Maine Bird List
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Another supplement to the photos taken from the Nagasaki lookout. This is one of the dive sites in Chichijima archipelago.
The Purple-throated Mountain-gem (Lampornis calolaemus) is a medium-sized species of hummingbird (Trochilidae), with a straight, dark bill. It occurs in the montane cloud forests of Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama. Both males and females of this species are characterized by stunning iridescent green contour feathers, which cover most of their bodies, and white post-ocolar stripes. This species is sexually dimporphic in plumage. The males are primarily green, with a purple gorget. The upperparts of the female are green, but the underparts are pale rufous, and the female lacks a gorget. Purple-throated Mountain-gems are territorial nectarivores, supplementing their diets with occasional insect prey. This species breeds primarily during the rainy season, from October to April, and nests in the understory. Males make their presence known with repeated short bursts of insect-like trills.
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Member of Nature’s Spirit
Good Stewards of Nature
The Cheviot ewe was guarding her Crystalix supplment against all comers. Pregnant ewes need all the help they can get with extra minerals. These tubs with a molasses base encourage the sheep to lick the contents and get their extra minerals and vitamins
One more supplement to the “Trip to Eastern Thailand and Cambodia 2024.” Two photos were merged to get this image.
The sanctuary of Angkor Wat has a concentric square plan consisting of three levels. This photo is taken from within the southeastern corner of the first level.
The second level has tower-like structures at the four corners as you see in the front right and the one under restoration in the far left. The third level also has tower-like prangs at the four corners, and the central prang.
Angkor Wat is a perfectly geometric construction.
Ladybower was built between 1935 and 1943 by the Derwent Valley Water Board to supplement the other two reservoirs in supplying the water needs of the East Midlands. It took a further two years to fill (1945). The dam differs from the Howden Reservoir and Derwent Reservoir in that it is a clay-cored earth embankment, and not a solid masonry dam. Below the dam is a cut-off trench 180 feet (55 m) deep and 6 feet (1.8 m) wide filled with concrete, stretching 500 feet (150 m) into the hills each side, to stop water leaking round the dam. The dam wall was built by Richard Baillie and Sons, a Scottish company. The two viaducts, Ashopton and Ladybower, needed to carry the trunk roads over the reservoir were built by the London firm of Holloways, using a steel frame clad in concrete. The project was delayed when the Second World War broke out in 1939, making labour and raw materials scarce. But construction was continued due to the strategic importance of maintaining supplies. King George VI, accompanied by Queen Elizabeth, formally opened the reservoir on 25 September 1945.
During the 1990s the wall was raised and strengthened to reduce the risk of over-topping in a major flood. The original dam wall contains 100,000 tons of concrete, over one million tons of earth and 100,000 tons of clay for the core. The upstream face is stone faced. Materials were brought to the site on the Derwent Valley Water Board's own branch line and their sidings off the main line in the Hope Valley.
The dam's design is unusual in having two totally enclosed bellmouth overflows (locally named the "plugholes") at the side of the wall. These are stone and of 80 feet (24 m) diameter with outlets of 15 feet (4.6 m) diameter. Each discharges via its own valve house at the base of the dam. The overflows originally had walkways around them but they were dismantled many years ago. The bell mouths are often completely out of the water and are only rarely submerged, often after heavy rainfall or flooding.
A selections of shells (Clam, Mussel & Whelk) HSS! I hope these are OK for Snail Saturday group even though they are empty? If not feel free to take this out of the group Kez. Dollar Bay where I found these was literally covered in shells, I could hear them crunching underfoot as I walked.
The origins of the tongue twister might interest you. Mary Anning was born in 1799 in Lyme Regis in Dorset, England. She was the eldest daughter of a cabinetmaker, and the family supplemented their income by digging up fossils to sell to tourists on the shore www.littlethings.com/she-sells-seashells-meaning/
"The kiskadee’s bold behavior and mix of foraging styles gave early naturalists fits in trying to classify it. In 1766, Linnaeus started things off by calling it a kind of shrike. In 1920, the naturalist William Henry Hudson wrote that the bird “seems to have studied to advantage the various habits of the Kestrel, Flycatcher, Kingfisher, Vulture, and fruit-eating Thrush; and when its weapons prove weak it supplements them with its cunning."
The Cornell Lab of Ornithology
MEASUREMENTS
Both Sexes
Length: 7.9-11.0 in (20-28 cm)
Weight: 2.7-3.0 oz (77-85 g)
Wingspan: 12.2-15.8 in (31-40 cm)
Photographed in the wild, San Pancho, Nayarit, Mexico.
The Pacific black duck (Anas superciliosa), commonly known as the PBD, is a dabbling duck found in much of Indonesia, New Guinea, Australia, New Zealand, and many islands in the southwestern Pacific, reaching to the Caroline Islands in the north and French Polynesia in the east. It is usually called the grey duck in New Zealand, where it is also known by its Maori name, pārera. This sociable duck is found in a variety of wetland habitats, and its nesting habits are much like those of the mallard, which is encroaching on its range in New Zealand. It feeds by upending, like other Anas ducks. The Pacific Black Duck is mainly vegetarian, feeding on seeds of aquatic plants. This diet is supplemented with small crustaceans, molluscs and aquatic insects. 54527
“The construction of beams
brings the fruition of dreams.
The casting of steel
makes your fantasy real…”
Read this post on a little virtual keyhole ☂
Love and sparkles,
Dea
A little ‘Black Duck’.
The Pacific black duck is mainly vegetarian, feeding on seeds of aquatic plants.
This diet is supplemented with small crustaceans, molluscs and aquatic insects’.
Although its colouring is predominately brown it is more commonly known as the ‘black duck’.
It takes the name black duck due entirely to its black plumage stripe that features prominently on its face which extends from its bill to behind its eyes.
Known for being a sociable duck it forms its habitats in wetland regions and its diet consist of seeds, aquatic plants, small crustaceans, molluscs and aquatic insects.
This particular duck is a resident of the Nepean River Cycleway waterways.
Camden, New South Wales, Australia.
A male Rufous Hummingbird, his face obscured by his extended wings (likely in an attempt to not offend any vegan friends), opens wide in the pursuit of protein in the form of a tiny, flying Gnat. Though the majority of their diet consists of nectar, hummingbirds regularly supplement protein through the consumption of a wide variety of small insects, many of which they catch in mid-flight due to their incredible speed and flight agility.
Texsture by LENABEM-ANNA J.
Malmö Sweden
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The foundation of the oldest Renaissance castle in Scandinavia was laid in 1436 during the regency of Eric of Pomerania. He built a citadel, most of which was later destroyed. In 1537, the Danish king Christian III built a new castle, which was finished in 1542. The castle was built according to the stylistic ideals of the Renaissance. The glory days of the castle were in that period, when the royal family was often in residence. When Malmö became Swedish in 1658, it no longer served as a royal castle and the defensive functions of the castle were instead reinforced by the Swedish military forces. The fortress became outmoded in the 18th century and was instead used as a prison until 1914. The castle was extensively restored in the late 1920s. Malmö Museums took over the castle buildings, which were supplemented with a modern addition. Malmö Museums opened their new premises in 1937, which still hold some of the museum's collections.
Nutritional supplements are not a substitute
for a nutritionally balanced diet.
(Deepak Chopra)
Looking close... on Friday! - REFLECTION on BLACK BACKGROUND
(photo by Freya, edit by me)
Thanks for views, faves and comments!
Search on the web, says it is used for: Today, passionflower is promoted as a dietary supplement for anxiety and sleep problems, as well as for pain, heart rhythm problems, menopausal symptoms, and attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder. It is applied to the skin for burns and to treat hemorrhoids. If I had known that while chasing trains, I would have stopped to harvest some. These are so nice to find and view.
GROUP: MACRO MONDAYS
THEME: REMEDY
SUBJECT: NASTURTIUM
NASTURTIUM can act both as a disinfectant and as a healing agent, and all parts of the plant have strong antibiotic and antimicrobial properties.
Battling the steep climb out of Ilo, U23B #55 blasts through ta thick desert fog near Desvio 'Bryant' on the coastal side of the SPC.
With the inbound powerset facing some mechanical issues on its lead motor, a U23B was thrust into action to take the empty copper train back to Cuajone. Typically, the EMDs lead the road trains and what's left of the GE roster are rotated through yard/mine/smelter/port duty. In fact, most of the remaining U-boats have been downgrade to U10Bs and are not MU-able. The 50-series U23s were delivered to SPC in 1975 shortly after the opening of Cuajone Mine and were supplemented by the 40-series, (now retired?)' nose-light U23Bs a few months later
Walking to this location required parking on the edge of a nearby road and making a long trek across a flat desert plane that felt more like Mars than anywhere I've encountered on the home world. We would make the same walk on our 2nd trip for the 55 under much more terrifying circumstance. Luckily this was taken before Southern Copper escorted all of its trains
This view from the top of the Caldeira Volcano on Faial Island, Azores, looks down the Pedro Miguel Graben—a downthrown valley bounded by normal faults on both sides. The ridge on the left side of the photo is Lomba Grande, which is bordered on the right by the southeast-dipping Lomba Grande Fault (down to the right in the photo). If you look closely along the ridge, you can spot wind turbines, which help supplement the electrical grid on many Azorean islands.
Below the ridge lies another fault along Ribeira do Rato (Rat River), also down to the southeast. On the far right, near the coast, the down-to-the-west Rocha Vermelha Fault is visible. Two additional faults, not pictured, further define the eastern side of the graben.
The tall conifer forest near the road consists mostly of nonnative Japanese red cedar (Cryptomeria japonica), introduced to the Azores in the mid-19th century for timber production. Today, it is the most cultivated tree species in the archipelago, covering approximately 20% of the region’s land area and comprising 60% of its production forests.
References:
Madeira, José & Brum da Silveira, António & Hipólito, Ana & Carmo, Rita. (2015). Active tectonics along the Eurasia-Nubia boundary: data from the central and eastern Azores Islands. 10.1144/M44.3.
Azorean Criptomeria - Cryptomeria japonica D. Don". drrf-sraa.azores.gov.pt.
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:
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:
I went for a nice ride on the e-trike today and saw this little scene. We have many little herds of cattle around us, but this one got a special treat. We have a local business here in Mount Gambier that makes delicious sweet and savoury scrolls, but when they don't sell on the day when they are at their freshest, they sometimes get donated to the cows who thoroughly enjoy their occasional sweet treat! Although the "delivery guy" had just dropped these scrolls over the fence, the cows would not come closer while I was there, possibly due to my day-glo safety jacket, but as soon as I left, the scrolls were quickly devoured and enjoyed!
It was finally a nice day for a ride after all the gale force winds we have had, but it also brought out the magpies. I had my first series of swoops for the season!
First trip out with the new 16mm ultra wide lens on the full frame RP body. A nice and very light weight lens to use!
Talla Reservoir, located a mile from Tweedsmuir, Scottish Borders, Scotland, is an earth-work dam fed by Talla Water. The reservoir is supplemented by water from the nearby Fruid Reservoir. It was opened in 1905. To assist in bringing the materials for its construction, the Talla Railway was built.
