making frocks for ladies, isn’t it?” Selwyn screws up his nose in a mixture of a lack of comprehension and distaste.
“It’s what he’s good at,” Lettice tugs at the peacock blue ruched satin sleeve of her evening gown as proof, feeling proud to wear one of her friend’s designs. “And he’s hardly the first couturier who’s a man, is he, Selwyn Darling?”
“I suppose not. Zinnia does buy frocks from the house of Worth******, and he was a man.”
“Exactly.” Lettice soothes. “And who would know what suits a lady better than a man?”
“Yes, and I must say,” Selwyn says, looking his companion up and down appreciatively in her shimmering evening gown covered in matching peacock blue bugle beads. “You do look positively ravishing in his creation.”
“Thank you, Selwyn.” Lettice murmurs, her face flushing at the compliment.
“We never see him at the club any more. I think the last time I saw him was the night I met you at your parents’ Hunt Ball, and that was almost a year ago.”
“Oh well,” Lettice blusters awkwardly, thinking quickly as to what excuse she can give for her dearest friend. She knows how dire Gerald’s finances are, partially as a result of his father’s pecuniary restraints, and she suspects that this fact is likely the reason why Gerald doesn’t attend his club any longer, even if he is still a member. Even small outlays at his club could tilt him the wrong way financially. However she also knows that this is a fact not widely known, and it would embarrass him so much were it to become public knowledge, especially courtesy of her, his best friend. “Running a business, especially in its infancy like Gerald’s and mine, can take time, a great deal of time as a matter of fact.”
“But you have time, my Angel, to spend time with me.” He eyes her. “Are you covering for Bruton?”
Lettice’s face suddenly drains of colour at Selwyn’s question. “No… no, I.”
Lowering his voice again, Selwyn asks, “He hasn’t taken after his brother and found himself an unsuitable girl, has he?”
Lettice releases the breath she has held momentarily in her chest and sighs.
“I know Gerald wouldn’t go for a local publican’s daughter, like Roland did, but being artistic like he is, I could imagine him with a chorus girl, and I know if news of that ever got back to Old Man Bruton, there would be fireworks, and it would be a bloody******* time for Bruton. Poor chap!”
“No, no, Selwyn darling!” Lettice replies with genuine relief. “I can assure you,” And as she puts her hand to her thumping heart, she knows she speaks the truth. “Gerald hasn’t taken up with a chorus girl. He genuinely is busy with his couture business. Establishing oneself, as you know only too well, isn’t easy, even for a duke’s son, much less a lower member of the aristocracy without the social profile. And my business is ticking along quite nicely now, so I don’t need to put in as much effort as Gerald does.”
“But how selfish of me, my Angel!” Selwyn exclaims, putting his glass down abruptly and looking to his companion. “What a prig I’m being, aggrandising myself and bringing up Bruton, when you said that you had something to celebrate tonight too. What is it?”
“Oh, it’s nothing like you’ve done, by finishing a house for someone.” Lettice says, flapping her hand dismissively.
“Well, what is it, Lettice darling?” Selwyn insists. “Tell me!”
Lettice looks down at her plate for a moment and then remarks rather offhandedly, “It was only that I had a telephone call from Henry Tipping******** the other day, and received confirmation that my interior for Dickie and Margot Channon’s Cornwall house ‘Chi an Treth’ will be featured in an upcoming edition of Country Life.”
“Oh may Angel!” Selwyn exclaims. “That’s wonderful!” He leans over and kisses her affectionately, albeit with the reserve that is expected between two unmarried people whilst dining in a public place, but with no less genuine delight for her. “That’s certainly more than nothing, and is something also worth celebrating!” I say, let’s raise a toast to you.” He picks up his glass of red wine again. “Cheers to you Lettice, and may the article bring you lots of recognition and new business.”
The pair clink glasses yet again and smile at one another.
*After a modest start in 1828 as a smoking room and soon afterwards as a coffee house, Simpson's-in-the-Strand achieved a dual fame, around 1850, for its traditional English food, particularly roast meats, and also as the most important venue in Britain for chess in the Nineteenth Century. Chess ceased to be a feature after Simpson's was bought by the Savoy Hotel group of companies at the end of the Nineteenth Century, but as a purveyor of traditional English food, Simpson's has remained a celebrated dining venue throughout the Twentieth Century and into the Twenty-First Century. P.G. Wodehouse called it "a restful temple of food"
**Howards End is a novel by E. M. Forster, first published in 1910, about social conventions, codes of conduct and relationships in turn-of-the-century England. Howards End is considered by many to be Forster's masterpiece. The book was conceived in June 1908 and worked on throughout the following year; it was completed in July 1910
***The term bluestocking was applied to any of a group of women who in mid Eighteenth Century England held “conversations” to which they invited men of letters and members of the aristocracy with literary interests. The word over the passing centuries has come to be applied derisively to a woman who affects literary or learned interests.
****Glynes is the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie.
*****Rum is a British slang word that means odd (in a negative way) or disreputable.
******Charles Frederick Worth was an English fashion designer who founded the House of Worth, one of the foremost fashion houses of the Nineteenth and early Twentieth centuries. He is considered by many fashion historians to be the father of haute couture. Worth is also credited with revolutionising the business of fashion. Established in Paris in 1858, his fashion salon soon attracted European royalty, and where they led monied society followed. An innovative designer, he adapted 19th-century dress to make it more suited to everyday life, with some changes said to be at the request of his most prestigious client Empress Eugénie. He was the first to replace the fashion dolls with live models in order to promote his garments to clients, and to sew branded labels into his clothing; almost all clients visited his salon for a consultation and fitting – thereby turning the House of Worth into a society meeting point. By the end of his career, his fashion house employed 1,200 people and its impact on fashion taste was far-reaching.
*******The old fashioned British term “looking bloody” was a way of indicating how dour or serious a person or occasion looks.
********Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.
Comfortable, cosy and terribly English, the interior of Simpson’s-in-the-Strand may look real to you, but it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.
The dining table is correctly set for a four course Edwardian dinner partially ended, with the first course already concluded using cutlery, from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. The delicious looking roast dinner on the dinner plates, the bowls of vegetables, roast potatoes, boat of gravy and Yorkshire puddings and on the tabletop have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The red wine glasses bought them from a miniatures stockist on E-Bay. Each glass is hand blown using real glass. The silver cruet set in the middle of the table has been made with great attention to detail, and comes from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The silver meat cover you can just see in the background to the left of the photo also comes from Warwick Miniatures.
The table on which all these items stand is a Queen Anne lamp table which I was given for my seventh birthday. It is one of the very first miniature pieces of furniture I was ever given as a child. The Queen Anne dining chairs were all given to me as a Christmas present when I was around the same age.
The vase of flowers in the background I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The wood panelling in the background is real, as I shot this scene on the wood panelled mantle of my drawing room. The paintings hanging from the wooden panels come from an online stockist on E-Bay.
Spokesmodels for client Supplement-IT.com. They developed a vitamin supplement for IT professionals.
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.
Water towers and grain elevators, the perfect midwest supplement to cornfields and dead grass. Seen above is TP&Ws eastbound manifest with a four pack of G&W family EMDs up front through the town of Meadows, IL. As seen on the water tower, Meadows is primarily made up of assisted living homes. The road train through here is probably the most exciting thing that goes on here!
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 at Glynes, 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. Lettice is visiting her family home after receiving a strongly worded instruction from her father by letter to visit without delay or procrastination. Over luncheon, Lettice was berated by her parents for her recent decision to decorate the home of the upcoming film actress, Wanetta Ward. Lettice has a strained relationship with her mother at the best of times as the two have differing views about the world and the role that women have to play in it, and whilst receiving complaints about her choice of clients, Lettice was also scolded by mother for making herself unsuitable for any young man who might present as an eligible prospect. Although Lettice is undeniably her father’s favourite child, even he has been less than receptive to her recent choices of clients, which has put her a little out of favour with him. After Lady Sadie stormed out of the dining room over one of Lettice’s remarks, Viscount Wrexham implored his headstrong youngest daughter to try and make an effort with her mother, which is something she has been mulling over during her overnight stay.
Now Lettice stands in the grand Robert Adam decorated marble and plaster entrance hall of her family home as she prepares to take her leave. Outside on the gravel driveway, Harris the chauffer has the Chetwynd’s 1912 Daimler ready to drive her to the Glynes village railway station for the one fifteen to London. She has bid farewell to her brother Leslie and her father. Now there is just one final member of the family whom she needs to say goodbye to.
“Thank you Marsden.” Lettice remarks to the liveried first footman as he carries the last of Lettice’s luggage out to the Daimler.
“I hope you have a safe journey back to London, My Lady.” Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler remarks as he walks into the entrance hall to see Lettice off.
“Thank you, Bramley,” Lettice replies. “Oh, I’m glad you are here. Do you know where my Mother might be?”
Considering her question, the old butler looks to the upper levels and ceiling of the hall before replying knowingly. “Well, it is still mid-morning according to Her Ladyship, so I would imagine that she will be in the morning room. Shall I go and see, My Lady?”
“No thank you Bramley. You have more than enough to do I’m sure, managing this old pile of bricks, without doing that for me. I’m perfectly capable of seeking her out for myself.”
Turning on her heel, Lettice walks away from the butler, her louis heels echoing off the marble tiles around the entrance hall in her wake.
“Mamma?” Lettice trills with false cheer as she knocks with dread on the walnut door to the morning room.
When there is no reply to her call, she considers two possibilities: either her mother is still in a funk with her and not speaking to her after the scene in the dining room yesterday, or she isn’t in the morning room at all. Both are as likely as each other. Taking a deep breath, she turns the handle and opens the door, calling her mother again as she does so.
The Glynes morning room is very much Lady Sadie’s preserve, and the original classical Eighteenth Century design has been overlayed with the comfortable Edwardian clutter of continual and conspicuous acquisition that is the hallmark of a lady of her age and social standing. China cabinets of beautiful porcelain line the walls. Clusters of mismatched chairs unholstered in cream fabric, tables and a floral chaise lounge, all from different eras, fill the room: set up to allow for the convivial conversation of the great and good of the county after church on a Sunday. The hand painted Georgian wallpaper can barely be seen for paintings and photographs in ornate gilded frames. The marble mantelpiece is covered by Royal Doulton figurines and more photos in silver frames. Several vases of flowers stand on occasional tables, but even their fragrance cannot smother her mother’s Yardley Lily of the Valley scent. Lady Sadie is nowhere to be seen but cannot have been gone long judging by her floral wake.
Walking over to the Eighteenth Century bonheur de jour* that stands cosily in a corner of the room, Lettice snorts quietly with derision as she looks at the baby photograph of Leslie, her eldest brother, which stands in pride of place in a big silver frame on the desk’s serpentine top, along with a significantly smaller double frame featuring late Nineteenth Century younger incarnations of her parents. Lettice, her sister Lally and brother Lionel have been relegated to a lesser hanging space on the wall, as befits the children seen as less important by their mother. Everything has always been about Leslie as far as their mother is concerned, and always has been for as long as Lettice can remember.
Lettice runs her fingers idly over several books sitting open on the desk’s writing space. There is a costume catalogue from London and a book on Eighteenth Century hairstyles. “Making plans for the Hunt Ball.” Lettice muses with a smile. It is then that she notices a much thicker book below the costume catalogue which has a familiar looking worn brown leather cover with a gilt tooled inlay. Moving the catalogue Lettice finds a copy of Debrett’s**
“Oh Mamma!” she exhales with disappointment as she shakes her head.
As she picks it up, she dislodges a partially written letter in her mother’s elegant copperplate hand from beneath it. Lettice knows she shouldn’t read it but can’t help herself as she scans the thick white paper embossed with the Wrexham coat of arms. Its contents make her face go from its usual creamy pallor to red with frustration.
“Ahh! Lettice!” Lady Sadie’s crisp intonation slices the silence as she walks into the morning room and discovers her daughter standing over her desk. “Heading back to London, are we?” she continues cheerily as she observes her daughter dressed in her powder blue travelling coat, matching hat and arctic fox fur stole. She smiles as she indicates to the desk’s surface. “I’m making plans for my outfit for the Hunt Ball. I thought I might come as Britannia this year.”