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:
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.
A new study done at the Saint Louis University scientists showed that bitter melon extract triggers a chain of events on a cellular level which inhibit the multiplication of breast cancer cells and destroys them at the same time.
The lead researcher stated that “bitter melon extract modulates several signal transduction pathways, which induces breast cancer cell death. This extract can be utilized as a dietary supplement for the prevention of breast cancer.”
This beneficial fruit may be consumed raw, added to your favorite smoothies, or drank as a drink. You can also take the bitter melon extract, which can be purchased as a herbal supplement in healthy food stores.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/European_hare
The European hare (Lepus europaeus), also known as the brown hare, is a species of hare native to Europe and parts of Asia. It is among the largest hare species and is adapted to temperate, open country. Hares are herbivorous and feed mainly on grasses and herbs, supplementing these with twigs, buds, bark and field crops, particularly in winter. Their natural predators include large birds of prey, canids and felids. They rely on high-speed endurance running to escape from their enemies; having long, powerful limbs and large nostrils.
Generally nocturnal and shy in nature, hares change their behaviour in the spring, when they can be seen in broad daylight chasing one another around in fields. During this spring frenzy, they sometimes strike one another with their paws ("boxing"). This is usually not competition between males, but a female hitting a male, either to show she is not yet ready to mate or as a test of his determination. The female nests in a depression on the surface of the ground rather than in a burrow, and the young are active as soon as they are born. Litters may consist of three or four young and a female can bear three litters a year, with hares living for up to twelve years. The breeding season lasts from January to August.
The European hare is listed as being of least concern by the International Union for Conservation of Nature because it has a wide range and is moderately abundant. However, populations have been declining in mainland Europe since the 1960s, at least partly due to changes in farming practices. The hare has been hunted across Europe for centuries, with more than five million being shot each year; in Britain, it has traditionally been hunted by beagling and hare coursing, but these field sports are now illegal. The hare has been a traditional symbol of fertility and reproduction in some cultures, and its courtship behaviour in the spring inspired the English idiom mad as a March hare.
Taxonomy and genetics
The European hare was first described in 1778 by German zoologist Peter Simon Pallas.[2] It shares the genus Lepus (Latin for "hare"[3]) with 31 other hare and jackrabbit species,[4] jackrabbits being the name given to some species of hare native to North America. They are distinguished from other leporids (hares and rabbits) by their longer legs, wider nostrils and active (precocial) young.[5] The Corsican hare, broom hare and Granada hare were at one time considered to be subspecies of the European hare, but DNA sequencing and morphological analysis support their status as separate species.[6][7]
There is some debate as to whether the European hare and the Cape hare are the same species. A 2005 nuclear gene pool study suggested that they are,[8] but a 2006 study of the mitochondrial DNA of these same animals concluded that they had diverged sufficiently widely to be considered separate species.[9] A 2008 study claims that in the case of Lepus species, with their rapid evolution, species designation cannot be based solely on mtDNA but should also include an examination of the nuclear gene pool. It is possible that the genetic differences between the European and Cape hare are due to geographic separation rather than actual divergence. It has been speculated that in the Near East, hare populations are intergrading and experiencing gene flow.[10] Another 2008 study suggests that more research is needed before a conclusion is reached as to whether a species complex exists;[11] the European hare remains classified as a single species until further data contradicts this assumption.[1]
Cladogenetic analysis suggests that European hares survived the last glacial period during the Pleistocene via refugia in southern Europe (Italian peninsula and Balkans) and Asia Minor. Subsequent colonisations of Central Europe appear to have been initiated by human-caused environmental changes.[12] Genetic diversity in current populations is high with no signs of inbreeding. Gene flow appears to be biased towards males, but overall populations are matrilineally structured. There appears to be a particularly large degree of genetic diversity in hares in the North Rhine-Westphalia region of Germany. It is however possible that restricted gene flow could reduce genetic diversity within populations that become isolated.[13]
Historically, up to 30 subspecies of European hare have been described, although their status has been disputed.[5] These subspecies have been distinguished by differences in pelage colouration, body size, external body measurements, skull morphology and tooth shape.[14] Sixteen subspecies are listed in the IUCN red book, following Hoffmann and Smith (2005): Lepus europaeus caspicus, L. e. connori, L. e. creticus, L. e. cyprius, L. e. cyrensis, L. e. europaeus, L. e. hybridus, L. e. judeae, L. e. karpathorum, L. e. medius, L. e. occidentalis, L. e. parnassius, L. e. ponticus, L. e. rhodius, L. e. syriacus, and L. e. transsylvanicus.[15] Twenty-nine subspecies are listed by Chapman and Flux in their book on lagomorphs, including in addition L. e. alba, L. e. argenteogrisea, L. e. biarmicus, L. e. borealis, L. e. caspicus, L. e. caucasicus, L. e. flavus, L. e. gallaecius, L. e. hispanicus, L. e. hyemalis, L. e. granatensis, L. e. iturissius, L. e. kalmykorum, L. e. meridiei, L. e. meridionalis, L. e. niethammeri, L. e. niger, L. e. tesquorum, and L. e. tumak, but excluding L. e. connori, L. e. creticus, L. e. cyprius, L. e. judeae, L. e. rhodius, and L. e. syriacus, with the proviso that the subspecies they list are of "very variable status".[5]
Description
The European hare, like other members of the family Leporidae, is a fast-running terrestrial mammal; it has eyes set high on the sides of its head, long ears and a flexible neck. Its teeth grow continuously, the first incisors being modified for gnawing while the second incisors are peg-like and non-functional. There is a gap (diastema) between the incisors and the cheek teeth, the latter being adapted for grinding coarse plant material. The dental formula is 2/1, 0/0, 3/2, 3/3.[16][17] The dark limb musculature of hares is adapted for high-speed endurance running in open country. By contrast, cottontail rabbits are built for short bursts of speed in more vegetated habitats.[5][18] Other adaptions for high speed running in hares include wider nostrils and larger hearts.[5] In comparison to the European rabbit, the hare has a proportionally smaller stomach and caecum.[19]
This hare is one of the largest of the lagomorphs. Its head and body length can range from 60 to 75 cm (24 to 30 in) with a tail length of 7.2 to 11 cm (2.8 to 4.3 in). The body mass is typically between 3 and 5 kg (6.6 and 11.0 lb).[20] The hare's elongated ears range from 9.4 to 11.0 cm (3.7 to 4.3 in) from the notch to tip. It also has long hind feet that have a length of between 14 and 16 cm (5.5 and 6.3 in).[21] The skull has nasal bones that are short, but broad and heavy. The supraorbital ridge has well-developed anterior and posterior lobes and the lacrimal bone projects prominently from the anterior wall of the orbit.[20]
The fur colour is grizzled yellow-brown on the back; rufous on the shoulders, legs, neck and throat; white on the underside and black on the tail and ear tips.[21] The fur on the back is typically longer and more curled than on the rest of the body.[5] The European hare's fur does not turn completely white in the winter as is the case with some other members of the genus,[21] although the sides of the head and base of the ears do develop white areas and the hip and rump region may gain some grey.[5]
Range and habitat
European hares are native to much of continental Europe and part of Asia. Their range extends from northern Spain to southern Scandinavia, eastern Europe, and northern parts of Western and Central Asia. They have been extending their range into Siberia.[5] They may have been introduced to Britain by the Romans (circa 2000 years ago) as there are no records of them from earlier sites. Undocumented introductions likely occurred in some Mediterranean Islands.[22] They have also been introduced, mostly as game animals, to North America (in Ontario and New York State, and unsuccessfully in Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and Connecticut), South America (Brazil, Chile, Argentina, Uruguay, Paraguay, Bolivia, Peru and the Falkland Islands), Australia, both islands of New Zealand and the south Pacific coast of Russia.[5][21][23]
Hares primarily live in open fields with scattered brush for shelter. They are very adaptable and thrive in mixed farmland.[5] According to a study done in the Czech Republic, the mean hare densities were highest at altitudes below 200 metres (660 ft), 40 to 60 days of annual snow cover, 450 to 700 millimetres (18 to 28 in) of annual precipitation, and a mean annual air temperature of around 10 °C (50 °F). With regards to climate, the study found that hare densities were highest in "warm and dry districts with mild winters".[24] In Poland, hares are most abundant in areas with few forest edges, perhaps because foxes can use these for cover. They require cover, such as hedges, ditches and permanent cover areas, because these habitats supply the varied diet they require, and are found at lower densities in large open fields. Intensive cultivation of the land results in greater mortality of young hares (leverets).[25]
In the United Kingdom, hares are seen most frequently on arable farms, especially those with fallow land, wheat and sugar beet crops. In mainly grass farms their numbers are raised when there are improved pastures, some arable crops and patches of woodland. They are seen less frequently where foxes are abundant or where there are many buzzards. They also seem to be fewer in number in areas with high European rabbit populations,[26] although there appears to be little interaction between the two species and no aggression.[27] Although hares are shot as game when they are plentiful, this is a self-limiting activity and is less likely to occur in localities where they are scarce.[26]
Behaviour and life history
Hares are primarily nocturnal and spend a third of their time foraging.[5] During daytime, a hare hides in a depression in the ground called a "form" where it is partially hidden. Hares can run at 70 km/h (43 mph) and when confronted by predators they rely on outrunning them in the open. They are generally thought of as asocial but can be seen in both large and small groups. They do not appear to be territorial, living in shared home ranges of around 300 ha (740 acres). Hares communicate with each other by a variety of visual signals. To show interest they raise their ears, while lowering the ears warns others to keep away. When challenging a conspecific, a hare thumps its front feet; the hind feet are used to warn others of a predator. A hare squeals when hurt or scared and a female makes "guttural" calls to attract her young.[21] Hares can live for as long as twelve years.[1]
Food and foraging
European hares are primarily herbivorous. They may forage for wild grasses and weeds but with the intensification of agriculture, they have taken to feeding on crops when preferred foods are not available.[1] During the spring and summer, they feed on soy, clover and corn poppy[28] as well as grasses and herbs.[21] During autumn and winter, they primarily choose winter wheat, and are also attracted to piles of sugar beet and carrots provided for them by hunters.[28] They also eat twigs, buds and the bark of shrubs and young fruit trees during winter.[21] Cereal crops are usually avoided when other more attractive foods are available, the species appearing to prefer high energy foodstuffs over crude fibre.[29] When eating twigs, hares strip off the bark to access the vascular tissues which store soluble carbohydrates. Compared to the European rabbit, food passes through the gut more rapidly in the hare, although digestion rates are similar.[19] They sometimes eat their own green, faecal pellets to recover undigested proteins and vitamins.[20] Two to three adult hares can eat more food than a single sheep.[21]
European hares forage in groups. Group feeding is beneficial as individuals can spend more time feeding knowing that other hares are being vigilant. Nevertheless, the distribution of food affects these benefits. When food is well-spaced, all hares are able to access it. When food is clumped together, only dominant hares can access it. In small gatherings, dominants are more successful in defending food, but as more individuals join in, they must spend more time driving off others. The larger the group, the less time dominant individuals have in which to eat. Meanwhile, the subordinates can access the food while the dominants are distracted. As such, when in groups, all individuals fare worse when food is clumped as opposed to when it is widely spaced.[30]