Lettice doesn’t answer her mother immediately as she continues to stare down at the letter next to her mother’s silver pen and bottle of ink. Remembering her father’s request, she draws upon her inner strength to try and remain civil as she finally acknowledges, “How appropriate that you should come as the all-conquering female warrior.”
“Lettice?” Lady Sadie remarks quizzically.
“Perhaps you might like to reconsider your choice of costume and come as my faerie godmother, since I’m coming as Cinderella.”
“Oh, now that’s a splendid idea! Although I don’t…”
“Or better yet, come as cupid instead!” Lettice interrupts her mother hotly, anger seething through her clipped tones as she tries to keep her temper.
“Now you’re just being foolish, Lettice,” Lady Sadie replies as she walks towards her daughter, the cheerful look on her face fading quickly as she notices the uncovered copy of Debrett’s on her desk’s surface.
“Not at all, Mamma! I think it’s most apt considering what you are trying to do.”
“Trying to do? What on earth are you talking about Lettice?” the older woman chuckles awkwardly, her face reddening a little as she reaches her bejewelled right hand up to the elegant strand of collar length pearls at her throat.
Lettice picks up the letter, dangling it like an unspoken accusation between herself and her mother before looking down at it and reading aloud, “My dear Lillie, we haven’t seen you at Glynes for so long. Won’t you, Marmaduke and Jonty consider coming to the Hunt Ball this year? Do you remember how much Jonty and my youngest, Lettice, used to enjoy playing together here as children? I’m sure that now that they are both grown, they should be reacquainted with one another.” She lowers her hand and drops the letter on top of the edition of Debrett’s like a piece of rubbish before looking up at her mother, giving her a cool stare.
“It isn’t ladylike to read other people’s correspondence, Lettice!” Lady Sadie quips as she marches up to her desk and snatches the letter away from Lettice’s reach, lest her daughter should cast it into the fire cracking peaceably in the grate.
“Is it ladylike to arrange the lives of two strangers without discussing it?”
“It has long been the prerogative of mothers to arrange their children’s marriages.” The older woman defends herself. “And you and Jonty Hastings aren’t strangers, Lettice. You and he…”
“Haven’t seen each other since we were about six years old, when we played in the hedgerows together and had tea in the nursery with Nanny Webb after she had washed the mud off us!”
“Well, all the better for the two of you to become reacquainted then, as I’m suggesting to his mother.” She runs her fingers along the edges of the letter in her hands defiantly. “And I am going to send this letter, Lettice,” Her voice gathers a steely tone of determination. “Whether you like it, or lump it.”
“Yes, Pappa told me after you,” she pauses for a moment to consider her words carefully. “Left, us at luncheon yesterday, that you had been making some discreet enquiries about inviting some eligible young bachelors for me to the ball this year.”
“And so I have, Lettice.” Lady Sadie sniffs. “Since you seem incapable of finding yourself a suitable match even after your successful debut London Season, I have taken it upon myself to do some…”
“Matchmaking, Mamma?”
“Arranging, Lettice. Tarquin Howard, Sir John Nettleford-Hughes…”
“Sir John is as old as the hills!” Lettice splutters in disbelief. “You surely can’t imagine I’d consider him a likely prospect!”
“Sir John is an excellent match, Lettice. You can hardly fail to see how advantageous it would be to marry him.”
“Once I look past the twenty five, no more, years age difference. No, better he be chased by some social climbing American woman looking for an entrée into the society pages. Perhaps I should ask Miss Ward to the ball. I’m sure she would love to meet Sir John.”
Lady Sadie’s already pale face drains of any last colour at the thought of an American moving picture star walking into her well planned ball. “Well, if you won’t countenance Sir John, I’ve also invited Edward Lambley and Selwyn Spencely.”
“Selwyn Spencely?” Lettice laughs. “The guest list just gets more and more implausable.”
“What’s so implausible about Selwyn Spencely, Lettice? The Spencelys are a very good family. Selwyn has a generous income which will only increase when he eventually takes his father’s place as the next Viscount Markham. He inherited a house in Belgravia from his grandfather when he came of age, so you two can continue to live in London until you become chatelaine of Markham Park.”
“Can you hear yourself, Mamma?” Lettice cries as she raises her arms in exasperation, any good will she tried to muster for her Mother quickly dissipating. “Do you want to pick what wedding gown I am to wear too?” Lettice laughs again. “Selwyn and I haven’t laid eyes on each other for almost as long as Jonty and I.”
“Well, he’s grown into a very handsome young man, Lettice. I’ve seen his photograph in The Lady.” Her mother bustles across the end of the floral chaise where a pile of well fingered magazines sit. “Look, I can show you.”
“Oh, please don’t Mamma!” Lettice throws her hands up in protest. “Please don’t add insult to injury.”
Lady Sadie turns around, a hurt look on her face. “How can you say that to me, Lettice? I’m only trying to do right by you, by securing a suitable and advantageous marriage for you.”
“But what about love, Mamma?” Lettice sighs. “What if I don’t wish to marry at all? What if I am happy just running my interior design business.”
“Oh what nonsense, Lettice! The younger generation are so tiresome. All this talk of love! I blame those moving pictures your Ward woman stars in that you and your friends all flock to slavishly! Your Father and I had our marriage arranged. We weren’t in love.” She emphasises the last two words with a withering tone. “We’d only even met a handful of times before we were married. Love came naturally in time, and look how happy we are.” She smiles smugly with self satisfaction. “And as for your business, you aren’t Syrie Maugham***, Lettice. You’ve always been told, from an early age, that your duty as a daughter of a member of this great and noble family, even as the youngest daughter, is to marry and marry well.” She sinks onto the chaise. “This foolishness about interior design,” She flaps her glittering fingers distractedly at Lettice. “Will have to end when you get married. Whether it be Jonty, Nicolas or Selwyn, you’ll have to give it up. No respectable man of position and good breeding will have his wife working as a decorator! He’d be ashamed!”
At her mother’s harsh words, Lettice abandons any attempt to try and make an effort with her. She looks up to the ornate white painted plaster ceiling and crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room as she clenches her hands into fists. “Well,” she looks angrily at her mother. “We wouldn’t want my future husband to be ashamed of my success, now would we?”
“What success, Lettice?” her mother scoffs. “You were only able to decorate Gwendolyn’s small drawing room because I asked her to allow you to do it.”
“I’ve plenty of clients now, no thanks to you, Mamma!”
“Dickie and Margot don’t count, dear,” Lady Sadie replies dismissively as she fingers the edges of a copy of the Tattler distractedly. “They are your friends. Of course they were going to ask you to decorate their house.”
Lettice gasps as though her mother just punched all the air out of her chest. She stands, silent for a moment, her face flushing with embarrassment and anger. “You’ve always been so cruel to me Mamma, ever since I was little.”
“And you’ve always been so stubborn and obstinate, ever since you were a child! Goodness knows what I did to deserve a wilful daughter. Lally was so lovely and pliable, and certainly no trouble to marry off.” She folds her hands neatly in her lap over her immaculately pressed tweed skirt and looks up at her daughter. “I don’t mean to be harsh, Lettice, but someone has to make you see sense. Goodness knows your Father can’t, what with him wound around your little finger! You will have to marry eventually, Lettice, and preferably soon. It’s a foregone conclusion. It’s what is expected of you, and as I said yesterday, you aren’t getting any younger, and you certainly don’t want to be left stuck on the shelf. Just think of the shame it would bring you.”
“More think of the shame it would bring you, Mamma.” Lettice spits bitterly. “To have a daughter who is a spinster, an old maid, and in trade to boot!”
“Now there is no need to be overtly nasty, Lettice.” Lady Sadie mutters brittlely. “It’s unbecoming.”
A little gilt clock on an occasional table chimes one o’clock prettily.
“Mamma, however much I would love to sit here and share bitter quips and barbs with you all day over a pot of tea, I really do have to leave!” Lettice says with finality. “I have a train to catch. Gerald and I have a reservation at the Café Royal**** tonight.” She walks over to her mother, bends down and goes to kiss her cheek, but the older woman stiffens as she averts her daughter’s touch. Lettice sighs as she raises herself up again. “I’ll see you in a week for Dickie and Margot’s wedding and then after that for Bonfire Night*****.”
“Hopefully you’ll have come to your senses about marriage and this ridiculous designing business by then.”
Lettice raises her head proudly and takes a deep breath before turning away from her mother and walks with a purposeful stride across the room. “No I won’t, Mamma.” she says defiantly. As she opens the door to leave the morning room, she turns back to the figure of her mother sitting facing away from her towards the fire. “Pappa asked me to make an effort at the Hunt Ball, and I will. I will dance and flirt with whomever you throw in my general direction, be they old, blind or bandy-legged.” She sees her mother’s shoulders stiffen, indicating silently that she is listening, even if she doesn’t want to acknowledge that she is. “However, be under no pretence Mamma. I am doing it for him, and not you.”
“Lettice…” Lady Sadie’s voice cracks.
“And,” Lettice cuts her off sharply. “No matter who I dance with, or charm, I will not marry any of them. Goodbye Mamma.”
Lettice closes the door quietly behind her and walks back down the hallway to the entrance hall. She walks through the front doors with her head aloof, and steps into the back of the waiting Daimler. Marsden closes its door and Harris starts the engine. The chauffer can sense the tension seething through his passenger as she huffs and puffs in the spacious rear cabin, dabbing her nose daintily with a lace edged handkerchief, so he remains quiet as he steers the car down the sweeping driveway. As the car pulls away from Glynes basking in the early afternoon autumnal sun, Lettice can almost feel two sets of eyes on her back: one pair from her father looking sadly out from the library and the other her mother’s peering critically from behind the morning room curtains.
*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.
**The first edition of Debrett's Peerage of England, Scotland, and Ireland, containing an Account of all the Peers, 2 vols., was published in May 1802, with plates of arms, a second edition appeared in September 1802, a third in June 1803, a fourth in 1805, a fifth in 1806, a sixth in 1808, a seventh in 1809, an eighth in 1812, a ninth in 1814, a tenth in 1816, an eleventh in 1817, a twelfth in 1819, a thirteenth in 1820, a fourteenth in 1822, a fifteenth in 1823, which was the last edition edited by Debrett, and not published until after his death. The next edition came out in 1825. The first edition of The Baronetage of England, containing their Descent and Present State, by John Debrett, 2 vols., appeared in 1808. Today, Debrett's is a British professional coaching company, publisher and authority on etiquette and behaviour. It was founded in 1769 with the publication of the first edition of The New Peerage. The company takes its name from its founder, John Debrett.
***Syrie Maugham was a leading British interior decorator of the 1920s and 1930s and best known for popularizing rooms decorated entirely in shades of white. She was the wife of English playwright and novelist William Somerset Maugham.
****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.
****Guy Fawkes Day, also called Bonfire Night, British observance, celebrated on November the fifth, commemorating the failure of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Guy Fawkes and his group members acted in protest to the continued persecution of the English Catholics. Today Guy Fawkes Day is celebrated in the United Kingdom, and in a number of countries that were formerly part of the British Empire, with parades, fireworks, bonfires, and food. Straw effigies of Fawkes are tossed on the bonfire, as are—in more recent years in some places—those of contemporary political figures. Traditionally, children carried these effigies, called “Guys,” through the streets in the days leading up to Guy Fawkes Day and asked passersby for “a penny for the guy,” often reciting rhymes associated with the occasion, the best known of which dates from the Eighteenth Century.
Cluttered with paintings, photographs and furnishings, Lady Sadie’s morning room with its Georgian furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The books on Lady Sadie’s desks 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. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside two of the books he has made. One of the books is a French catalogue of fancy dress costumes from the late Nineteenth Century, and the other is a book of Georgian hairstyes. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into these volumes, each book contains twelve double sided pages of illustrations and they measure thirty-three millimetres in height and width and are only three millimetres thick. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. The 1908 Debrett’s Peerage book is also made by Ken Blythe, but does not open. He also made the envelopes sitting in the rack to the left of the desk and the stamps you can see next to the ink bottle. The stamps are 2 millimetres by two millimetres each! 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. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just two of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!