Mating and reproduction
European hares have a prolonged breeding season which lasts from January to August.[31][32] Females, or does, can be found pregnant in all breeding months and males, or bucks, are fertile all year round except during October and November. After this hiatus, the size and activity of the males' testes increase, signalling the start of a new reproductive cycle. This continues through December, January and February when the reproductive tract gains back its functionality. Matings start before ovulation occurs and the first pregnancies of the year often result in a single foetus, with pregnancy failures being common. Peak reproductive activity occurs in March and April, when all females may be pregnant, the majority with three or more foetuses.[32]
The mating system of the hare has been described as both polygynous (single males mating with multiple females) and promiscuous.[33] Females have six-weekly reproductive cycles and are receptive for only a few hours at a time, making competition among local bucks intense.[31] At the height of the breeding season, this phenomenon is known as "March madness",[32] when the normally nocturnal bucks are forced to be active in the daytime. In addition to dominant animals subduing subordinates, the female fights off her numerous suitors if she is not ready to mate. Fights can be vicious and can leave numerous scars on the ears.[31] In these encounters, hares stand upright and attack each other with their paws, a practice known as "boxing", and this activity is usually between a female and a male and not between competing males as was previously believed.[21][34] When a doe is ready to mate, she runs across the countryside, starting a chase that tests the stamina of the following males. When only the fittest male remains, the female stops and allows him to copulate.[31] Female fertility continues through May, June and July, but testosterone production decreases in males and sexual behaviour becomes less overt. Litter sizes decrease as the breeding season draws to a close with no pregnancies occurring after August. The testes of males begin to regress and sperm production ends in September.[32]
Does give birth in hollow depressions in the ground. An individual female may have three litters in a year with a 41- to 42-day gestation period. The young have an average weigh of around 130 grams (4.6 oz) at birth.[35] The leverets are fully furred and are precocial, being ready to leave the nest soon after they are born, an adaptation to the lack of physical protection relative to that afforded by a burrow.[21] Leverets disperse during the day and come together in the evening close to where they were born. Their mother visits them for nursing soon after sunset; the young suckle for around five minutes, urinating while they do so, with the doe licking up the fluid. She then leaps away so as not to leave an olfactory trail, and the leverets disperse once more.[21][36] Young can eat solid food after two weeks and are weaned when they are four weeks old.[21] While young of either sex commonly explore their surroundings,[37] natal dispersal tends to be greater in males.[33][38] Sexual maturity occurs at seven or eight months for females and six months for males.[1]
Mortality and health
European hares are large leporids and adults can only be tackled by large predators such as canids, felids and the largest birds of prey.[20] In Poland it was found that the consumption of hares by foxes was at its highest during spring, when the availability of small animal prey was low; at this time of year, hares may constitute up to 50% of the biomass eaten by foxes, with 50% of the mortality of adult hares being caused by their predation.[39] In Scandinavia, a natural epizootic of sarcoptic mange which reduced the population of red foxes dramatically, resulted in an increase in the number of European hares, which returned to previous levels when the numbers of foxes subsequently increased.[40] The golden eagle preys on the European hare in the Alps, the Carpathians, the Apennines and northern Spain.[41] In North America, foxes and coyotes are probably the most common predators, with bobcats and lynx also preying on them in more remote locations.[35]
European hares have both external and internal parasites. One study found that 54% of animals in Slovakia were parasitised by nematodes and over 90% by coccidia.[42] In Australia, European hares were reported as being infected by four species of nematode, six of coccidian, several liver flukes and two canine tapeworms. They were also found to host rabbit fleas (Spilopsyllus cuniculi), stickfast fleas (Echidnophaga myrmecobii), lice (Haemodipsus setoni and H. lyriocephalus), and mites (Leporacarus gibbus).[43]
European brown hare syndrome (EBHS) is a disease caused by a calicivirus similar to that causing rabbit haemorrhagic disease (RHS) and can similarly be fatal, but cross infection between the two mammal species does not occur.[44] Other threats to the hare are pasteurellosis, yersiniosis (pseudo-tuberculosis), coccidiosis and tularaemia, which are the principal sources of mortality.[45]
Relationship with humans
In folklore, literature, and art
In Europe, the hare has been a symbol of sex and fertility since at least Ancient Greece. The Greeks associated it with the gods Dionysus, Aphrodite and Artemis as well as with satyrs and cupids. The Christian Church connected the hare with lustfulness and homosexuality, but also associated it with the persecution of the church because of the way it was commonly hunted.[46]
In Northern Europe, Easter imagery often involves hares or rabbits. Citing folk Easter customs in Leicestershire, England, where "the profits of the land called Harecrop Leys were applied to providing a meal which was thrown on the ground at the 'Hare-pie Bank'", the 19th-century scholar Charles Isaac Elton proposed a possible connection between these customs and the worship of Ēostre.[47] In his 19th-century study of the hare in folk custom and mythology, Charles J. Billson cites folk customs involving the hare around Easter in Northern Europe, and argues that the hare was probably a sacred animal in prehistoric Britain's festival of springtime.[48] Observation of the hare's springtime mating behaviour led to the popular English idiom "mad as a March hare",[46] with similar phrases from the sixteenth century writings of John Skelton and Sir Thomas More onwards.[49] The mad hare reappears in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, in which Alice participates in a crazy tea party with the March Hare and the Mad Hatter.[50]
Any connection of the hare to Ēostre is doubtful. John Andrew Boyle cites an etymology dictionary by A. Ernout and A. Meillet, who wrote that the lights of Ēostre were carried by hares, that Ēostre represented spring fecundity, love and sexual pleasure. Boyle responds that almost nothing is known about Ēostre, and that the authors had seemingly accepted the identification of Ēostre with the Norse goddess Freyja, but that the hare is not associated with Freyja either. Boyle adds that "when the authors speak of the hare as the 'companion of Aphrodite and of satyrs and cupids' and 'in the Middle Ages [the hare] appears beside the figure of [mythological] Luxuria', they are on much surer ground."[51]
The hare is a character in some fables, such as The Tortoise and the Hare of Aesop.[52] The story was annexed to a philosophical problem by Zeno of Elea, who created a set of paradoxes to support Parmenides' attack on the idea of continuous motion, as each time the hare (or the hero Achilles) moves to where the tortoise was, the tortoise moves just a little further away.[53][54] The German Renaissance artist Albrecht Dürer realistically depicted a hare in his 1502 watercolour painting Young Hare.[55]
Food and hunting
Across Europe, over five million European hares are shot each year, making it probably the most important game mammal on the continent. This popularity has threatened regional varieties such as those of France and Denmark, through large-scale importing of hares from Eastern European countries such as Hungary.[5] Hares have traditionally been hunted in Britain by beagling and hare coursing. In beagling, the hare is hunted with a pack of small hunting dogs, beagles, followed by the human hunters on foot. In Britain, the 2004 Hunting Act banned hunting of hares with dogs, so the 60 beagle packs now use artificial "trails", or may legally continue to hunt rabbits.[56] Hare coursing with greyhounds was once an aristocratic pursuit, forbidden to lower social classes.[57] More recently, informal hare coursing became a lower class activity and was conducted without the landowner's permission;[58] it is also now illegal.[59]
Hare is traditionally cooked by jugging: a whole hare is cut into pieces, marinated and cooked slowly with red wine and juniper berries in a tall jug that stands in a pan of water. It is traditionally served with (or briefly cooked with) the hare's blood and port wine.[60][61] Hare can also be cooked in a casserole.[62] The meat is darker and more strongly flavoured than that of rabbits. Young hares can be roasted; the meat of older hares becomes too tough for roasting, and may be slow-cooked.[61][63]
Status
The European hare has a wide range across Europe and western Asia and has been introduced to a number of other countries around the globe, often as a game species. In general it is considered moderately abundant in its native range,[13] but declines in populations have been noted in many areas since the 1960s. These have been associated with the intensification of agricultural practices.[64] The hare is an adaptable species and can move into new habitats, but it thrives best when there is an availability of a wide variety of weeds and other herbs to supplement its main diet of grasses.[1] The hare is considered a pest in some areas; it is more likely to damage crops and young trees in winter when there are not enough alternative foodstuffs available.[21]
The International Union for Conservation of Nature has evaluated the European hare's conservation status as being of least concern. However, at low population densities, hares are vulnerable to local extinctions as the available gene pool declines, making inbreeding more likely. This is the case in northern Spain and in Greece, where the restocking by hares brought from outside the region has been identified as a threat to regional gene pools. To counteract this, a captive breeding program has been implemented in Spain, and the relocation of some individuals from one location to another has increased genetic variety.[1] The Bern Convention lists the hare under Appendix III as a protected species.[26] Several countries, including Norway, Germany, Austria and Switzerland,[1] have placed the species on their Red Lists as "near threatened" or "threatened".
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.
Identified as a Red Crested Pochard by the bird identification group, which is a really cool group if you are ever unsure about a bird that you have seen. They are a European bird with about 30 breeding pairs in the Uk according to the RSPB. This number is supplemented by over wintering visitors. This is my 51st species.
“The construction of beams
brings the fruition of dreams.
The casting of steel
makes your fantasy real…”
Read this post on a little virtual keyhole ☂
Love and sparkles,
Dea
It was a treat to happen upon this scene of a Rufous-tailed Hummingbird adult feeding its young. I watched for quite a while, during which time the young waited patiently — albeit stretching once in a while. Young hummers are fed tiny insects for the protein to help them grow to maturity, and adults also occasionally supplement their usual nectar diet with such tidbits.
«Sarcastic clap»
Le mani si toccano applaudendo in modo sarcastico. Questo gesto, infatti, esprime tutto tranne che l’intento di fare i complimenti a chi ci è di fronte.
The hands are touching clapping sarcastically. This gesture, in fact, expresses anything but the intent to make compliments to whoever is in front of us.
from Supplemento al supplemento al dizionario italiano di Bruno Munari si Dude Magazine
www.dudemag.it/attualita/supplemento-al-supplemento-al-di...
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.
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 old family home for the wedding of Leslie to Arabella, the daughter of their neighbours, Lord Sherbourne and Lady Isobel Tyrwhitt. She has come a few days earlier than the other family members who are coming to stay at Glynes for the significant event.
Alighting from the London train at Glynes village railway station, Lettice is quickly swept away to the house by Harris, the chauffer, in the Chetwynd’s 1912 Daimler. As the Daimler purrs up the gravel driveway, Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler, steps through the front door followed by Marsen, the liveried first footman. Descending the stairs Marsden pads across the crunching gravel and opens the door of the Daimler for Lettice.
“Welcome home, My Lady,” Bramley greets her with an open smile as she walks up the steps to the front door. “What a pleasure it is to see you back again.”
“Thank you Bramley,” she replies with a satisfied smile and a sigh as she looks up at the classical columned portico of her beloved childhood home basking in the weakening autumnal sunshine of the late morning. “It’s good to be home.”
She sweeps into the lofty classical Adam style entrance hall of Glynes where she waits for Bramley to accept her gloves, her fox fur stole and her grey travelling coat.
“How was the train journey from London, My Lady?” Bramley asks Lettice as helps her shirk her coat from her shoulders, revealing a smart silvery grey frock with a sailor collar, a double rope of perfect pearls given to her by her parents as a coming of age birthday gift about her neck.
“Oh, quite pleasant, thank you Bramley.”
“Her Ladyship is expecting you in the morning room.”
“I’ll just go upstairs and freshen up first.” Lettice points to her escape route up the stairs to her bedroom up on the third floor of the mansion.
“Very good My Lady. However… I should…” Bramley adds with a touch of hesitation. Sighing he continues, “Master Lionel has arrived home from British East Africa*.”
Lettice feels all the happiness she felt moments ago at returning to her childhood home for the wonderful occasion of her eldest brother’s wedding dissipate at the mere mention of her other brother’s name. Her face falls and the sparkle in her eyes is extinguished by a darkness. “Oh.” she mumbles, as she deposits her gloves in Bramley’s open and expectant hand.
“I… I thought you were better pre-warned, My Lady.” Bramley says dourly. “Her Ladyship has been anxious awaiting your arrival. She will wan….”
As if on cue, one of the double doors to the morning room just down the passageway opens with a squeak of door handles, the pop of a lock and the rasp of old wood.
“Ahh, Lettice!” Lady Sadie’s head crowned with her well-coiffed grey hair pops around the panelled door and smiles rather forcefully.
The older woman slips out the door, closing it quietly behind her before marching brusquely down the hall towards her daughter, the louis heels of her shoes clipping loudly on the parquetry floor beneath her.
“Thank god you’re here at last!” she sighs quietly with relief as she reaches her daughter’s side and places a hand heavily upon her forearm. “I thought you would never get here! I simply don’t think I can cope alone much longer with both your brother and Eglantine together in the same room.” She breathes heavily, as if her heart is under a major strain. “You must come and rescue me, at once.”
“But I was about to…” Lettice begins, gesticulating to the stairs.
“At once!” Lady Sadie demurs commandingly.
“Shall I bring some fresh tea, Your Ladyship?” Bramley asks.
“I’d prefer a dubonnet and gin at this moment.” Lady Sadie sighs, much to the surprise of both her unflappable faithful retainer and her daughter, both of whom exchange astonished glances. “My nerves are positively shot with Lionel and Eglantine to entertain all my own,” She looks accusingly at her daughter, as if she were responsible for the train arrival times from London. “And your father and brother conveniently nowhere in sight.”
“They’ll be out on estate business, Mamma.” Lettice chides her mother gently, as she unpins her hat from her head and passes it to the butler.
“It’s more convenience if you ask me.” She sniffs and stiffens, a steely haughtiness hardening the few softened edges of her face. “Considering the time of day, tea will have to suffice. Yes, Bramley. A fresh pot if you would, and some more biscuits if you can manage it.” Turning to Lettice she adds, “Your aunt always did have an over indulged sweet tooth, even during the war when we were on rations, and it seems that your brother has developed an unhealthy love of sugar during his time in Nairobi.”
“Very good, Your Ladyship.” Bramley says as he discreetly retreats with Lettice’s hat.
Wrapping her arm through Lettice’s, Lady Sadie forcefully guides her daughter towards the closed morning room door. “I know Emmery usually takes care of you when you are here, Lettice, but your Aunt Gladys’ maid has caught the flu, at the most inconvenient of times. So, Eglantine has graciously offered to share her maid with you.”
“Oh Mamma!” Lettice exclaims exasperatedly, her stomach tightening as they draw closer to the door. “I really don’t need a lady’s maid. I’m quite independent in London you know. It is 1922 after all – nearly 1923.”
“Now, now!” Lady Sadie scolds. “I can’t have idle servants’ gossip below stairs. What would the maids from the other guests think if their hostess’ daughter declines the use of a lady’s maid? Next, they’ll be calling you a bluestocking**!” Lettice rolls her eyes. “No!” Lady Sadie pressed her right hand firmly over Lettice’s left one. “We’ll just make up an excuse that your maid was taken ill too. In saying that, I can’t believe that Eglantine brought that awful girl!”
“Who, Lise?” Lettice queries, referring to her aunt’s lady’s maid by her first name. When Lady Sadie nods, she continues, “I’ve always found Lise to be very sweet and obliging.”
“It’s not her manner I mind,” the older woman lowers her voice. “It’s her cultural heritage that offends me.”
“Oh Mamma! How many times must you be told? Lise, just like Augusta and Clotilde, are Swiss, not German.”
“Swiss, German, it matters not! They are still foreign!” Lady Sadie snaps. “Eglantine always was contrary. Why on earth she had to have a foreigner when a good English lady’s maid would have been perfectly comparable is beyond my comprehension.”
“Well perhaps it’s…” Lettice begins, but her retort is cut short as her mother depresses the door handle to the morning room and pushes it open.”
“Here she is!” Lady Sadie announces brightly with false bonhomie to the guests sitting in her chairs. “Lettice is here at last!”
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 her 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 Glynes’ hothouse flowers stand on occasional tables, but even their fragrance cannot smother Lady Sadie’s Yardley Lily of the Valley scent which is ever present in the air.
“Well, if it isn’t my favourite nice!” Eglantine, known by all the Chetwnd children by the affectionate diminutive name of ‘Aunt Egg’, exclaims as she sits regally in the straight-backed chair next to Sadie’s soft upholstered wingback chair.
When she was young, Eglantine had Titian red hair that fell in wavy tresses about her pale face, making her a popular muse amongst the Pre-Raphaelites she mixed with. With the passing years, her red hair has retreated almost entirely behind silver grey, save for the occasional streak of washed out reddish orange, yet she still wears it as she did when it was at its fiery best, sweeping softly about her almond shaped face, tied in a loose chignon at the back of her neck, held in place by an ornate tortoiseshell comb. Sitting with perfect posture in her chair with her arms resting lightly on the arms, she looks positively regal. Large chandelier earrings containing sparking diamonds hang from her lobes whilst strings of pearls and bright beads cascade down the front of her usual uniform of a lose Delphos dress** that does not require her to wear a corset of any kind, and a silk fringed cardigan, both in strikingly beautiful shades of sea blue.
“Hullo Aunt Egg.” Lettice replies as she walks over to her aunt’s seated figure and kisses her first on one proffered cheek and then the other as her aunt’s elegant, yet gnarled fingers covered in rings reach up and clench her forearms firmly. “I keep saying that I’m sure you say that to Lally and all our female cousins.”
“And I keep telling you that you will never know until after I’m gone.” her aunt laughs raspily in reply. “For then the truth will be known through the disbursement of my jewels. To my favourite, or favourites, go the spoils!”
“Oh Aunt Egg!” Lettice scoffs. “You really mustn’t talk like that.”
“Eglantine always talks like that.” mutters Lady Sadie disapprovingly as she resumes her own seat.
“I wish I was six feet under when I can’t even smoke one of my Sobranies****.” Eglantine quips sulkily. “But your mother won’t let me smoke in here.”
“It’s undignified for a lady to smoke in public.” Sadie defends.
“I thought that we were in private, dear Sadie.”
“Don’t be so literal Eglantine, or are you being obtuse on purpose?” Sadie asks. Eglantine smiles mischievously behind one of her hands at the rise she has gained from her detested sister-in-law. “It’s undignified for a lady to smoke. Anyway, this is my house, so I should be allowed to make the rules.”
“Hullo Lettuce Leaf!” comes a male voice to Lettice’s right, its well-modulated tones dripping with a mixture of mirth, mischief and malice.
Cringing at the use of her abhorred childhood nickname, Lettice turns her head, to where her brother, Lionel’s reclining form lies amidst the overstuffed confines of their mother’s floral chaise lounge, where he flips rather languidly through a more recent copy of Lady Sadie’s Elite Styles*****. He looks up at her and purses his thin lips in what Lettice can only presume is his version of a mean smile, but looks more like he just smelt fresh horse droppings.
“Lionel.” Lettice says laconically in a peevish tone, returning his steely gaze of her with her own.
“Your brother has just been regaling us with wild tales of his horse breeding in British East Africa,” Eglantine remarks cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the animosity radiating already between the two siblings. “Haven’t you, my darling boy!” She lets go of Lettice and reaches over to her nephew’s hand, which he proffers to her so she can grasp it lovingly.
Lettice casts her eyes critically over her brother. His looks have changed over the three years of his exile to Kenya after fathering illegitimate children to not one, but two of the Glynes maids and the dullard daughter of one of their father’s tenant farmers in the space of one year. He has lost the softness of entitlement that he had, replaced now by a more muscular ranginess created through the exertions of breeding horses on a high altitude stud on the slopes of the Aberdare Range******. The African sun has bleached his sandy tresses blonde, a change made even more noticeable by the golden sunbathed pallor of his face. Yet for all these changes, Lionel still has blue eyes as cold as chips of ice, full of hatred, and a mean and malevolent smile beneath his equally mean little strip pencil moustache as he looks at her with barely contained detestation. Lettice shudders and looks away.
“It looks as though the Kenyan climate agrees with you, Lionel,” Lettice concedes. “You look remarkably well.”
“I am well, my dear little sister.” he replies in a rather bored tone. “The sun is glorious out there: full and rich, not like the weak version shining here.”
“Sit here, Lettice my dear.” Eglantine insists, standing up, snatching up her Royal Doulton rose decorated teacup and gliding around the table on which sits the remains of morning tea.
“Oh no, Aunt Egg.” Lettice protests. “I’ll be quite fine…”
“Nonsense, my dear.” Eglantine settles into the ornate Victorian salon chair of unidentifiable style opposite, the hem of her gown pooling around her feet like a cascade of water. “Your mother and I have had all morning to chat with Lionel. You two are the closest in age, and besides, you haven’t seen each other in three years, so I’m sure you have a lot to catch up on.”
Just at that moment there is a discreet knock at the door.
“Come.” calls out Lady Sadie commandingly from her throne by the cracking fire.
The door is opened by Moira, one of the Chetwynd’s maids who has taken to assisting wait table at breakfast and luncheon on informal occasions since the war, who walks into the morning room holding the door open for Bramley, who steps across the threshold carrying a silver salver on which stand a fresh pot of tea and coffee, milk, sugar and a cup matching the others already being used for Lettice.
“You had better have brought more of those biscuits, Bramley!” Lionel snaps at the butler, carelessly tossing the magazine he had in his thin hands aside onto the floral pouffe that acts as a barrier between he and his sister, the magazine clipping his cup, which rattles emptily as it jostles in its saucer. “A man needs to eat!”
“Yes Sir.” Bramley replies obsequiously, politely ignoring Lionel’s rudeness as he carefully slides the tray, on which stands a plate of fresh colourful cream biscuits, onto the round central table as Moira picks up the tray of used tea implements to take away.