On the desk is a 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottle and a silver pen, both made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles is made from a tiny faceted crystal bead and has a sterling silver bottom and lid.
The Chetwynd’s family photos seen on the desk and hanging on the walls 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 largest frame on the right-hand side of the desk is actually a sterling silver miniature frame. It was made in Birmingham in 1908 and is hallmarked on the back of the frame. It has a red leather backing.
The vase of primroses in the middle of the desk is a delicate 1:12 artisan porcelain miniature made and painted by hand by Ann Dalton.
The desk and its matching chair is a Salon Reine design, hand painted and copied from an Eighteenth Century design, made by Bespaq. All the drawers open and it has a lidded rack at either end. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.
The wallpaper is a copy of an Eighteenth Century blossom pattern.
title
The hustle and bustle.
( Nikon coolpix8700. Shot. )
Manhattan. New York. America. March. 2007. shot ... 6 / 6
(Today's photo. It's been announced. But I re-edited it in 2020.)
Images.
Prince - Musicology (Official Music Video)
The image of the next novel.
Still would stand all time. (Unforgettable'2)
(It will never go away)
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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...
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Interviews and novels.
About my book.
I published a book in old days.
At that time, I was uploading my interview on the net on the net.
That Japanese and English.
I will make it public for free.
Details were explained to the Amazon site.
How to write a novel.
How to take pictures.
Distance to the work.
They all have a common item.
I made a sentence about what I felt, and left it.
I hope that my text can 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...
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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
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My Novel : Unforgettable'
(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)
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.
※ Supplement
I use Google Translate.
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
All Translated by Yumi Ikeda .
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
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3/9
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4/9
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24100804163/in/dateposted...
Fin.
images.
U2 - No Line On The Horizon
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related
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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/...
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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.
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Exhibition of 2021.
Tuesday, May 11-Sunday, May 16
The Kawamura Memorial DIC Museum of Art @ Gallery 1.
place. Sakura City, Chiba Prefecture.
theme.
Ever since that day ...
2022 exhibition.
theme.
So Near, So far.
place. Tokyo Big Site.
Sponsoring. Design festa.
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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...
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Do you want to hear my voice?
:)
I updated Youtube.
It is only in Japanese.
I explained comments on photos etc.
If your time is permitted, please look.
:)
1
About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. First type.
2
About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. Second type.
3
About when I started Fotolog. Architect 's point of view.
4
Why did not you have a camera so far?
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What is the coolest thing? The photo is as it is.
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About the current YouTube bar. I also want to tell, I want to leave.
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About Japanese photographers. Japanese YouTube bar is Pistols.
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The composition of the photograph is sensibility. Meet the designers in Milan. Two questions.
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What is a good composition? What is a bad composition?
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What is the time to point the camera? It is slow if you are looking into the viewfinder or display.
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Family photos. I can not take pictures with others. The inside of the subject.
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About YouTube 's photographer. Camera technology etc. Sensibility is polished by reading books.
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About the Japanese newspaper. A picture of a good newspaper is Reuters. If you continue to look at useless photographs, it will be useless.
14
About Japanese photographers. About the exhibition.
Summary. I wrote a novel etc. What I want to tell the most.
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I talked about how to make a work.
It's really long, but I want to leave everything, so please ask. (^ O ^) /
Japanese only.
About work production 1/2
About work production 2/2
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?
kotobank.jp/word/Mimesis-139464
9 What is Individuality? What is originality?
It is a flow of.
If you have time, please listen.
:)
www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/
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Explanation of composition. 2
I used the following cameras.
Nikon coolpix 8700
I defeated two of these cameras.
It was a very nice camera.
I took many photos with this camera.
Today's photo.
It was also taken with this camera.
I explained the composition in detail in the text at the time of shooting.
I have taken a lot of pictures until today.
Among them, this photo is the result of sharpening my sensitivity.
I will explain this composition in a video.
But they are all Japanese.
Is there a Japanese beside you?
Is there anyone who can understand Japanese beside you?
Please have them translate.
I leave an important story about composition.
I hope they will reach many people.
October 22, 2019, midnight.
Mitsushiro.
1.Composition explanation 2 ... 1/4
2.Composition explanation 2 ... 2/4
3.Composition Explanation 2 ... 3/4
4.Composition Explanation 2 ... 4/4
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My shutter feeling.
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.
:)
Mitsushiro.
( Nikon Coolpix 8700. shot)
In the Eurostar to Venice . 2005. shot ... 1 / 2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/49127115021/in/dateposted...
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Miles Davis sheet 1955-1976.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
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flickr.
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/
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instagram.
www.instagram.com/mitsushiro_nakagawa/
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Pinterest.
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YouPic
www.flickr.com/people/stealaway/
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twitter.
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facebook.
www.facebook.com/mitsushiro.nakagawa
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Amazon.
www.amazon.co.jp/gp/profile/amzn1.account.AHSKI3YMYPYE5UE...
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My statistics. (As of June 11, 2020)
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Japanese is the following.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
Title of my book unforgettable' Mitsushiro Nakagawa Out Now. ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
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タイトル
喧騒。
( Nikon coolpix8700. Shot. )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。3月。２０07年。 shot ... 6 / 6
(今日の写真。それは発表済みです。しかし、２０２０年に再編集しました。)
Images.
Prince - Musicology (Official Music Video)
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）
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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...
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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...
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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...
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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 .
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
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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/...
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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。
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２０２１年の展示。
５月１１日 火曜日 ～ ５月１６日 日曜日
DIC川村記念美術館 第１付属ギャラリー。
場所。千葉県佐倉市。
テーマ。
あの日から、ずっと…
２０２２年の展示。
テーマ。
So Near , So far.
場所。東京ビッグサイト。
Sponsoring. Design festa.
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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...
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あなたは僕の声を聞きたいですか？
:)
僕はYoutubeを更新しました。
日本語だけです。
僕は写真などの解説をしました。
もしも、あなたの時間が許されれば、見てください。
:)
1
フリッカーへ投稿した写真の構図について。１種類目。
2
フリッカーへ投稿した写真の構図について。２種類目。
3
Fotologを始めた時について。 建築家の視点。
4
なぜ、今までカメラを手にしなかったのか？
5
何が一番かっこいいのか？ 写真はありのままに。
6
現在のユーチューバーについて。僕も伝え、残したい。
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。
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。
9
良い構図とは？ 悪い構図とは？
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。
11
家族写真。他人では撮れない。被写体の内面。
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。
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。
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。
作品の制作方法などついて語りました。
すっごい長いですが、すべて伝え残したいことなので聞いてください。(^O^)／
日本語のみです。
作品制作について 1/2
作品制作について 2/2
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/
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構図の解説２
僕は以下のカメラを使用していました。
Nikon coolpix 8700
僕はこのカメラを二台使い倒しました。
とても素敵なカメラでした。
このカメラでたくさんの写真を撮りました。
今日の写真。
それもこのカメラで撮影しました。
この構図について、僕は撮影した当時詳しくテキストで解説しました。
僕は今日までたくさんの写真を撮ってきました。
その中でも、この写真はもっとも僕の感性を研ぎ澄ました結果です。
僕はこの構図について、動画で解説します。
しかし、それらはすべて日本語です。
あなたのそばに日本人はいますか？
あなたのそばに日本語がわかる人はいますか？
彼らに訳してもらってください。
僕は、構図について大切な話を残します。
それらが多くの人へ伝わることを望みます。
2019年10月２２日深夜。
Mitsushiro.
1.構図の解説２ ... 1/4
2.構図の解説２ ... 2/4
3.構図の解説２ ... 3/4
4.構図の解説２ ... 4/4
Nikon Coolpix 8700
１ アマゾンの評価
www.amazon.co.jp/ニコン-E8700-J-ニコン-デジタル...
２ ニコンの情報
www.nikon-image.com/products/compact/lineup/8700/
#写真 #構図 #カメラ #イタリア #ミラノ #中央駅 #２００５年 #ニコン #クールピクス８７００
#Photo #Composition #Camera #Italy #Milan #Central #Station #2005 #Nikon #Coolpix 8700
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僕のシャッター感覚
今日の写真。
それは、ユーロスターから撮影した写真です。
この動画はその解説です。
２００５年にミラノへ行きました。
そのとき、ミラノからヴェニスへ向かいました。
交通手段に、僕らはユーロスターを乗り込みました。
この写真は、猛スピードのユーロスターから撮影したのではありません。
線路を変更した際、スピードを落とした瞬間に撮影しました。
あなたのそばに日本人はいますか？
僕の動画を翻訳してもらってください。
:)
Mitsushiro.
( Nikon Coolpix 8700. shot)
In the Eurostar to Venice . 2005. shot ... 1 / 2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/49127115021/in/dateposted...
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Miles Davis sheet 1955-1976.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
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_________________________________
flickr.
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/
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YouTube.
www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/
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instagram.
www.instagram.com/mitsushiro_nakagawa/
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Pinterest.
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YouPic
www.flickr.com/people/stealaway/
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fotolog
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twitter.
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facebook.
www.facebook.com/mitsushiro.nakagawa
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Amazon.
www.amazon.co.jp/gp/profile/amzn1.account.AHSKI3YMYPYE5UE...
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僕の統計。（2020年6月11日現在）
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Japanese is the following.
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...
Title of my book unforgettable' Mitsushiro Nakagawa Out Now. ISBN978-4-86264-866-2
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#Milan #Italy #LUMIX #G3 #FUJIFILM #MothinLilac #MIL #GFX50R #Hnolulu #Mono #Chiba #Japan #Exhibition #Flickr #YOUPIC #gallery #Camera #collage #Subway #street #Novel #Publishing #Mitsushiro #Nakagawa #artist #NY #Interview #Photograph #picture #Hawaii #take #write #novel #display #art #future #designfesta #Kawamura #Memorial #DIC #Museum #Fineart #川村記念美術館 #Manhattan #USA #London #UK #Paris #Kawamura
For insta
#川村記念美術館 #Manhattan #London #Paris #kawamura #Milan #MothinLilac #LUMIX #MIL #FUJIFILM #GFX50R #Honolulu #Fineart #Japan #Exhibition #Flickr #YOUPIC #Camera #Subway #street #Novel #Publishing #Mitsushiro #artist #Photograph #picture #novel #Fineart #future #designfesta
For twitter
#NY #London #Paris #Milan #LUMIX #FUJIFILM #川村記念美術館 #写真 #Exhibition #Flickr #Camera #street #Hawaii #Honolulu #Mitsushiro #artist #Kawamura #designfesta #Fineart
#ミラノ #イタリア #カメラ #写真 #構図 #ニコン #Nikon #coolpix #クールピクス #ベニス #ユーロスター #Eurostar #シャッター #shutter #camera #photo #picture #千葉 #日本 #chiba #Japan #八街 #佐倉
For insta, twitter
#yachimata #chiba #japan #mono #selfportrait #exibition #kawamuramemorialdicmuseumofart #八街 #千葉 #日本 #展示 #川村記念美術館 #写真 #nikon #ニコン #iphone11pro
#yachimata #chiba #japan #mono #honolulu #exhibition #hawaii #kawamuramemorialdicmuseumofart #八街 #千葉 #日本 #展示会 #川村記念美術館 #ハワイ #写真 #アップル #shotoniphone #ホノルル #ワイキキ
#yachimata #chiba #japan #monochrome #honolulu #exhibition #hawaii #kawamuramemorialdicmuseumofart #八街 #千葉 #日本 #展示 #川村記念美術館 #ハワイ #カメラ #富士フィルム #gfx50r #lumix #パナソニック #アップル #shotoniphone #ホノルル #ワイキキ #写真 #成田 #空港 #airport #narita #applecar #airpodspro #AR
#yachimata #chiba #hawaii #kawamuramemorialdicmuseumofart #八街 #千葉 #川村記念美術館 #富士フィルム #hawaii #applecar #ハワイ #空港 #airport #gfx50r
#yachimata #chiba #japan #monochrome #honolulu #exhibition #hawaii #kawamuramemorialdicmuseumofart #八街 #千葉 #展示 #川村記念美術館 #ハワイ #富士フィルム #アップル #shotoniphone #applecar #airpodspro
#ny #newyork #newyorkcity #manhattan #usa #usa🇺🇸 #monochrome #mono #monochromephotography #nikon #nikonphotography #coolpix #8700 #yachimata #yachimatacity #chiba #japan #japan_of_insta #ニューヨーク #ニューヨーク旅行 #マンハッタン #アメリカ #モノクロ写真 #白黒写真 #ニコン #クールピクス #八街 #八街市 #千葉 #千葉県 #日本
ユーチューブ、
更新しました😃
9
初代アイフォーン発表時の衝撃！ テスラ、全自動運転で２６０万円！
初代アイフォーン発表以来の衝撃を今朝、受けました。
なんと、テスラが全自動運転で２６０マンだそうです😃
日本に輸入して３６０万としても破格の安さ。
日本の自動車業界は本当に大丈夫なのか？
今日を境に、すべてが変わると感じ、アップロードしました😃
8
9月２２日火曜日、午前０時３７分。
お風呂に入っていて、ふと思い立って作りました。
こんな感じどうですか？😃
彼に送ってしまえ！！ 結婚前のマリッジブルーに煽り運転だ！！😃
おやすみなさい😴
True love?
7
雑談２
アップルウォッチ ６、買いました！ 😃
と、登録者数が、
５→６→７人！😃
と、作り手の心構えと僕の病気とは？
６
雑談です😃トヨタは陥落前のIBM？ テスラが環八動画！ そしてマイルス デイビスの動画はいつ？
髪を切ったらアップすると言ったので、とりあえずアップロードしました😃
ホリエモンさんの動画、トヨタは陥落前のIBMと環八走るテスラ。そしてマイルの動画についてを話しました。
完全に雑談ですのであんまり聴いていただかなくて大丈夫です😃
他のは見てねー😃
①
myTesla / 僕テス
テスラオートパイロットを環八で試す【完全自動運転は間近】
②
けーちゃんねる
テスラモデル3のガラスルーフ女性目線で物申す！車内温度と紫外線
③
堀江貴文 ホリエモン
日本のビジネスは時代遅れ！テスラやイーロン・マスクの何がすごいのかホリエモンが解説
５
ホンダE がついに市販されてEVがおもしろくなってきました😃
１ ホンダ E
Honda e ホンダの電気自動車 やっと乗れました！内装&外装編
２ テスラ モデル３
けーちゃんねる
テスラの自動運転は首都高の急カーブを曲がれるのか！？ モデル3 オートパイロット
３ アップルカー
アップルカーってどうなるの？ 予想してみました😃
４ そして次世代は？
講演題目「グリーン水素社会への展望」
中国で大規模なグリーン水素製造が始まる
旭化成、再エネから作る「グリーン水素」実証プロジェクトを本格始動
新燃料e-fuel、トヨタ・日産・ホンダが本腰
EVからディーゼルへ 欧州グリーン水素でアジア封じ
無形経済の道、ソニー走る 車産業を「軽く」する
５ ナカガワ家の次世代くるまは？？？
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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.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however, we are south of the Thames in the middle-class London suburb of Putney in the front room of a red brick Edwardian villa in Hazelwood Road, where Lettice has come to collect a hat from her childhood chum Gerald’s friend, Harriet Milford. The orphaned daughter of a solicitor with little formal education, Harriet has taken in lodgers to earn a living, but more importantly for Lettice, has taken up millinery semi-professionally to give her some pin money*. As Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, has forbidden Lettice to wear a shop bought hat to Leslie, Lettice’s brother’s, wedding in November and Lettice has quarrelled with her own milliner, Madame Gwendolyn, Gerald thought that Harriet might benefit as much from Lettice’s patronage as Lettice will by purchasing one of Harriet’s hats to resolve her fashion conundrum. Today is judgement day as Harriet presents Lettice with her millinery creation.
Lettice’s critical eye again glances around the front parlour of the Putney villa, which doubles as Harriet’s sewing room and show room for her hats. She crinkles her nose in distaste. She finds the room’s middle-class chintzy décor an affront to her up-to-date interior design sensitivities, with its flouncy floral Edwardian sofa and roomy armchair by the fire, a pouffe hand embroidered by Harriet’s deceased mother and the busy Edwardian floral wallpaper covered with a mixture of cheap botanical prints and quaint English country scenes, all in gaudy gilded plaster frames. Yet what makes it even worse is that no attempt has been made to tidy the room since her last visit a month ago. Harriet’s concertina sewing box on casters still stands cascaded open next to the armchair, threads, embroidery silks, buttons and ribbons pouring from its compartments like entrails. Hats in different stages of being made up and decorated lie about on furniture or on the floor in a haphazard way. The brightly patterned rug is littered with spools of cotton, scissors, ribbon, artificial flowers and dogeared copies of Weldon’s** magazines. A cardboard hatbox spewing forth a froth of white tissue paper perches precariously on the arm of the sofa, whilst in an equally hazardous position on the right arm of the armchair, a sewing tin threatens to spill its content of threads, thimbles and a black velvet pincushion all over the chair’s seat and the floor.
“Sorry, Miss Chetwynd,” Harriet mutters apologetically as she ushers Lettice into the front parlour. “I still haven’t had an opportunity to tidy up in here yet.”
“It’s of no consequence, Miss Milford.” Lettice lies as she sweeps into the room swathed in a powder blue coat trimmed with sable that Gerald has made for her. She perches on the sofa in the same place where she sat on her last visit and deposits her crocodile skin handbag against its overstuffed pink and floral arm.
“Your censorious gaze and the reproving way you pass that remark tell me otherwise, Miss Chetwynd.”
“Are you always so observant, Miss Milford?”
“Just like my father,” Harriet replies, glancing up at a very Edwardian photographic portrait of a dour bespectacled man in a large oval frame on the mantelpiece.
“I’m sorry Miss Milford,” Lettice acknowledges her criticality politely. “But I must confess I am used to visiting tidier establishments.”
“Yes, I suppose Madame Gwendolyn’s shop is far tidier than my front parlour is.” Harriet admits. “But then again, I would imagine that she also has a retinue of staff to keep it so for her.”
“Perhaps,” Lettice agrees with a half-smile. “I’m only concerned that if you wish for your little enterprise to be taken seriously, you need to present a professional front. I myself use my own drawing room as a showroom for my clients, so I make sure to keep it tidy when I have clients or prospective clients visiting.”
“Or you maid does, Miss Chetwynd: the same one who bakes biscuits for you.”
“Touché, Miss Milford.” Lettice replies, cocking her eyebrows in amused surprise at Harriet’s quick, yet adroit remark. “I think your father should have taken more interest in your education. You might have made a very fine lawyer, had you been given the opportunity.”
“Thank you, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet replies, blushing at the compliment.
“The lack of education afforded to women in our country, just because we are women, is a scandal. Yet our patriarchal society is what will ensure that we remain the fairer and less educated sex.”
“You sound like you might have made a fine lawyer too, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet acknowledges. “I’m sure had you been born a few decades earlier you would have made a fine suffragette.”
“Or a radical.”
“However, that isn’t why you’ve come here today. You’ve come about a far more appropriately feminine pursuit, the acquisition of the hat for your brother’s wedding.”
“Indeed, Miss Milford. My mother would be suitably gratified to see me passing my time thus rather than in radical discussion, even if she would prefer it was at Madame Gwendolyn’s establishment.”
“Then I do hope I shan’t disappoint Lady Sadie, or you, Miss Chetwynd.”
Harriet walks over to a corner of the parlour and withdraws a yellow straw hat on a hatstand that she has kept concealed behind a brass firebox. She reverently carries it across the room and deposits it on the tilt chess table sitting empty between the seats of the two women s that Lettice might inspect it closely.
“Considering your colourings, the shape of your face and the soft chignon you wear at the nape of your neck, I’ve opted for a rather romantic picture hat rather like that featured on the cover of Weldon’s Spring Fashions.” Harriet explains as she holds up the magazine’s cover next to the hat for Lettice to make comparisons. “I know it’s autumn now, but it has been remarkably mind, and,” she adds. “This is for a wedding after all.”
Lettice examines the hat before her. The shape of the wide brimmed hat that sits low on its stand immediately appeals to Lettice, and she can easily see herself wearing it very comfortably. “Very observant again, Miss Milford.” she says approvingly.
“As you can see, I’m acknowledging the season and once again trying to compliment your own colourings with the trimmings.” Harriet says proudly as she carefully turns the hat on its stand. “A russet and golden brown satin rose and some ornamental autumnal fruits in golds and vermillion. I hope you will agree.”
Lettice reaches out and touches the satin rose, rubbing the luxuriant fabric between her thumb and forefinger with satisfaction. “Agree? Why my dear Miss Milford, you have managed to do something Madame Gwendolyn has never done for me.” She beams with delight. “You have made a hat that suits my personality beautifully. How could I fail but to be pleased? I must confess that I am more impressed with what you have created than I even dared hope for.”
“Then may I take it that you won’t quibble over my price of seven guineas, nine and sixpence?” Harriet asks, trying to keep the nerves out of her well modulated voice. She has never charged such an exorbitant price for one of her creations before, but Gerald told her that seven guineas, nine and sixpence should be the price she should ask Lettice for it. Thinking quickly she adds, “It is quite comparable to the cost of a mode from Selfridges.”
“You sell your skills to cheaply, Miss Milford.”
“I may possibly increase my fees if my ‘little enterprise’ as you continue to call it, really takes off, Miss Chetwynd.”
“I shouldn’t speak so disparagingly of your enterprise, Miss Milford. I must sound unspeakably rude and patronising. Please forgive me.”
“Rude, no Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet acknowledges.
“As amends for my snobby behaviour,” Lettice proffers hopefully. “I shall happily promote your name to anyone at the wedding who asks me who made my hat.”
“I’d be grateful, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet replies with a grateful smile. “And I’ll try and get this place tided up should any of your friends come knocking. I did at least keep the telephone connected after father died, so I am in the book. I found it useful to have a telephone for enquiries about rooms to let initially, but now also for queries about hats.”
“Most prudent, Miss Milford.”
Harriet stands up, reaches past Lettice’s shoulder and takes up the plain cardboard hatbox stuffed with white tissue paper and places it on the seat of her armchair. She proceeds to pick up Lettice’s new hat, and like a mother tucking its child into bed, she lovingly places her creation into the box, nestling it amongst the nosily crumpling paper.
“Miss Chetwynd, do you mind if I make another frank observation?” she asks.
“My dear Miss Milford, you have made several so far,” Lettice laughs. “Why should I stop you now?”
Harriet snatches up the box and resumes her seat, placing the open hatbox on her lap.
“I’m glad you said yes Miss Chetwynd, for you see, something has been bothering me since your first visit here.”
“And what is that, Miss Milford.”
“Well, I couldn’t help but notice how ill at ease you seemed. Could it be because Gerry didn’t tell you about our friendship?”
Lettice looks across at Harriet whose mousy brown hair cut into a soft bob frames her pretty face, free of makeup. Her brown eyes have an earnest look in them. Lettice acknowledges Harriet’s question with a quick and curt nod, before casting her eyes down, ashamed that her feelings have been so easily perceived by someone she barely knows.
“I thought so.”
“I didn’t know you existed until Gerald pulled his motor up outside the front of your house.”
“I must confess I’m surprised, as Gerry talks about you all the time. You two are obviously the greatest of friends, and have been since you were children.” Harriet licks her lips a little awkwardly before continuing. “Perhaps he is a little embarrassed by our friendship, after all, I’m not an aristocrat’s daughter like you and some of your other friends he tells me about.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true, Miss Milford.” Lettice assures her hostess. “Gerald can be a frightful snob. I’ve pulled him up on it enough in recent times, and,” she admits a little begrudgingly. “He’s done the same with me. If Gerald really was ashamed of you, he wouldn’t have introduced us. That I do know.”