As Moira straightens up, Lionel catches her eye and gives her a conspiratorial wink, making the maid smirk and colour flood her cheeks. Although not noticed by Lady Sadie or Eglantine who are now engaged in a conversation about flowers for the wedding, Lettice’s sharp eye doesn’t miss the silent exchange between the two, and as Moira curtseys to her mistress, Lettice makes a mental note to have a word with the Chetwynd’s housekeeper, Mrs. Casterton, later, and remind her to have her warn not only Moira, but all the new maids on the staff about her brother’s roué ways.
“I see you haven’t changed, Lionel.” Lettice remarks dryly as she takes her seat next to her abhorred brother, glancing meaningfully between him and the retreating figure of Moira.
“Evidently neither have you, Lettuce Leaf.” Lionel smirks with unbridled delight as his sister cringes yet again at the mention of her nickname. “You always were the Chetwynd with the sharpest eye. I should have aimed better at you with my slingshot when I was eight and you were six.” He shuffles forward on the chaise and snatches three biscuits greedily from the gilt edged plate before shuffling back with them, tossing two carelessly onto his saucer with a clatter and placing the remaining one to his lips. “If I’d had a sharper eye, I’d have had better aim. If I’d had better aim, I could have blinded you like I wanted to. If I’d blinded you, in one eye at least, it would have saved me a lot of trouble later in life, and banishment to the wilds of Africa.”
“You always were cruel to me,” Lettice mutters bitterly with a shiver as she remembers the sharp pain of the stone at it hit her temple and imbedded itself into her flesh. “To all of us, really. Lally, even Leslie,” She reaches up and rubs the spot where a faint scar still remains from the gash left by the stone shot from her brother’s catapult. “But cruellest of all to me. You savoured every hurt you could inflict on me.”
“Survival of the fittest, my dear Lettuce Leaf.” He bites meaningfully into the biscuit, growling menacingly, imitating a wild beast tearing at the flesh of its kill.
“You’re a brute, Lionel.” Lettice looks away in disgust. She reaches out and takes up the teacup Bramley brought her and pours tea into her cup.
“Top me up, Lettuce Leaf!” Lionel pipes up loudly.
“Oh!” gasps Eglantine from across the table. “I haven’t heard you called that for years, Lettice.” She chortles happily. “Haven’t you two grown out of calling each other childhood nicknames?” she remarks good naturedly, picking up her cup.
“Evidently not, Aunt Egg.” Lettice replies with false good humour.
From her wingback chair Sadie quickly glances with concern at her two youngest children before turning back to Eglantine and answering her question.
Lettice deposits her cup on the table between she and her mother and then reaches for the teapot. She leans over towards her brother, who indicates with lowered lids and a commanding nod towards his empty cup, however she ignores his lofty silent demand and hovers with the pot’s spout over Lionel’s groin.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Lionel snarls viscously as he glances with irritation at his sister.
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” She tilts the pot slightly, making Lionel flinch and squirm on the chaise in an attempt to avoid any hot tea hitting and burning him in such a sensitive area. Seeing his reaction, she smiles and returns the pot to an upright position in her hand. “I’m not the frightened little girl you said goodbye to here three years ago, Lionel.” she warns him quietly. “I live independently in London now, and I’m a lot more worldly than I was.”
“Slut!” he hisses.
His insult slices Lettice to the bone, but steeling herself, she remains poised and unflinching as she tilts the pot down again, this time allowing the smallest amount of hot tea to escape the spout. It splatters onto a cream coloured rose printed on the fabric of the chaise and is quickly absorbed. “Is that the kind of parlance fashionable in Nairobi these days?” she asks mockingly in a falsely sweet tone.
“I’ll tell you what I do know, my dear little sister, having been a damn good racehorse breeder these last three years.”
“And what’s that Lionel?” Lettice proceeds to pour tea into her brother’s empty cup.
“I can tell that you’re still a stupid little filly who needs a good siring from a stallion.” He gently grinds his groin back and forth, representing the act.
Unflinching, Lettice replies breezily, “Oh, so you’ve learned about animal husbandry whilst you’ve been away. Good.” She leans closer to Lionel. “But your use of that language and vulgar and unnecessary demonstration just makes me feel even more disgusted by you.” She screws up her nose in distaste and looks down upon him.
Undeterred, determined not to be outdone and to inflict hurt on his little sister, Lionel continues, “Mater told me that here you are at twenty-two and you’re still an old maid, despite her attempts to get you married off.”
“In case you’ve forgotten Lionel, there has been a war, and a whole generation of men far better than you have been wiped out.”
“Mater would happily foist you off onto any unwitting fool of a man, war cripple or otherwise that would have you. However, it appears that there are no takers: not even a shellshock victim or a blind veteran. If that’s what you call living an independent life, I pity you, Lettuce Leaf - shrivelled and dried up old Lettuce Leaf, trodden on and soiled, Lettuce Leaf.”
“I have a good life in London, I’ll have you know, Lionel. I run my own business now.”
“Oh yes, Mater told me that you’re pursuing this little interior design charade of yours to fill the gap that no husband will fill.”
“And I happen to be very good at what I do.” Lettice speaks determinedly over her brother’s hurtful words.
“If you say so, dear.” Lionel sneers. “Pass me the milk and the sugar.”
“I’ve been very successful” Lettice passes him the sugar bowl.
“Going to snitch to Pater and Mater again, are you, you little worm?” Lionel shakes his head as he hands the sucrier back to his sister. “Just like you did three years ago.”
“If I think there is a necessity, Lionel.” Lettice remarks as she returns the sugar bowl and takes up the milk jug. Leaning down in a pretence of adding milk to his tea, she quietly whispers to Lionel, “Have I cause to do so?”
“What?” Lionel snorts derisively as he takes the jug roughly from her. “With that little filly?” He glances to the door through which Moira exited with Bramley. “Fear not, my plucky little sister. My tastes have changed since I was forced to leave here.”
“Somehow I doubt that.” Lettice scoffs. “A leopard, his spots and all that.”
“No, I have, I assure you. I prefer mares now. The quality is better.”
“What are you insinuating, Lionel?”
“Well, despite Pater’s attempt to punish me for my dalliances: for the sewing of my wild oats,” Lettice looks away in abhorrence yet again as Lionel reaches down and rubs his inner thigh lasciviously. “He’s actually landed me in heaven on earth by sending me to Kenya.”
“Heaven?”
“Yes. The Muthaiga Club******* is full of hedonistic aristocrats, adventurers and elite colonial ex-pats,”
“No wonder you feel at home there.”
“Whose wives,” Lionel continues. “Are very bored in their husbands’ lengthy absences,” He hands her back the milk jug. “And their tiring presences. And unlike silly little fillies like the Moiras of this world, the mares know how not to get in the family way.”
“You sicken me, Lionel.” Lettice spits quietly.
In spite of her apparent engagement with Eglantine in conversation, Lady Sadie is keenly aware of the trouble brewing between er two children on the other side of the table, and her pale face crumples with concern.
“Nairobi is a veritable hotbed of drug taking and adultery,” Lionel goes on unabated. “Where promiscuity is de rigueur, little sister.” He smiles smugly as he takes a sip of his tea. “I was even taught a few things by the wife of a British peer who happens to be a good friend of Pater’s from his club!”
“Have you absolutely no shame?” Lettice asks in revulsion.
“Ahh, but that’s the good thing about Kenya. No-one has any need for shame there. Promiscuity and sexual prowess are badges of honour.”
“Then I’m sure you can’t wait to get back to your debauched lifestyle.”
“When I’m surrounded by British piety and hypocrisy here, my oath I am.”
“What are you two saying over there?” Lady Sadie pipes up nervously as she holds her cup and saucer in her lap.
“Oh, I was just asking Lionel when he has to go back to Kenya.” Lettice replies, looking gratefully to her mother for once.
“But he’s only just arrived, Lettice my dear!” chuckles Eglantine. “Surely you can’t want him to leave.”
“Oh it isn’t that, Eglantine,” Lady Sadie assures her sister-in-law. “It’s just that with the long journey both from British East Africa and back, he’ll have been away from the stud a good while, so he can only really stay until just after the wedding.”
“Oh really, Lionel?” Eglantine asks with a pout. “Can’t you even stay until Christmas? I don’t think we’ve had a Christmas with all you children under one roof since before the war.”
Knowing that his father, with whom he has a very strained relationship since being exiled in shame, only let him come back for Leslie and Arabella’s wedding for appearances’ sake, Lionel keeps up the pretence for his aunt’s sake and adds as he settles back into the scalloped back of the chaise, “Sorry Aunt Egg, but Mater is right. I’ll have been away from the farm for more than a month and a half by the time I get back.”
“But surely you have a steward you can leave in charge of the horse stud whilst you’re away.”
“Oh, I do, Aunt Egg.” Lionel agrees. “Capital chap too. Most capable.” He gazes down into his teacup. “However, it doesn’t pay to be away for too long. Kenya is full of treasure hunters and people on the make. I won’t let my stud suffer to line the pockets of, or up the prospects of, another man.”
“You always were competitive, even as child, my dear Lionel.” Eglantine smiles, shaking her head indulgently.
“Thinking of which, the Limru races will be coming up, not to mention the Kenya Derby******** so I have to be back for them!”
“Oooh!” Lettice sighs, raising her hand to her temple. “I think all this talk of wild Kenya is getting a bit much for me after my journey down from London.” She stands abruptly. “Would you all forgive me. I think I’d like to go to my room and lie down. I’m sure I’ll feel better after a short snooze and a freshen up.”
“Oh yes, do go up, Lettice.” Lady Sadie says soothingly, the look in her eyes betraying the fact that she knows how difficult it is for Lettice to even be in the same room as her brother. “It will be an hour or so before luncheon, so plenty of time to rest and recuperate. By that time your father and Leslie will be back from their estate rounds.” Turning to Eglantine she addresses her, “Eglantine, why don’t you and Lionel take a stroll around the gardens. I can’t stop you from smoking out of doors, and I’m sure Lionel would be happy to escort you.”
Lettice retreats, sighing with relief as she pulls the door of the morning room shut behind her, blocking out the hubbub of chatter. As she starts to retreat down the corridor, back to the main staircase, the door opens behind her and Lady Sadie slips out.
She scuttles up to her daughter. For the first time today, Lettice notices how pale and drawn her mother looks. Her pallor isn’t helped by her choice of a burnt orange coloured blouse, yet Lettice sees the dark circles under her eyes.
“Thank you for that, Lettice. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”
Lettice is stunned by her mother’s gracious acknowledgement and more so her thanks.
“Don’t worry,” Lady Sadie continues. “He’ll be gone the day after the wedding.” She heaves a shuddering sigh.
“If I don’t murder him before then.” Lettice seethes angrily.