“He’s been wonderful to me since we met. I’m not sure if he told you, but I’m guessing not if he didn’t really tell you about me prior to our first meeting, but we met at the haberdashers we share in Fulham.”
“That Gerald did tell me.”
“Well, he’s given me encouragement and guidance as I try to get this millinery business up and running, and, well after my difficulties with the handsy General when I first started letting rooms, I feel more comfortable with gentlemen friends who don’t want to paw me.”
“Like Gerald and your Cyril, you mean.”
“Yes.” Harriet acknowledges with a blush.
“Where is Cyril, by the way? I haven’t heard his oboe playing today.”
“He’s in Norfolk, visiting his mother.” Harriet explains. She hesitates for a moment before carrying on. “I’ve never had many friends, you see. I was always the shy one at school, and not at all popular. What few friends I have had up until recently have been rather bookish and shy like me, so it was like a breath of fresh air when Gerry took an interest in plain and shy little me.”
“Hardly plain, Miss Milford.” Lettice counters kindly.
“You do know that I’d never want to intrude on your friendship with Gerry, don’t you? You’re his oldest and best friend, and he’s so proud of you and how you’ve set up your own business all by yourself. You inspire him you know.” Lettice blushes and glances back down into her lap at Harriet’s admission. “And you’re such a chum to him. He says you use the word ‘brick’ to describe your good friends, so you are his ‘brick’ then. Now that I know that he didn’t tell you about me, I must have come across as an interloper: a middle-class girl of no particular note trying to usurp you in Gerry’s affections. However, I can assure you that I’m not. Your friendship with him is perfectly safe. I’m just happy to bask in Gerry’s minor attentions for as long as he wishes to bestow them upon me.”
“Well, I must confess that I did suffer a few pangs of jealously when I first saw the two of you being so familiar together, but I realised after we left you, that you are no threat. Gerald and I had a frank conversation of our own on the way home.” Lettice admits. “Not that Gerald is bound to me by any means. He can be friends with whomever he likes, and so long as his dalliances with gentlemen are discreet, I’m happy. He just needs to be careful in that respect.”
“I tell Cyril the same thing.”
“So, if Gerald wants to be friends with you, who am I to argue? All the same, I am pleased to hear from you that you are no threat, Miss Milford.”
“Not at all, Miss Chetwynd.” She sighs with relief and places the lid on the hatbox on her lap before putting it aside. “Well, now that we have that awkward little conversation out of the way, might I interest you in some tea?”
“Some tea would be splendid, Miss Milford. Thank you.”
Harriet gets up and walks across the room. As she reaches the threshold of the parlour door she turns back and says, “You know we really do have quite a lot in common, you know, Miss Chetwynd?”
“How so, Miss Milford?” Lettice looks up from smoothing down the hem of her frock over her knees.
“Well, we both have Gerry as our friend, and we are both forward thinking women in a patriarchal world.”
“That’s true, Miss Milford.”
“We both are trying to establish names for ourselves, albeit in different areas. And we both have progressed ourselves in spite of our parents’ lack of interest in furthering our education. We could almost form a sisterhood.”
Lettice doesn’t necessarily agree with Harriet’s point about her education, which is quite presumptuous. Her father, the Viscount Wrexham, unlike Lady Sadie, was quite indulgent with Lettice’s education, giving her far more opportunities than were afforded to her elder sister Lally. Harriet realises that she has overstepped the mark by being overly familiar when she sees a cool steeliness darken Lettice’s sparkling blue eyes and harden her features slightly, but it is too late for her to retract her words.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to presume that we will ever be bosom friends***, Miss Milford. However, let me get used to your existence,” Lettice concedes with all the good grace of a Viscount’s daughter. “And I’m sure that we can be friends of a sort that goes beyond a passing acquaintance or an agreeable business arrangement.”
“Very well, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet replies with a half-smile. “I’ll be satisfied with that. Better that we be friends of a sort than enemies for no reason. I think as women wanting to forward ourselves in this male dominated world, we probably have enough of them as it is.”
“Perhaps, Miss Milford. Let us see.”
*Originating in Seventeenth Century England, the term pin money first meant “an allowance of money given by a husband to his wife for her personal expenditures. Married women, who typically lacked other sources of spending money, tended to view an allowance as something quite desirable. By the Twentieth Century, the term had come to mean a small sum of money, whether an allowance or earned, for spending on inessentials, separate and in addition to the housekeeping money a wife might have to spend.
**Created by British industrial chemist and journalist Walter Weldon Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was the first ‘home weeklies’ magazine which supplied dressmaking patterns. Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was first published in 1875 and continued until 1954 when it ceased publication.
***The term bosom friend is recorded as far back as the late Sixteenth Century. In those days, the bosom referred to the chest as the seat of deep emotions, though now the word usually means a woman's “chest.” A bosom friend, then, is one you might share these deep feelings with or have deep feelings for.
Contrary to popular belief, fashion at the beginning of the Roaring 20s did not feature the iconic cloche hat as a commonly worn head covering. Although invented by French milliner Caroline Reboux in 1908, the cloche hat did not start to gain popularity until 1922, so even though this story is set in that year, picture hats, a hangover from the pre-war years, were still de rigueur in fashionable society and whilst Lettice is fashionable, she and many other fashionable women still wore the more romantic picture hat. Although nowhere near as wide, heavy, voluminous or as ornate as the hats worn by women between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the Great War, the picture hats of the 1920s were still wide brimmed, although they were generally made of straw or some lightweight fabric and were decorated with a more restrained touch.
This rather cluttered and chaotic scene of a drawing room cum workroom may look real to you, but believe it or not, it is made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my teenage years.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
At the centre of our story is Lettice’s yellow straw hat decorated with ornamental flowers, fruit and organza. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. The maker of this hat is unknown, but it is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The hat stand the hat rests on is also part of Marilyn Bickel’s collection.
The copy of Weldon’s Dressmaker Spring Fashions edition on the tabletop is a 1:12 size miniature made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, the magazine is non-opening, however what might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The spools of ribbon, the tape measure, the silver sewing scissors in the shape of a stork and the box of embroidery threads and the box of cottons I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House in the United Kingdom.
The tilt chess table on which these items stand I bought from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The concertina sewing box on casters to the left of the photograph which you can see spilling forth its contents is an artisan miniature made by an unknown artist in England. It comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the in the United Kingdom. All the box’s contents including spools of ribbons, threads scissors and buttons on cards came with the work box. The box can completely expand or contract, just like its life-sized equivalent.
The round white metal sewing tin on the armchair is another artisan piece I have had since I was a young teenager. If you look closely you will see it contains a black velvet pin cushion, a pair of sewing scissors, needles, threads and two thimbles. Considering this is a 1:12 artisan miniature, imagine how minute the thimbles are! This I bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings. It does have a lid which features artificial flowers and is trimmed with braid, but I wanted to show off the contents of the tin in this image, so it does not feature.
The spools of yellow, purple and blue cottons come from various online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures.
The bookshelf in the background comes from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late eighteenth century.
Harriet’s family photos seen cluttering the bookshelf in the background are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are almost all from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each. The castle shaped cottage orneé (pastille burner) on the bookshelf has been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. The bowl decorated with fruit on the bookshelf was hand decorated by British artisan Rachael Maundy.
Lettice’s snakeskin handbag with its gold clasp and chain comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniature Shop in the United Kingdom.
The parlour palm in its striped ceramic pot I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The floral chintz settee and chair and the Art Nouveau china cabinet are made by J.B.M. miniatures who specialise in well made pieces of miniature furniture made to exacting standards.
The paintings and prints on the walls all come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House in the United Kingdom.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however, we have followed Lettice southwest from her home, across St James’ Park to Hans Crescent in Belgravia, where the smart Edwardian four storey red brick and mock Tudor London home of the de Virre family stands. Two of Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie of bright young things are getting married: Dickie Channon, eldest surviving son of the Marquess of Taunton, and Margot de Virre, only daughter of Lord Charles and Lady Lucie de Virre. Lettice is visiting the home of the bride, which is a hive of activity in the lead up to the forthcoming nuptials.
Lettice has just been spending time with Margot and her mother in the house’s gold drawing room and is just leaving to return home to Cavendish Mews to meet a potential client. As she walks brusquely down the hall, past Lord de Virre’s study, her louis heels click loudly against the parquetry floor.
“Margot! Margot, is that you?” Lord de Virre’s voice calls out through the partially open door.
Lettice stops, turns and pops her head into the study. Decorated with dark mahogany furniture, gold embossed wallpaper, thick Persian rugs and trophies and souvenirs of Lord de Virre’s travels, it is a masculine room which exudes comfort and cosiness. The room is dominated by a great mahogany rolltop desk, at which Lord de Virre sits hunched over. The scratch of a pen against paper can be heard, and a thin silver trail of exotic smelling smoke arises from the silver ashtray sitting to his right.
“No Lord de Virre,” Lettice answers his call. “It’s only me.”
“Ah!” Lord de Virre turns around in his seat, beaming at his young guest. “Lettice! We don’t see you nearly enough these days!”
“London calls,” she replies gaily.
“Yes, with all its delicious temptations for the young.” He picks up a small glass of port and sips it, and it is then that Lettice notices the finely faceted decanter of deep golden liquid on the desk’s surface. “Have you been visiting the bride-to-be?”
“I have Lord de Virre.”
“Good girl! She needs some distraction from her mother and her endless lists of wedding to-dos.”
“Is that why you’re hiding in here, Lord de Virre?”
The older man colours at Lettice’s suggestion. “Oh, I’m no good with table settings, wedding dresses and that sort of thing,” he blusters, fiddling with the writing paper on the desk in front of him. “Anyway, I’ve just been scribbling down a few words whilst I think of them for my father-of-the-bride speech.”
Lettice blushes too, not wishing to cause embarrassment to a man whom she likes very much. Charles de Virre, unlike her own father, has been anything but distant, and always showed interest in anything she spoke about when she came to visit or stay with de Virres, even as a silly little girl or teenager before the war. As a businessman, rather than a gentleman like her father, Lord de Virre always encouraged Lettice’s desire to follow her dream of becoming an interior designer, and his support and sound business advice has been welcome since the inception of her enterprise.
“You know,” Lettice remarks to try and dispel the unease she has created as she slips through the door and into the male preserve. “I always found this room fascinating: intimidating but fascinating nonetheless.”
“Yes, well,” Lord de Virre replies, picking up his cigarette and drawing on it before blowing out a plume of greyish white smoke. “The secrets of industry are always interesting to a young entrepreneur ahead of her time.”
“That’s very kind of you to say, Lord de Virre.” Lettice colours at the compliment. She walks over to Lord de Virre. “Margot and I used to sneak in here sometimes whilst you were away during the war.”
“Did you now?” He cocks an eyebrow at his slender young companion as she sidles up to his big desk. “I didn’t know that. Cheeky girls. I hope that Lucie never caught you in here.”
“No.” Lettice smiles. “She never did. We were careful. Margot always said that she had a sense of you in this room. She said if she could catch a whiff of your eau de cologne, or your cigarettes,” She glances at the half smoked cigarette in his hand. “Then you were alright. You might be in danger, but you would be alright.” She titters in an embarrassed fashion. “It sounds so silly hearing myself say that, but I guess it was Margot’s and my game, or mantra perhaps as the war went on and we grew up.”
“Well,” Lord de Virre replies softly, touched by Lettice’s confession. “It must have worked, because here I am.”
“Yes,” Lettice chuckles. “Here you are.”
“Well, it was either yours and Margot’s mantra, or Lucie’s photo.” He indicates to a photo of his wife in a brass frame on the desktop next to one of Margot as a baby.
“It’s a very pretty photo of her,” Lettice observes.
“Yes, Lucie had it taken in 1916. I carried it inside my coat in the pocket next to my heart for the remaining two years of the war. She swears that’s what brought me home.”
“Well, it was one thing or the other. The main thing is, Lord de Virre, you did make it home.”
“But many others didn’t.” the older man speaks the unspoken ending to her sentence. “Yes. I dare say that Lucie wouldn’t have been so happy with her prospective son-in-law had Margot come home with the news in 1914 when young Harry was still heir apparent.”
“Would you have minded, Lord de Virre?”
“Me? Good heavens no!” He takes another sip of his port, and indicates to the bottle, the invitation to imbibe declined politely by Lettice with a gentle shake of her head. “Margot could have loved him before he was the heir apparent, and he was destined to a life of impecuniosity and obscurity.”
“Margot said that she would have married him even if he was titleless, penniless and you disapproved.”
“Did she? Well! Bully for her! Good to know she has some of my fighting spirit that Lucie hasn’t managed to tame.” He smiles to himself as he runs his fingers over the frame of his daughter as a baby. “No, I have enough money from my business arrangements to have kept Margot in stockings and fans for a good many years. I think I can comfortably extend that largess to support them both. Just between you and I, Lettice, I suspect that is why the Marquess is so keen on the match of his heir with the daughter of a man in trade with a bought title.”
“Surely, surely you aren’t suggesting the Marquess?” Lettice’s question trails off.
“Unlike your father, perhaps under the wise influence of his eldest son, the Marquess hasn’t modernised, and unlike me, he didn’t have a good war. No, I’m afraid to say that he may be property rich, but,” He huffs awkwardly. “It appears that that’s where it ends.”
“But he’s giving Margot and Dickie a house in Cornwall!”
“And who do you think is bankrolling the renovations to have it electrified, connected to the Penzance telephone exchange, plumbed for goodness sake?”
“Oh, I had no idea!” Lettice rests her hand on the edge of the desk to steady herself at the news.
“Well,” Lord de Virre points the glowing end of his cigarette at Lettice. “Just don’t you say anything.” He taps the side of his nose knowingly. “At least Lucie is happy. She can’t do enough to please young Dickie. She finally gets her wish.”
“Margot’s happiness.” Lettice smiles
“Well yes, that too,” Lord de Virre remarks. “But first and foremost a real title in the family.” He chuckles cheekily to himself.
“Oh Lord de Virre!” Lettice scoffs. “You are awful!”
“Now, thinking of business, Lettice, I’m glad you’re here. I’d like to discuss a little bit of business with you.”
“With me, Lord de Virre?” she asks in surprise.
“Yes Lettice.” he replies matter-of-factly. “You are a successful young businesswoman, are you not?”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d go quite that far,” Lettice blushes again at the compliment. “Yet.”
“Nonsense! You’ve been listening to your parents too much, my girl! Now, I believe that once the honeymoon is over, the newlyweds are planning to invite you down to their new seaside residence in Penzance to show it off. When my darling daughter asks you to redecorate a few of the principal rooms,”
“That’s very presumptuous of you, Lord de Virre!”
“Not at all, Lettice. I know she will for a fact.”
“And how do you know?”
“Because I am the one who planted the seed in her mind.” He laughs good naturedly. “The house is really quite beautiful, but it’s not been lived in and neglected for far too long. The old retainers who caretake the place do as good a job as they are able, but it needs some modernisation and updating beyond electricity, a telephone and plumbed bathrooms. So, when she suggests that you do some redecoration for her, stand your ground and tell her that you won’t do it as a friendly favour. You’re a businesswoman Lettice, so she must pay.”
“But you just said that Dickie hasn’t a bean! How are they to pay?”
“Calm yourself, child,” Lord de Virre waves his hands in front of Lettice, trying to dampen her concerns. “Whatever she wants, whatever it costs, she can have. You just send your bills to me. Alright?”
“Really Lord de Virre?”
“Yes, Lettice. And just think what a feather that will be for your business hat. First the Duchess of Whitby, and then the daughter-in-law of the Marquess of Taunton!”
“Well, that would be something.” Lettice muses at the thought, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth upwards.
“Then we have an arrangement, Miss Chetwynd?” Lord de Virre extends his hand towards Lettice.
“I think we do, Lord de Virre.” Lettice takes his hand, and they shake in businesslike style to seal the arrangement.
Dark and masculine, this tiny corner of Lord de Virre’s study 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 mahogany rolltop desk is a miniature that I have had since I was about eleven years old. The top does roll up and down, and the pigeon holes and writing area of the desk move forward, just like a real rolltop desk. I bought the desk along with a lot of other 1:12 miniatures from a High Street speciality dollhouse shop in England. The receipt with a few handwritten amendments is actually the scroll with the pinked edge in the far right pigeon hole of the desk! Much of the printing has faded, but as you an see the handwritten amendments can still be seen in black ink.
Lord de Virre’s family photos are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each.
On the desk are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles, stamps, a blotter, a roller 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. The silver pen with a pearl end and the letter opener with a cloisonné handle are also made by the Little Green Workshop. All the piles of correspondence, bills and documents atop the desk were made meticulously by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
Also made by the Little Green Workshop is the silver ashtray. Made from a metal piece used for jewellery making, it features faceted crystals inserted into it. It has ‘ash’ moulded inside it so it looks remarkably real. A single cigarette with a red burning tip rests against its lip. This is the smallest of my 1:12 miniature collection. 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 on the desk is a box of Swan Vesta matches, which is a 1:12 miniature hand made by Jonesy’s Miniatures in England. Swan Vestas matches are manufactured under the House of Swan brand, which is also responsible for making other smoking accessories such as cigarette papers, flints and filter tips. The matches are manufactured by Swedish Match in Sweden using local, sustainably grown aspen. The Swan brand began in 1883 when the Collard and Kendall match company in Bootle on Merseyside near Liverpool introduced 'Swan wax matches'. These were superseded by later versions including 'Swan White Pine Vestas' from the Diamond Match Company. These were formed of a wooden splint soaked in wax. They were finally christened 'Swan Vestas' in 1906 when Diamond merged with Bryant and May and the company enthusiastically promoted the Swan brand. By the 1930s 'Swan Vestas' had become 'Britain's best-selling match'.
The bottle of port in its faceted glass bottle and the tiny port glass are both actually made of plastic and come from a miniature suppliers in Shanghai.
Atop the desk stands a photo in a frame. Like the other two photographs in the pictre, it too is a real photo, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames is also from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and is made of are metal with glass. The Edwardian mahogany clock next to the frame is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by Hall’s Miniature Clocks, supplied through Doreen Jeffries Small Wonders Miniatures in England. Next to it you can just see the base of an urn. The urn is only two and a half centimetres high and is an antique miniature and has been hand turned and polished. It has an African ebony body and a bubinga wood top and base. Next to the urn, on the right-hand side of the rolltop desk’s top stand three ledgers from Shepherd’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
In the background you can catch tantalising glimpses of other things in Lord de Virre’s study including a Regency painting of a horse in a gold frame from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, and a hand painted ginger jar from Thailand which stands on a Bespaq plant stand. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.
The Persian rug you can just glimpse in te bottom right-hand corer of the photo was hand woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.
The gold flocked Edwardian wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we have headed north across London, away from Cavendish Mews and Mayfair, past Primrose Hill, Chalk Farm and Belsize Park to the leafy green surrounds of Hampstead Heath*, for today it is Easter Monday, and every Easter Monday or Bank Holiday a fair** is held on the Heath. The beautiful green space in northern London has been transformed from its usual lush and quiet self and it is now alive with a throng of London’s citizenry: rich and poor, young and old, lower-class and middle-class all intermingling and enjoying themselves on fairground rides, laughing at free entertainments, having their fortunes told and eating delicious holiday treats.
Seated on a park bench in a relatively quiet part of the Heath, Edith sits in the dappled sunlight of Autumn beneath a Cypress pine. The weather has been remarkably warm for this time of year, and much to her delight, today is no exception. She sighs contentedly as she removes her purple rose and black feather hand decorated straw hat from her head and allows the sun to fall upon her glossy chestnut tresses, which she has washed and tried to style in a modish way with her long hair held in a loose chignon at the back of her neck, curling softly around her ears, giving the impression of a pageboy bob. Patting the loose bun at the back of her neck where she can feel a small amount of perspiration gathering, she ponders again whether she should have her girlish length cut off in favour of the cropped style that seems to have gripped so many young women around London. Then she pictures her mother’s disappointed and disapproving face and quickly puts the idea at the back of her mind. She listens to the distant screams and cries of joyful people riding the mechanical swinging gondolas, the Ferris wheel and the merry-go-round, and to the closer sounds of leaves crushed under foot and giggled intimacies as young couples find a private place in the bushes to kiss and embrace, away from the prying eyes of the throng.
“Here we are then, Edith,” comes the familiar voice of Willison’s the Grocer’s delivery boy and Edith’s new beau, Frank Leadbetter, resounding happily over the hubbub of human chatter, laughter and the distant trill of fairground music. “One serving of the best quality chips that Hampstead Heath has to offer!”
Opening her eyes, Edith looks up at her young man’s happy face smiling down at her, as he hands her a crumpled bundle of newspaper, already showing little greasy spots where the oil from the chips held within the parcel is seeping through.
“Oh, thanks Frank!” Edith replies gratefully, reaching up and taking her parcel eagerly from his outstretched hand.
Moving over on the bench to make room for him, Edith heart leaps a little in her chest as Frank slips in next to her, his thigh pressed in his Sunday best suit trousers pressed up against hers clad in her plum coloured frock. The newspaper crumples noisily as they both pull at the pages of yesterday’s London tabloids to reveal nests of golden yellow hot chips, sending forth aromatic steam that quickly permeates the air around them.
“We better eat these quick,” Frank says with a chuckle, a cheeky smile and a wink as he adjusts his straw boater with its natty striped grosgrain ribbon on his head. “Or else we’ll find ourselves with a hundred new friends we didn’t know we had.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice, Frank,” Edith replies happily. “I’m famished after all the rides we’ve been on.”
“Which was your favourite, Edith?” Frank asks, preparing to make a mental note of it as he bites into a crisp hot chip, gasping as the fluffy hot potato inside burns his tongue.
Edith doesn’t reply at first, chewing her first hot chip blissfully as she contemplates her answer. “The merry-go-round, I think.” she answers at length.
“What? Not the swinging gondola?”
“Oh no, Frank!” Edith puts her hand to her chest and quickly swallows her mouthful of hot chip. “They ride up so high! I think if I’d ever been on a boat in my life, I should be sick from it. I don’t know how my brother does it.”
“Big boats don’t ride up and down on the waves like that you know, Edith.”
“How’d you know that, Frank Leadbetter? Have you ever been on one before?”
“Well, no,” Frank admits awkwardly. “But I have been on a rowboat on the Crystal Palace boating lake.***” he adds hurriedly in an effort to defend himself. “And that didn’t ride the waves like the mechanical gondola did.”
“A rowboat’s not a big boat, Frank!” Edith scoffs with a gentle smile. “Not like the ones I’m talking about that my brother sails to Australia on. He says that for the most part they are pretty smooth, but that if they get caught in stormy weather the boat rolls about like toy boats do on a pond. They have the tables and chairs nailed down to the floor so they don’t fly about everywhere in bad weather.”
“Well, I guess he’d know better than me then.” Frank concedes. “What does your brother do on his big boat, Edith?”
“He’s a dining saloon steward.” Edith replies proudly before greedily eating another long golden hot chip. “He got promoted to first class dining steward two voyages ago. So, what with him being promoted and my Dad becoming a line manager at McVities, the Watsfords seem to be going up in the world.”
“You’ll be too fancy for the likes of me soon, Edith,” Frank laughs good naturedly.
“Oh get away with you, Frank Leadbetter!” Edith giggles, sticking him playfully in the ribs with her elbow.
The pair eat some more of their hot chips in the beautiful spring sunshine before Frank asks, “Would you ever want to go on one of those big boats, Edith?”
“Why would I, Frank?” She looks at him thoughtfully.
“Well, you know, go places.” he elucidates as he chews contemplatively on a few chips.
“Where would I go?”
“I don’t know, Paris maybe.”
“Why on earth would I go to Paris, Frank?” Edith asks, giving him a doubtful glance before eating another chip.