“Well, if you do, I’ll help you bury his body in the rose garden.” Lady Sadie remarks with a smirk in a rare show of humour. “Your father has seen to it that Lionel will leave on Thursday, threating to cut him off without a bean if he doesn’t go quickly and quietly. Goodness knows the total of Lionel’s chits from the Muthaiga Club your father could practically re-roof this place with.”
“He’s just the same Mamma.” Lettice says with exasperation. “He hasn’t changed at all. In fact, I think he’s worse than before he left. He’s so full of bravado and priggish male privilege.”
“I’ve already told Mrs. Casterton to keep a sharp eye on all the maids whilst he’s here.”
“That won’t be easy with Leslie and Bella’s wedding to host, Mamma. You’d be better to tell her to warn all the girls to be on their guard.”
“Hhhmmm…” Lady Sadie considers. “Very sensible, Lettice. We’ll make you a suitable chatelaine of your own fine house, yet.”
“Oh Mamma!” Lettice sighs.
“Only until Thursday.” the older woman repeats.
“Only until Thursday.” Lettice confirms in reply.
*The Colony and Protectorate of Kenya, commonly known as British Kenya or British East Africa, was part of the British Empire in Africa. It was established when the former East Africa Protectorate was transformed into a British Crown colony in 1920. Technically, the "Colony of Kenya" referred to the interior lands, while a 16 km (10 mi) coastal strip, nominally on lease from the Sultan of Zanzibar, was the "Protectorate of Kenya", but the two were controlled as a single administrative unit. The colony came to an end in 1963 when an ethnic Kenyan majority government was elected for the first time and eventually declared independence as the Republic of Kenya.
**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.
***The Delphos gown is a finely pleated silk dress first created in about 1907 by French designer Henriette Negrin and her husband, Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo. They produced the gowns until about 1950. It was inspired by, and named after, a classical Greek statue, the Charioteer of Delphi. It was championed by more artistic women who did not wish to conform to society’s constraints and wear a tightly fitting corset.
****The Balkan Sobranie tobacco business was established in London in 1879 by Albert Weinberg (born in Romania in 1849), whose naturalisation papers dated 1886 confirm his nationality and show that he had emigrated to England in the 1870s at a time when hand-made cigarettes in the eastern European and Russian tradition were becoming fashionable in Europe. Sobranie is one of the oldest cigarette brands in the world. Throughout its existence, Sobranie was marketed as the definition of luxury in the tobacco industry, being adopted as the official provider of many European royal houses and elites around the world including the Imperial Court of Russia and the royal courts of United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Spain, Romania, and Greece. Premium brands include the multi-coloured Sobranie Cocktail and the black and gold Sobranie Black Russian.
*****Elite Styles was one of the many glossy monthly magazines aimed at leisured middle and upper-class women, describing and illustrating the popular fashions of the era.
******The Aberdare Range (formerly the Sattima Range) is a one hundred mile long mountain range of upland, north of Kenya's capital Nairobi with an average elevation of thirteen thousand one hundred and thirty feet. It straddles across the counties of Nyandarua, Nyeri, Muranga, Kiambu and Laikipia.
*******The Muthaiga Club is a club in Nairobi. It is located in the suburb of Muthaiga, about fifteen minutes’ drive from the city centre. The Muthaiga Country Club opened on New Year's Eve in 1913, and became a gathering place for the colonial British settlers in British East Africa, which later became in 1920, the Colony of Kenya.
********The annual Kenya Derby has been held since 1914, originally at Kenya’s principal racecourse in Kariokor, near Nairobi’s centre until 1954 when it was moved to the newly erected Ngong Racecourse.
Cluttered with paintings, photographs and furnishings, Lady Sadie’s morning room with its Georgian and Victorian furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection including pieces from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The silver tea set and silver galleried tray on the central 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 gilt edged floral teacups, saucers and plates around the morning room come from a miniatures specialist stockist on E-Bay. The wonderful selection of biscuits on offer were made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The Elite Styles and Delineator magazines from 1922 sitting on the end of the chaise lounge and the floral pouffe were made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States.
Lady Sadie’s morning room is furnished mostly with pieces from high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. Lady Sadie’s cream wingback armchair is a Chippendale piece, whilst the gilt decorated mahogany tables are Regency style, as is the straight backed chair with unpadded arms. The ornate mahogany corner chair is high Victorian in style. The desk and its matching chair is a Salon Reine design, hand painted and copied from an Eighteenth Century design. All the drawers open and it has a lidded rack at either end. The china cabinet to the left-hand side is Georgian revival and is lined with green velvet and fitted with glass shelves and a glass panelled door. The cream coloured footstool with gold tasselling came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The floral chaise lounge and footstool I acquired from a miniatures specialist stockist on E-Bay.
The china cabinet is full of miniature pieces of Limoges porcelain that were made in the 1950s. Pieces include a milk jug, three sugar bowls and two lidded powder bowls. Also 1950s Limoges porcelain is the vase on the far left of the photo on the Regency table holding pink roses. The roses themselves are handmade miniatures that come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The fluted squat cranberry glass vase on the table to the right of the photo is an artisan miniature made of hand blown glass which also came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. Made of polymer clay that are moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements, the very realistic looking red and white tulips are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The tiny gilt cherub statue I have had since I was a teenager. I bought it from a high street stockist who specialised in dolls houses and doll house miniatures. Being only a centimetre in height and half a centimetre in diameter it has never been lost, even though I have moved a number of times in my life since its acquisition.
The plaster fireplace comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom as well, and the fire screen and fire pokers come from the same high street stockist who specialised in dolls houses and doll house miniatures as the cherub statue. I have also had these pieces since I was a teenager. The Royal Doulton style figurines on top the fireplace, are from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland and have been hand painted by me. The figurines are identifiable as particular Royal Doulton figurines from the 1920s and 1930s.
The Chetwynd’s family photos seen on Lady Sadie’s desk, the mantlepiece 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 two books about flower growing on Lady Sadie’s desk 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. What might amaze you 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. He also made the envelopes sitting in the rack to the left of the desk. 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 painting of the Georgian family above the fireplace comes from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States, whilst the two silhouette portraits come from Lady Mile Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The painting of the lady in the gold frame wedged up in the corner of the room surrounded by photos is made by Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The Persian rugs on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company 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 we are in Lettice’s drawing room where Edith, Lettice’s maid, has just shown in Lettice’s new milliner and friend of Gerald’s, Miss Harriet Milford. The orphaned daughter of a solicitor with little formal education, Harriet has taken in theatrical lodgers to earn a living, but more importantly for Lettice, has taken up millinery semi-professionally to give her some pin money*. As Harriet made Lettice a fetching picture hat for her brother Leslie’s wedding in November, Lettice commissioned her to make a new millinery creation for her for the wedding of Lettice’s friend Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon** who is marrying the Duke of York*** in a few days.
Although dressed in a fawn coloured three quarter length morning frock that makes up in functionality what it lacks in fashion, Lettice’s pretty visitor does not seem to feel self-conscious or at all ill at ease in her stylish surroundings as she takes them in with an observant eye. Lettice indicates with an open hand to the chair opposite her own and Harriet elegantly takes a seat and places the rather large round white cardboard hatbox that she brought into the drawing room with her onto the green and gold satin Chippendale stool next to her chair.
“It really was very good of you to come to me, Miss Milford.” Lettice says gratefully as she sinks down into her round Art Deco tub chair.
“It’s my pleasure, Miss Chetwynd,” Harriet replies as she smiles across at her hostess. “I’m just trying to demonstrate a little of that professionalism you spoke of when you commissioned me to make the hat.”
“Oh I can assure you, Miss Milford,” Lettice chortles as she pushes the copy of Vogue that she had been reading to the edge of the black japanned coffee table. “You will quickly gain the patronage of every one of Madame Gwendolyn’s clients if you personally deliver every one of your millinery creations to their new owners. Goodness knows she won’t.”
“Oh dear!” Harriet exclaims, raising her bare hands to her cheeks as she blushes. “Have I made another faux pas? I do beg your pardon.”
“Oh not at all, Miss Milford.” Lettice assures her soothingly. “No, your personalised service, if this is something you are prepared to do for your clients, will put you streets ahead of your competition, I assure you.”
“Well,” Harriet breathes a sigh of relief, her shoulders loosening. “Thank goodness for that! Mind you, you are a bit of a special client, Miss Chetwynd.”
“Me?” Lettice asks, raising her well manicured hand to her chest. “How is it that I, of all people, should garner such favour?”
At that moment, Edith enters the drawing room carrying a silver tray which holds Lettice’s elegant Art Deco tea service. Bobbing a courtesy, she unpacks a teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl and two teacups and saucers onto the cleared surface of the coffee table. Assured by Lettice that if she needs anything further she will ring, Edith bobs a second curtsey and leaves.
“Oh, I do so, miss having a parlour maid.” Harriet sighs as she watches Edith’s retreating figure leave the room. “They do make life so much easier when entertaining.”
“Oh yes!” Lettice enthuses. “Edith is such a brick. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“Sadly, I suspect that either my father, or more likely I, was swindled by the other gentlemen in father’s partnership. I can’t imagine him dying and leaving me in such an impecunious situation that I can’t even afford to have a maid-of-all work. When Father was alive we had a cook, a tweeny and a parlour maid.”
“Then your belated father’s partners are no gentlemen, if you don’t mind me saying, my dear Miss Milford.”
“Indeed I don’t. They are however solicitors and lawyers, and I must confess that much of what they spoke to me about in the days following Father’s funeral bamboozled me.”
“Well, I’m hardly surprised by that, Miss Milford. You’re certainly a smart woman, and capable too, but legalise, well,” Lettice tuts and shakes her head. “That is quite another language indeed, and one peddled by a certain type of lawyer and solicitor to swindle, rather than assist those in a less fortunate situation.”
“Evidently I may be smart, but I’m not capable of keeping a neat home.” Harriet admits. “And that’s why you are a rather special client, Miss Chetwynd. I didn’t want to subject you to the indignity of having you collect your hat from my front parlour, which I will confess is still just as untidy as the last time you saw it. I just don’t seem to be able to keep on top of the housework along with all the other duties of running a boarding house, not that my tenants are particularly handy with a mop, dustpan or broom either.”
Lettice feels a pang of guilt as Harriet speaks, and she remembers the conversation she had not a few short weeks ago in this very room wit Gerald about the shoddy way in which she treated the young lady the last time they met.
“Yes, well about that, Miss Milford.” Lettice begins, the words catching awkwardly in her throat as she speaks.
“About what, Miss Chetwynd?” Harriet asks, looking up with innocent eyes to her hostess sitting across the black japanned coffee table.
“Look, I don’t know how else to say this, but I think I was rather unjust to you when we last saw one another. I shouldn’t have been so critical of your housekeeping skills.”
“No! No, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet defends her. “You did right to upbraid me. I need to be told things that will impact or restrict the success I strive for.”
“No. I was wrong for being quite so critical, Miss Milford. It didn’t come from a place of kindness or good will. It was ungallant of me, and I was unjust to you.”
“Did Gerry put you up to this?” Harriet asks warily.
“Yes… well no… well yes and no.”