“Well, don’t all you girls want to go to Paris?”
Edith looks at Frank earnestly. “I don’t know about all girls, Frank, but this girl is perfectly happy keeping her feet firmly in England!” She nods emphatically. “No Paris for me, thank you very much.” She rubs her greasy fingers on the edge of her newspaper parcel. “There isn’t anything I can’t find or buy here that I should need to go to Paris to get.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that Edith, because I don’t want to be anywhere but where you are.”
“Oh Frank!” Edith blushes, raising her hand to her flushed cheek. “I think that’s the nicest thing a chap’s ever said to me before.”
“Oh,” Frank utters disappointedly. “Had a few chaps vie for your affections before, have you?” Then he smiles broadly to show that he is only teasing her.
Sticking her chin upwards in an aloof way that is as equally teasing as Frank’s cheeky smile, the young girl replies, “A lady is entitled to her secrets. Don’t go fishing for what you shouldn’t be asking for, Frank Leadbetter!”
The pair fall into silence again as they continue to eat their hot chip feast. Through the trees they hear the distant smattering of far away applause as a free entertainment of some kind comes to an end. A bell rings out indicating that someone has hit the strongman’s bell and won a prize. A child screams unhappily, no doubt as a result of either a smack for being naughty or for being pulled away begrudgingly from the entertainments by their parents. Behind them, the leaves on the Cypress pine shiver and rustle in the sunlight and a muffled pair of giggles break out, indicating the presence of young lovers in the undergrowth. Frank glances awkwardly at Edith and finds her glancing at him equally uncomfortably, yet when they see one another’s looks and lock eyes, they start laughing.
“Where would you want to go, Frank?” Edith asks at length.
“You mean, aside from the bushes with you, Edith?” he laughs in reply.
“Oh, you are awful, Frank!” Edith snatches up her green leather handbag and hits his arm playfully with it, before returning it to where it hangs from the bench’s arm beneath the brim of her straw hat. “I’m being serious.”
“So was I.” Frank retorts, blushing.
Edith smirks. “You’ll just have to wait for that, won’t you Frank? You know I’m not that kind of girl. When you’ve got a ring on my finger, then we can…” She doesn’t complete her sentence, but nods knowingly to the slightly trembling bushes about them.
“Steady on Edith! We’ve only just started walking out together.”
“Well, don’t suggest anything else then Frank, if you aren’t prepared to wait.” Edith smiles. “No, I meant where would you like to travel? Do you want to go to Paris?”
“Not me, Edith. Paris isn’t my sort of place, I don’t think.”
“Well how do you know that, if you’ve never been there?”
“Well, I know it’s full of foreigners, and I don’t hold with foreigners****. No, a nice holiday to the Lake District will suit me just fine. I told you, the only place I want to be is with you.”
“Well that suits me just fine, Frank.” Edith replies as she picks up her black straw hat and puts it back on her head. Looking down in her lap she glances at the newspaper spread out across it, now devoid of any chips, with only crumbs of batter and traces of oil smearing the print. She looks at Frank’s lap and sees that he has also finished his chip feast. “Because now that we’ve eaten our chips, I’d like to go for a stroll to walk them off. Shall we?”
Frank leans over and takes the newspaper from her lap and screws it up with his own. Standing up and doffing his straw boater with one hand, he bows and offers his hand to Edith with a winning smile. “Shall we then, Miss Watsford?”
Taking his hand and rising up, she replies, “With pleasure Mr. Leadbetter.”
“Hhhmmm…” Frank ruminates aloud. “Edith Leadbetter. That has quite a nice ring to it.”
Edith smiles at the thought as she snuggles into Frank’s side.
And leaving the newspaper balled on the seat of the wooden bench, the pair walk away arm in arm as happily as two young lovers walking out together could be, meandering back towards the fun of the Easter Monday fair on Hampstead Heath.
*Hampstead Heath (locally known simply as the Heath) is a large, ancient London heath, covering 320 hectares (790 acres). This grassy public space sits astride a sandy ridge, one of the highest points in London, running from Hampstead to Highgate, which rests on a band of London Clay. The heath is rambling and hilly, embracing ponds, recent and ancient woodlands, a lido, playgrounds, and a training track, and it adjoins the former stately home of Kenwood House and its estate. The south-east part of the heath is Parliament Hill, from which the view over London is protected by law.
**Fairs have been held on Hampstead Heath since the mid 1800s, covering vast areas of East Heath to Spaniard’s Road. Before that, there had been fairs at Flask Walk in Hampstead since the 17th century, and another flourished in West End until it was shut down for rowdiness in 1820. The popularity of the fairs on the Heath exploded after 1871 when, just after the Hampstead Heath Act, the Bank Holidays Act created four public days’ rest. The Heath’s Bank Holiday fairs regularly attracted upward of 30,000 people at the August holiday, and 50,000 on Whit Mondays. Attendance records were broken when an estimated 200,000 people descended on the Heath one Easter Monday!
***Crystal Palace is an area in south London, named after the Crystal Palace Exhibition building, which stood in the area from 1854 until it was destroyed by fire in 1936. Approximately seven miles south-east of Charing Cross, it includes one of the highest points in London, at 367 feet, offering views over the capital. In the 1922 when this story is set, the Crystal Palace complex was used for exhibitions and entertainments and was still surrounded by a public park. Alongside the great wrought iron and glass structure was a large boating lake.
****The idea of being suspicious about foreigners was not an uncommon thing by people of all classes in England before the Second World War. Being the centre of the British Empire that ruled a quarter of the globe, the common ethos amongst the British people was that no-one was better than the English and foreigners with their different foods, ways of dress, customs and ideas were to be taught the British way and were viewed with suspicion and in some cases, hostility.
Although it may look life-sized to you, this idyllic scene is in fact comprised of pieces from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Edith’s black dyed straw hat with purple roses and black feathers was made by an unknown artisan. 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. This hat is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The green handbag, handmade from soft leather I also from her collection.
Made of polymer clay glazed to look oily and stuck to miniature newspaper print, the two servings of golden hot chips on the bench 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.
The setting for this scene is my front garden, and the tree behind the bench is a slow growing miniature conifer. I am not sure what variety it is, but it is a Cypress pine.
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, where she is taking possession of her latest order from Willison’s Grocers, delivered by Mr. Willison’s boy, Frank Leadbeater.
“Tinned apricots, tinned pears,” Edith marks off the items written on her list that she telephoned through to Mr. Willison’s on Thursday morning. “Plum jam, Bovril.” She places a tick next to each with a crisp mark from her pencil, the sound of it scratching across the page’s surface. “Tinned cherries. Where are the tinned cherries, Frank?” Edith asks anxiously.
“They’re right here, Miss Edith,” he remarks, delving noisly into the box of groceries between the flour and Lyon’s tea, withdrawing a small tin of My Lady tinned cherries. “Just as you ordered.”
“Oh thank goodness!” Edith sighs, placing a hand on her chest, from which she releases the breath she has been holding.
“Everything is just as you ordered and selected and packed with extra care by yours truly!” Frank pats himself with his cycling cap on the chest as he puffs it out proudly through his rust coloured knitted vest.
“Oh, get on with you, Frank!” Edith scoffs with a mild chuckle, glancing up at his charming, if slightly gormless grin before continuing her inventory of items.
“It’s true Miss Edith!” he replies, holding his cap against his heart rather melodramatically. “I swear. I packed them up myself. As his most trusted member of staff, Mr. Willison lets me do things like that as well as the deliveries.”
“I thought you were the only person he employed, Frank.” Edith remarks without looking up from her list ticking.
“Yes,” the delivery boy coughs and blusters, colouring a little at the remark. “Yes well, it is true that I am his only employee, but Mrs. Willison does do the books and his daughter helps out on Saturdays. But I am his most trusted employee, and I’m working my way up the rungs.”
“What rungs, Frank? You’re the delivery boy. What is there beyond that? Mr. Willison isn’t going to hand his family business to his delivery boy to run.”
“Well no, not yet he isn’t, but I’m doing more and more around the shop when I’m not out on my delivery round, so I’m learning about things over time.”
“Things! What things?”
“Well, Mr, Willison let me help display goods in his front window the other day. Soon I will be able to add visual merchandiser to my list of skills.”
“You’ll add what?” Edith laughs, her hand flying to her mouth as she does to try and muffle it.
“Hey, it’s not funny Miss Edith!” Frank looks forlorn and crestfallen across at the chuckling maid. “Visual merchandising. It’s just a fancy term we use for window dressing.”
“Oh, do we now?” Edith cocks an eyebrow at him. “Very fancy indeed.”
“You may laugh now, my girl,” Frank wags a finger in a playful way at Edith. “But one day you’ll say that you knew me when.”
“When you have your own grocers?” Edith sounds doubtful as she speaks.
“Well, I could do. Others have. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Oh I don’t mind you having dreams, Frank.” she assures him. “Miss Lettice tells me the same.”
The delivery boy’s ears pick up and leaning a little bit closer to Edith he asks, “So what’s your dream then, Miss Edith, since mine is so laughable?”
“My dream?” she put her hand to her chest, taken aback that anyone should be so forward, least of all the man who delivers groceries from the local up-market grocers. “My dream is to…” Then she glances up at the kitchen clock ticking solemnly away on the eau-de-nil painted wall. “Shouldn’t you be out delivering groceries to your next customer, Frank?”
“Old Lady Basting’s cook can wait for her delivery a little while longer,” Frank asserts. “She never has a kind word for me anyway. It’s always ‘stop cluttering up the area with your bike, Frank’. Anyway, she’s terrible at paying her bills. I don’t know why Mr. Willison keeps her as a customer when she always waits for reminders before paying.”
“Well, a customer is a customer, Frank, even a late paying one. Quite a lot of cooks of titled families around here do the same. It’s almost like it’s expected that they don’t have to pay on time.”
“Expected?”
“You know: their right. Their right not to pay on time because that would be acknowledging that money makes business revolve.”
“Well it does, Miss Edith.”
“I know that Frank, and you know that, but families like Miss Lettice’s, they never like talking about money. It’s almost as if it’s dirty.”
“I imagine when you have so much money you never have to worry about it, why would you talk about it?”
“I suppose so Frank. Well, that’s it.” She smiles and puts down her notepad with a satisfied sigh. “That’s everything.”
“Course it is, Miss Edith. I told you I packed it myself, and Frank Leadbetter won’t ever let you down.”
“Well, since you’re whiling away some time, Frank, do you fancy a cup of tea then?” Edith asks with a shy smile.
“Oh, thank you!” Replies the young man. “Only if it isn’t too much trouble, mind you.”
“Oh it’s no trouble. I’m going to have one myself before I pack all this away,” she waves her hand expansively at the piles of groceries. “I can fetch two cups as easily as I can one.”
“I shan’t say no then, Miss Edith.” Frank agrees readily. “Cycling groceries around Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico is thirsty work.”
Edith goes to the dresser and fetches out two Delftware cups and saucers, the sugar bowl and milk jug which she arranges on the end of the table not covered in grocery items. She places the kettle on the stovetop and lights it with one of the matches from the red and white Webb Matches box that Frank has just brought. Then she scuttles across the black and white linoleum floor with the jug to the food safe where she fills it with a splash of milk, before bringing it back to the table.
“One of those Huntly and Palmers* chocolate dessert biscuits wouldn’t go astray with it.” Frank says reaching down to the elegantly decorated buttercup yellow and bluish grey tin.
“Ah-ah!” Edith slaps Frank’s hand away before he can remove the lid. “Those aren’t for you Frank, any more than they are me! I’ve got some leftover Family Assorted in the biscuit barrel. You can settle for one of them, if you deign, Mr. Leadbetter, Greengrocer to the best families in Mayfair.” She giggles girlishly and her smile towards him is returned with a beaming smile of his own.
“So, Miss Edith,” Frank asks with a cheeky smile as he leans over the box. “What is it you’re making me for my tea?”
“You, Frank Leadbetter?” she laughs in amazement. “You have quite some cheek today, don’t you?”
“Alright then, if it isn’t for me, what and who are these groceries for?”