Harriet huffs and smacks the top of the hatbox in her lap in frustration. “Goodness, I can’t trust him, can I? Just because I said…”
Lettice’s hands held out, palms facing outwards silence Harriet.
“Please, Miss Milford, don’t be cross with Gerald.” Lettice pleads. “He did the right thing by pulling me up and admonishing me. You see, Gerald and I are like brother and sister, and he knows me far too well, and what my propensities can be, especially when I feel threatened.”
“Threatened? Miss Chetwynd..”
“That last time I saw you, I behaved like a prig. I was overly critical. In fact, if I’m being truthful, which I am now going to be, even though I suspect you may despise me after the fact, I was looking to find fault, in even the smallest of trivialities.”
“But why, Miss Chetwynd?”
“Because I felt threatened by you.” Lettice looks guiltily across at Harriet. “Because I felt jealous of you, and your relationship with Gerald. I wanted to prove myself to be better than you.” She looks down sadly into her lap. “And in doing so, I made myself look worse than you, in Gerald’s eyes.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true, Miss Chetwynd.”
“I can assure you it is, Miss Milford. You know how adroit our Gerald is. He told me that from your account, which I’m sure was kinder than I deserve, that I sounded pompous, and I know that I was being pompous and mean spirited and far worse.”
“Because you are jealous of me?”
Lettice nods remorsefully.
“But I thought we had all that out already, Miss Chetwynd, the day you collected the hat I made you for your brother’s wedding last year. I told you the last thing I want to do is intrude on your friendship with Gerry, nor usurp you in his affections. I promise you, I’m not a threat.”
“I know, but even though I said I believed you, I lied. I didn’t believe you, and I unjustly wanted to find fault in you and punish you for what I now know, and in truth probably knew then, to be for no good reason. I was being spiteful.” She looks directly into Harriet’s placid face. “And I know now that I was very wrong to do that, and that I hurt you in the process, Miss Milford, intentionally. And I sincerely apologise.”
A silence falls heavily between the two of them.
“I believe, Miss Milford that now is the time for you to behave like the leading ladies who sometimes hang off the arms of your theatrical boarders, and make a scene by throwing a fit before storming out.”
Harriet laughs, a burst of genuine delight cascading from her pretty pert lips. “Oh Miss Chetwynd, you overestimate both my ability for and enjoyment of melodramas. I am very far from theatrical, so there will be no fits of temper, at least not from me, a fact for which you may be grateful.”
“You are far nicer to me than I deserve, Miss Milford. I’ve been a beast, and here you are, as smiling and civilised as ever.”
“My Father once told me that in his profession as a lawyer, you see the very best and the very worst in human nature, and that when you are faced with the latter, you should always channel the former so that you have nothing to reproach yourself with. I don’t know if I wholly agree with his holier than thou approach, but then again, he was a man of very black and white opinions, however in spite of all you have told me, Miss Chetwynd, you haven’t diminished in my esteem.”
“Then I really don’t deserve to know you, for you must surely be a saint.”
“Not at all, Miss Chetwynd. I may not admire you for your misjudgement of me, but I admire your truth and honesty, even if it took a nudge from Gerry for you to be so. You told me that we would never be bosom friends****, and nor do I want you to be one. However, I do honestly think that I can gain a great deal from you. As I noted, we both are trying to establish names for ourselves, albeit in different areas, and as women in a male dominated world, I think I would value your dispassionate and truthful opinion as I make my way in it.” She pauses. “That is if you can move on from this silly and unfounded jealously, Miss Chetwynd.”
“I think I could manage that.”
“Good!” Harriet sighs. “Well, now that we have that bit of business out of the way, perhaps we might move on to the business that I came here today to transact.” She pats the top of the plain cardboard hatbox and cocks an eyebrow at Lettice.
“I’ll just ring for Edith to fetch the hatstand from my dressing table.”
A short while later, with the hatstand fetched, Harriet presents Lettice with the hatbox.
“Me, Miss Milford?”
“I think that since this is your hat, you should have the honour of unveiling it, Miss Chetwynd.”
“And if I don’t like it?” Lettice asks earnestly, looking into her companion’s placidly smiling face.
“I don’t think we need to worry about that occurring, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet’s lips curl up just a little bit more at the edges of her mouth as she speaks.
“Good.” Lettice agrees. “It’s vital as a woman in business to believe in your product.”
“See, Miss Chetwynd,” Harriet says. “Such wise advice from one businesswoman to another.”
Lettice lifts the lid off the round hatbox and drops it at her feet. Faced with a froth of white tissue paper, she carefully unfolds it, the paper whispering noisily beneath her fingers. She delves her fingers in until she feels the firmness of a satin covered brim beneath her hand, and grasping it, she foists the hat free, the tissue paper cascading to the ground around her. Lettice casts the hatbox aside and places the hat on the hatstand. With her left index finger and thumb pinching her chin, she contemplates the hat with a considered look, sighing with satisfaction.
“A deeply crowned hat with a wide, poke style brim.” Harriet gesticulates around the hat’s edges without actually touching it. “Stiffened of course.” she adds. “I know I had suggested from the outset that it should be made of apricot felt, but really for a Royal wedding, I felt satin was called for. And, as we discussed, I have edged it with the thinnest trim of white lace and ornamented the crown with creamy orange taffeta roses and ribbons. What do you think, Miss Chetwynd?”
“Honestly, Miss Milford,” Lettice replies. “I think it is perfect!”
“I’m so pleased you think so, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet replies with a proud smile.
*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.
**Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, as she was known at the beginning of 1923 when this story is set, went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to". He proposed again in 1922 after Elizabeth was part of his sister, Mary the Princess Royal’s, wedding party, but she refused him again. On Saturday, January 13th, 1923, Prince Albert went for a walk with Elizabeth at the Bowes-Lyon home at St Paul’s, Walden Bury and proposed for a third and final time. This time she said yes. The wedding took place on April 26, 1923 at Westminster Abbey.
***Prince Albert, Duke of York, known by the diminutive “Bertie” to the family and close friends, was the second son of George V. Not only did Bertie propose to Elizabeth in 1921, but also in March 1922 after she was a bridesmaid at the wedding of Albert’s sister, Princess Mary to Viscount Lascelles. Elizabeth refused him a second time, yet undaunted Bertie pursued the girl who had stolen his heart. Finally, in January 1923 she agreed to marry him in spite of her misgivings about royal life.
****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. This included Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, the future Queen of Great Britain and Queen Mother, and she maintained her romantic style all her life using soft colours and often wide brimmed hats. 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 1920s upper-class drawing room is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Central to our story, the beautiful hat made by Harriet with it’s soft peach colour, romantic wide brim and soft satin rose trim. 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 Vogue magazine from 1923 sitting on the coffee table reflects the prevailing style for romantic hats and soft colours of the time and was made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States. Lettice’s tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era.
Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The Art Deco tub chairs are of black japanned wood and have removable cushions, just like their life sized examples. To the left of the fireplace is a Hepplewhite drop-drawer bureau and chair of black japanned wood which has been hand painted with chinoiserie designs, even down the legs and inside the bureau. The Hepplewhite chair has a rattan seat, which has also been hand woven. To the right of the fireplace is a Chippendale cabinet which has also been decorated with chinoiserie designs. It also features very ornate metalwork hinges and locks.
On the top of the Hepplewhite bureau stand three real miniature photos in frames including an Edwardian silver frame, a Victorian brass frame and an Art Deco blue Bakelite and glass frame.
The fireplace is a 1:12 miniature resin Art Deco fireplace which is flanked by brass accessories including an ash brush with real bristles.
On the left hand side of the mantle is an Art Deco metal clock hand painted with wonderful detail by British miniature artisan Victoria Fasken.
In the middle of the mantle is a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in England, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925.
The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug, and the geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid, is paying an unexpected call on her beloved parents whilst her mistress is away visiting her own parents in Wiltshire. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden as a Line Manager, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s Mayfair flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith. Usually even before she walks through the glossy black painted front door, Edith can smell the familiar scent of a mixture of Lifebuoy Soap, Borax and Robin’s Starch, which means her mother is washing the laundry of others wealthier than she in the terrace’s kitchen at the rear of the house. Yet with her father’s promotion, Edith’s mother is only laundering a few days a week now, and today, rather than soap and starch greeting her on the street, she can hear familiar laughter.
“Mum!” Edith calls out cheerily as she opens the unlocked front door and walks in. “Mum, it’s me! Is that Bert with you?”
She takes a deep breath and holds it with anticipation as she runs down the narrow corridor with excited footsteps past the front room and down into the kitchen, which serves as the heart of Edith’s parent’s home. Bursting through the kitchen door she beams and gasps with delight, for there at Ada’s old and worn round kitchen table sits her mother and her brother Bert. Edith’s little brother works aboard the SS Demosthenes as a dining saloon steward, sailing between England and Australia. Australia was where Bert spent Christmas 1922, so he wasn’t with his family for Christmas. Yet now, just like in the postcard he sent from Queensland showing a bird called a kookaburra inside the shape of the great southern continent surrounded by yellow wattle flowers, he is home on shore leave.
“Bert!” Edith gasps in delight. “You’re home!”
“Hullo Edith!” Bert says with an equally happy smile as he leaps out of the comfortable Windsor chair usually inhabited by their father and enfolds his sister in an embracing hug.
“Oh Bert.” Edith presses herself against her brother, the comforting smell of their mother’s lux soap flakes filling her nostrils. Pressing her hands against his hips, she breaks their embrace and pushes herself back. “Let me look at you then!”
Although a year younger than his sister, Bert is taller than Edith now, after a final growth spurt when he was in his late teens. Dressed in one of their mother’s home knitted jumpers and a pair of grey flannel trousers his skin looks sun kissed after spending a few days ashore in Melbourne during the height of summer in the southern hemisphere before sailing back, and the sun has given his sandy blonde hair some natural highlights.
“The sea air agrees with you, Bert.”
“More likely the Australian sun!” Ada remarks as she picks herself up out of her own chair with a slight groan. “Just look at those colourful cheeks and those freckles.” She waves her hand at her son lovingly. “We don’t usually see them until high summer.”
“Hullo Mum!” Edith walks up and embraces her mother. ‘How are you?”
“Oh, I’m grand now our Bert is home, and you are too, Edith love.” Ada says in reply, a broad smile gracing her lips and a happy brilliance in her brown eyes. “Now, put that basket down and have a seat. I’ll pop the kettle on and brew us a fresh pot.” She begins to bustle around the great blacklead range and moves the heavy kettle onto the hob. Turning back to the table she picks up the beautiful, glazed teapot in the shape of a cottage with a thatched roof with the chimney as the lid, which Edith bought for her from the Caledonian Market**, and makes a grand sweeping gesture to show Edith it’s presence. “See Edith, a special occasion calls for the use of my special teapot.”
“Any day should be a special enough day for you to use that pretty teapot that Edith gave you, Mum.” Bert says, sitting back down at the table.
“That’s what I tell her!” Edith agrees.