“What and for whom, Frank.” Edith corrects him kindly.
“Is that what your dream is? To teach people how to speak properly, like that chap in Pygmalion** then? What’s his name?”
“Higgins, Henry Higgins.” Edith replies. “And no, I don’t. And stop fishing for information not freely given.” She gives his nose a playful squeeze as she crosses her arms akimbo and waits for the kettle to boil. “No, most of this is for a special dinner party Miss Lettice is throwing for friends from Buenos Aires who have come to see the wedding of Princess Mary to Viscount Lascelles***. They want summer pudding,” She tuts scornfully. “In the middle of winter!”
“Thus, all the tinned fruits.”
“Since I cannot move the seasons to those of the southern hemisphere, yes.”
Edith hears the kettle on the stove boiling and pours hot water into the white teapot sitting on the server shelf attached to the right of the stove. Placing the knitted cosy over its top, she moves it to the table. She looks Frank Leadbetter up and down as she does. He stands there, leaning against the deal kitchen table, dressed in dark trousers, a white shirt that could do with a decent pressing, his rust coloured knitted vest and a Brunswick green tie****. She looks at his face. He’s quite handsome really, now she looks at him, with fresh rosy cheeks, wind tousled sandy blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.
“You know what Mrs. Boothby said to me, Frank?” Edith chuckles, picking up the pot and swirling the tea in it before pouring some into both cups.
“No!” Frank replies, accepting one cup. “What?”
“She thought that I was sweet on you, and that we might be stepping out together.”
“Really?”
“Yes really! That’s what she thought. She let it slip a month or so ago.”
Frank adds a heaped teaspoon full of sugar to his tea and stirs it thoughtfully. “Is that such a terrible idea?”
“What?” Edith asks.
“Us,” He indicates with a wagging finger between Edith and himself. “You and me, I mean, stepping out.”
“Well,” Edith feels a blush rising up her throat and flooding her cheeks. “No. Not at all, Frank. I was just saying that Mrs. Boothby thought we were, when we aren’t.” She looks away from Frank’s expectant face and spoons sugar into her own tea. “I hadn’t really given it much thought.”
“Ahh, but you have given it some consideration, then?”
Edith keeps quiet a moment and thinks with eyes downcast. “A little bit, in passing I suppose.”
“And what if we were, Edith?” Surprised by the sudden dropping of her title in a very familiar address, Edith glances back at Frank who looks at her in earnest. “Walking out together, I mean. Would that be agreeable to you?”
“Are you asking me to walk out with you, Frank Leadbetter?” Edith gasps.
“Well, yes, I suppose I am.” Frank chuckles awkwardly, his face colouring with his own blush of embarrassment. “Only if you’re agreeable to it of course.”
“Yes,” Edith smiles. “Yes, I’m agreeable to that, Frank.”
“You are?” Frank’s eyes widen in disbelief as his mouth slackens slightly.
“For a man so sure of his prospects, you seem surprised, Frank.”
“Oh well,” he stumbles. “Its not… I mean… I mean I am. I… I just didn’t think you… well… you know being here and all…”
“It’s aright Frank. I was only teasing.” replies Edith kindly. “You don’t need to explain.”
“And Miss Chetwynd doesn’t…”
“Oh no, Frank! As long as my work isn’t interfered with, Miss Lettice won’t mind. She’s a very kind and modern thinking mistress, Unlike Mrs. Plaistow.”
“I remember that was where I first set eyes on you, Edith, at her terrace in Pimlico.”
“Do you Frank?”
“I do.” Frank smiles proudly.
The two chuckle and shyly keep glancing at one another before looking away and burying themselves in their cups of tea awkwardly.
“Your day off is Wednesday, isn’t it?” Frank asks eventually.
“It is, Frank, how observant of you to notice,”
“Well, it pays to take note of things in my profession. You just never know when it might come in handy.” He taps the side of his nose knowingly.
“Only, I go and help my Mum on my day off.” Edith explains.
“Oh,” Frank says defeatedly, then thinks for a moment and adds. “Well, I work Wednesday anyway.”
“What days don’t you work, Frank?”
“Well, I don’t work Sundays. So, I’m free after church services are over.”
Edith laughs, “Well that works rather well then, as I have Sundays free until four.”
Frank joins Edith’s laughter. “Sunday it is then!”
The pair fall into an awkward silence again.
“So, where would you like to go, Edith?” asks Frank eventually, shattering the quiet punctuated only by the swinging pendulum of the wall clock.
“Well,” Edith replies after a few moments. “Miss Lettice’s client, Wanetta Ward is starring in a new moving picture called ‘After the Ball is Over’ at the Premier in East Ham*****. We could go and see that.”
“Sounds brilliant, Edith!”
Edith smiles shyly and blushes again, a sparkle shining in her eyes. “Yes, it does rather.”
* 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, and as a dessert biscuit.
**Pygmalion is a play by George Bernard Shaw, named after the Greek mythological figure. Written in 1912, it premiered at the Hofburg Theatre in Vienna on the 16th of October 1913 and was first presented in English on stage to the public in 1913. Its English-language premiere took place at Her Majesty's Theatre in the West End in April 1914 and starred Herbert Beerbohm Tree as phonetics professor Henry Higgins and Mrs Patrick Campbell as Cockney flower girl Eliza Doolittle. Shaw's play has been adapted numerous times, most notably as the 1938 film Pygmalion starring Leslie Howard and Wendy Hiller, the 1956 musical My Fair Lady and its 1964 film version starring Rex Harrison and Audrey Hepburn.
***Mary, Princess Royal and Countess of Harewood (1897 – 1965), was the only daughter of King George V and Queen Mary. She was the sister of Kings Edward VIII and George VI, and aunt of Queen Elizabeth II. She married Viscount Lascelles on the 28th of February 1922 in a ceremony held at Westminster Abbey. The bride was only 24 years old, whilst the groom was 39. There is much conjecture that the marriage was an unhappy one, but their children dispute this and say it was a very happy marriage based upon mutual respect. The wedding was filmed by Pathé News and was the first royal wedding to be featured in fashion magazines, including Vogue.
****In pre World War II times, it was unusual for even the most low paid male workers like delivery men to dress in a shirt, jacket, vest and tie. It represented respectability and the drive for upward mobility in a class conscious society. It is where the term “white collar job” comes from.
*****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 domestic scene may not be all that it appears, for it is made up completely of items from my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
All of Edith’s groceries are 1:12 artisan miniatures with amazing attention to detail as regards the labels of different foods. Some are still household names today. So many of these tins of various foods would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. They come from various different suppliers including Shepherds Miniatures in the United Kingdom, Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom, Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering and Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The cardboard box branded with the name Sunlight Soap and the paper shopping bag also come from Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
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.
Bird’s were best known for making custard and Bird’s Custard is still a common household name, although they produced other desserts beyond custard, including the blancmange. They also made Bird’s Golden Raising Powder – their brand of baking powder. Bird’s Custard was first formulated and first cooked by Alfred Bird in 1837 at his chemist shop in Birmingham. He developed the recipe because his wife was allergic to eggs, the key ingredient used to thicken traditional custard. The Birds continued to serve real custard to dinner guests, until one evening when the egg-free custard was served instead, either by accident or design. The dessert was so well received by the other diners that Alfred Bird put the recipe into wider production. John Monkhouse (1862–1938) was a prosperous Methodist businessman who co-founded Monk and Glass, which made custard powder and jelly. Monk and Glass custard was made in Clerkenwell and sold in the home market, and exported to the Empire and to America. They acquired by its rival Bird’s Custard in the early Twentieth Century.
P.C. Flett and Company was established in Kirkwall in the Orkney Islands by Peter Copeland Flett. He had inherited a small family owned ironmongers in Albert Street Kirkwall, which he inherited from his maternal family. He had a shed in the back of the shop where he made ginger ale, lemonade, jams and preserves from local produce. By the 1920s they had an office in Liverpool, and travelling representatives selling jams and preserves around Great Britain. I am not sure when the business ceased trading.
S.P.C. is an Australian brand that still exists to this day. In 1917 a group of fruit growers in Victoria’s Goulburn Valley decided to form a cooperative which they named the Shepperton Fruit Preserving Company. The company began operations in February 1918, canning pears, peaches and nectarines under the brand name of S.P.C. On the 31st of January 1918 the manager of the Shepparton Fruit Preserving Company announced that canning would begin on the following Tuesday and that the operation would require one hundred and fifty girls or women and thirty men. In the wake of the Great War, it was hoped that “the launch of this new industry must revive drooping energies” and improve the economic circumstances of the region. The company began to pay annual bonuses to grower-shareholders by 1929, and the plant was updated and expanded. The success of S.P.C. was inextricably linked with the progress of the town and the wider Goulburn Valley region. In 1936 the company packed twelve million cans and was the largest fruit cannery in the British empire. Through the Second World War the company boomed. The product range was expanded to include additional fruits, jam, baked beans and tinned spaghetti and production reached more than forty-three million cans a year in the 1970s. From financial difficulties caused by the 1980s recession, SPC returned once more to profitability, merging with Ardmona and buying rival company Henry Jones IXL. S.P.C. was acquired by Coca Cola Amatil in 2005 and in 2019 sold to a private equity group known as Shepparton Partners Collective.
Peter Leech and Sons was a grocers that operated out of Lowther Street in Whitehaven from the 1880s. They had a large range of tinned goods that they sold including coffee, tea, tinned salmon and golden syrup. They were admired for their particularly attractive labelling. I do not know exactly when they ceased production, but I believe it may have happened just before the Second World War.
Sunlight Soap was first introduced in 1884. It was created by William Hesketh Lever (1st Viscount Leverhulme). 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.
Webb matches were manufactured by the match firm Bryant and May. Bryant and May was a British company created in the mid Nineteenth Century specifically to make matches. Their original Bryant and May Factory was located in Bow, London. They later opened other match factories in the United Kingdom and Australia, such as the Bryant and May Factory in Melbourne, and owned match factories in other parts of the world. Formed in 1843 by two Quakers, William Bryant and Francis May, Bryant and May survived as an independent company for over seventy years, but went through a series of mergers with other match companies and later with consumer products companies. The registered trade name Bryant amd May still exists and it is owned by the Swedish Match Company, as are many of the other registered trade names of the other, formerly independent, companies within the Bryant and May group.
Lyons Tea was first produced by J. Lyons and Co., a catering empire created and built by the Salmons and Glucksteins, a German-Jewish immigrant family based in London. Starting in 1904, J Lyons began selling packaged tea through its network of teashops. Soon after, they began selling their own brand Lyons Tea through retailers in the UK, Ireland and around the world. In 1918, Lyons purchased Hornimans and in 1921 they moved their tea factory to J. Lyons and Co., Greenford at that time, the largest tea factory in Europe. In 1962, J Lyons and Company (Ireland) became Lyons Irish Holdings. After a merger with Allied Breweries in 1978, Lyons Irish Holdings became part of Allied Lyons (later Allied Domecq) who then sold the company to Unilever in 1996. Today, Lyons Tea is produced in England. Lyons Tea was a major advertiser in the early decades of RTÉ Television, featuring the "Lyons minstrels" and coupon-based prize competitions.
The Dry Fork Milling Company, which produced Dry Fork Flour was based in Dry Fork Virginia. They were well known for producing cornmeal. They were still producing cornmeal and flour into the 1950s. Today, part of the old mill buildings are used as a reception centre.
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.
To the left of the sink is the food safe with a mop leaning against it. In the days before refrigeration, or when refrigeration was expensive, perishable foods such as meat, butter, milk and eggs were kept in a food safe. Winter was easier than summer to keep food fresh and butter coolers and shallow bowls of cold water were early ways to keep things like milk and butter cool. A food safe was a wooden cupboard with doors and sides open to the air apart from a covering of fine galvinised wire mesh. This allowed the air to circulate while keeping insects out. There was usually an upper and a lower compartment, normally lined with what was known as American cloth, a fabric with a glazed or varnished wipe-clean surface. Refrigerators, like washing machines were American inventions and were not commonplace in even wealthy upper-class households until well after the Second World War.