“But then it wouldn’t be a special teapot any more, would it?” Ada says, stepping behind Bert and going to the small tough sink the corner of the kitchen where she turns the squeaky taps and rinses out the pot. “No. It’s a special teapot for special occasions.” She takes up the yellow tea towel with red stitching that hangs over a metal rail above the range and dries the pot. “I used it on Christmas Day didn’t I, Edith love?”
“Yes,” Edith agrees. “But you haven’t used it a day since then.”
“That’s because there hasn’t been a special occasion worthy of using it,” Ada defends. “Until Bert came home, that is.” She gently squeezes her son’s left shoulder.
“I give up!” Edith throws her hands in the air. She shucks off her black three quarter length coat and hangs it on a hook by the back door. She then places her hat on one of the carved knobs of the ladderback chair drawn up to the table next to her mother’s usual seat.
“Oh I told you, Edith!” Ada chides. “Don’t put your pretty hat there, love.” She walks over to the Welsh dresser that dominates one wall of the crowded kitchen and pulls out the battered tea cannister. “It might get damaged. Such a pretty hat should sit on the table where it’s safe. You know Edith made that, don’t you Bert?”
“Yes, I do, Mum.” Bert acknowledges cheerfully. “Our Edith is the cleverest girl I know.”
“I keep saying Mum, the hat’s nothing special. And besides, I didn’t make it. It came from Petticoat Lane***, just like my coat, and it’s not new. I simply decorated the hat with bits and bobs I picked up from a Whitechapel haberdasher Miss Lettice’s char****, Mrs. Boothby, told me about.”
“Well, homemade or not, it’s still too pretty to hang there.”
“It’s my hat, Mum. I always hang it there and it’s always fine, and I promise you, it’ll be fine there today.”
“Well, suit yourself, love. You’re an adult now, just the same as Bert.” Ada remarks dismissively but looks at her daughter doubtfully as she scoops out some black dried tea leaves and puts the heaped spoonfuls into the pot. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“So,” Bert sinks back into his seat and toys with his teacup decorated with pink roses, slowly turning it in its saucer. “What’s the gossip with you then, Edith? How’s your Frank then? Mum says that she and Dad haven’t met him yet.”
“It’s become quite the mute point.” Ada remarks as she turns back from the dresser and folds her arms akimbo, frowning at her daughter.
“And I hope,” Edith defends herself, challenging her mother’s steely stare. “That she told you why.”
“I did!” Ada says crisply.
“Word is you’re meeting his mum soon, Edith.” Bert says excitedly.
“Well, not his mum. His parents died of the Spanish Flu, but I’m meeting his Granny, who is a bit like his surrogate mum.”
“That’s nerve wracking.” Bert replies.
“I know! I’m so nervous.” Edith confides, lowing her voice as she leans across the table conspiratorially and reaches for the battered McVitie and Price biscuit tin.
“That’s why I can’t get a girl to come home here.” Frank says with a wink and slight indicating nod to their mother. “Imagine meeting Mum.” He lifts the lid off the tin for his sister and lets her make her selection. “They’re all too scared of her.”
“Cheeky!” Ada says, laughing good naturedly and swatting her son with the tea towel. “Any girl would be lucky to have me as a prospective mother-in-law.” She shuffles her shoulders and tilts her head upwards as her face forms into a dignified expression. “Or boy.” she adds with undisguised meaning and importance.
“So, me and Frank are just fine, thanks Bert. We’re just tickety-boo.*****!” Edith tells her brother before popping a biscuit into her mouth.
“Tickety-boo!” Bert enthuses. “You are up on all the latest small talk and phrases, living with your Miss Chetwynd up in Mayfair.”
“She comes home with new phrases all the time.” Ada places the freshly refilled cottage ware teapot down on the table between them all. “Goodness knows I can’t keep up with her. It’s the influence of all those fine ladies and gentlemen and moving picture stars that frequent Mis Chetwynd’s flat.”
“Moving picture stars? Really” Bert asks excitedly.
“Oh Bert!” Edith scoffs, flapping her hand playfully at him. “I only answer the door to them, or serve them tea. And Miss Lettice has only had one moving picture star to tea since I’ve been there: Wanetta Ward.” She sighs. “She’s so beautiful! She works for Gainsborough Pictures******. You’re more likely to have a longer conversation with a moving picture star on board your ship as a dining saloon steward, Bert, than ever I will at Miss Lettice’s.”
“I doubt that. There aren’t that many moving picture stars sailing between Australia and home, well none that I know of. Although they are mad for moving pictures over there. There are picture houses everywhere, and they even make their own films there, just like here.”
“Anyway, I’m not the interesting one, Bert.” Edith says, seeing a way to turn the conversation to her brother and his news. “You are. Tell me about life on the ship this voyage.”
A short while later over tea and biscuits, Edith is brought up to date with Bert’s latest adventures on board his ship, and the interesting people he has served as a first-class saloon steward.
“Oh!” Ada suddenly gasps. “Bert! Aren’t you going to give Edith her present?”
“Present?” Edith asks with a querying look to her brother.
“Yes, Edith love. Don’t you remember Bert wrote it in his last postcard to us?”
Edith casts her mind back a few weeks to when her mother showed her the postcard Bert had sent from Australia.
“Right you are Mum!” Bert agrees. “So Edith, on Christmas Day, the Second Officer, Mr. Collins, organised a trip for we lads and some of the girls on the ship’s staff who were away from home for Christmas and that were at a loose end. A lot found their own amusements in Melbourne. It’s such a big and vibrant city, full of fun things to do. But about twenty of us didn’t have anywhere to go, so we said yes.”
“What did you do, Bert? What had Mr. Collins organised?” Edith asks in suspense.
“Well, Mr. Collins was born in Melbourne. Well no, actually he was born a few hours outside of Melbourne in the country at a place called Yarra Glen. It’s quite famous and lots of toffs go there to holiday, not that was where Mr. Collins took us.” Bert quickly adds, seeing the excitement in his sister’s face. “No, Mr. Collins was born on a farm out there – something they call a cattle station – and he took us all out there for a picnic on his parent’s station.”
“But a station is a railway station.” Edith mutters, shaking her head, her face crumpling in disbelief.
“Well in Australia there are railway stations and cattle station, which are big farms. So, Mr. Collins packed us all into a railway carriage at Flinders Street Railway Station and off we went. We left at ten in the morning and we didn’t get to the railway station at the Yarra Glen until nearly midday.”
“Was it hot?” Edith asks. “You always say Australia is hot around this time of year.”
“Well it was, but it was alright because we opened up our window in our carriage and poked our heads out so we could look at the passing countryside, so we had a nice breeze. The countryside is so different to here. It’s all yellow grasses and funny trees with washed out leaves: no real greenery at all so to speak, but it’s still really beautiful in its own way.”
“Hmph!” Ada snorts from her chair. “Nothing beats the Kentish countryside for beauty.”
“Well I guess beauty is a subjective thing, Mum.” Bert goes on, “Mr. Collins was telling us on the train trip down that sometimes travelling artists set up camp on his parent’s property just so that they can paint the landscape.”
“Fancy that, Frank!” Edith enthuses. “Did you like it?”
“Oh yes! It’s very pretty, in a foreign kind of way. Not many flowers. But we saw jumping kangaroos from the train on the trip down. They sat in the grass and watched us pass, and then some of them just up and jumped away. They can move very quickly when they jump. Anyway, we finally pulled into Yarra Glen. We had to wait whilst a big party of toffs and all their mountains of luggage were taken care of and packed up into cars. Mr. Collins says that there is a famous opera singer who lives out there, named Nellie Melba*******.”
“I’ve heard nellie Melba sing before!” Ada exclaims, dropping her pink and yellow floral teacup into her saucer and clapping her hands.
“You have, Mum?” Edith asks, the look of lack of comprehension on her face matching her brother’s as they both look to her.
“Well, not live of course!” Ada says, taking up her cup of tea before continuing. “But once when I was at Mrs. Hounslow’s, I heard her sing. She was playing records on her gramophone, and I asked who it was, and she invited me to stand in her parlour and listen to her recording of Nellie Melba sing ‘Ave Maria’.” Her children pull a face at the mention of their landlady, the rich and odious old widow whom they both grew up hearing about regularly, and seeing on the rare occasions she would deign to stop by to collect their rent in person, rather than her rent collector. “Now don’t be like that, children! Mrs. Hounslow’s husband died a hero in the siege of Mafeking in the Boer War.”
“And neither you, nor she will ever let us forget it.” Bert drones, rolling his eyes.
“Now I won’t have a bad word said about her, Bert.” Ada wags her finger admonishingly at her son. “She’s helped pay for many a meal in this house with her sixpences and shillings over the years, especially during the war when things were hard. You should be grateful to her. We all should be.”
“Pshaw!” Edith raises her eyes to the ceiling above. “Enough about old Widow Hounslow! Go on with your story, Bert.”
“Well,” Bert continues. “Miss Melba must have been home and hosting a big house party, but once they were all packed off, we were ushered to a charabanc******** which took us out to Mr. Collins’ family farm. Once we got to the house – which they call a homestead – Mrs. Collins, Mr, Collins’ mum, had picnic baskets for us, full of delicious sandwiches and pies and cakes. There was even beer and stout for us to drink. When Mr. Collins lead us away from the house to where we were to take our picnic, he took us to a place where there was a stream, so we could dunk the bottles of beer and stout into it to keep them warm. We tethered them to the bank with string he gave us. And so, we sat under these big trees with white bark and ate and drank and had a jolly time of it, all at Mr. Collin’s expense.”
“That was nice of him, Bert.” Edith remarks.
“It was! We were ever so grateful. He had brought a cricket bat and stumps from the house with him, so we played some cricket after luncheon until it got too warm, and then we sang Christmas carols.”
“It must have felt odd, singing Christmas carols in the summer sunshine.”
“Not really Edith.” Bert replies. “Christmas is Christmas all over the world, no matter what the weather, if you are in high spirits.”
“And the gift?” Ada says, patting her son’s arm as a reminder.
“So, when we were walking back from out picnic by the stream, I was carrying one of the picnic baskets, and I noticed what a pretty painted lid it had. When we arrived back at the homestead, I asked Mr. Collins’ mother about it. It turns out that Mr. Collin’s brother and his wife live on the property as well. She cooks for the farmhands and helps keep house for old Mrs. Collins, and she also makes picnic baskets from the reeds growing around the stream we used to keep our beer and stout warm. Her husband carves the lids and she paints them, and she sells them in Yarra Glen.” Bert reaches under the table and pushing his seat backwards, he stands up and places a picnic basket on the table. “So this is for you. It’s the picnic basket I brought back to the house, and then brought all the way from Australia for you. A belated Merry Christmas, big sister.”
Edith gasps and raises her hands to her mouth as a smile fills her face. The beautiful picnic hamper sitting proudly on the table has woven pale reed sides and two hinged lids on the top, both painted with stylised leaves and creamy yellow daisies.
“Oh Bert!” Edith gasps, as tears well in her eyes. “Oh it’s lovely!” She gets up and hurries over to her brother and embraces him. “Thank you so much!”
“I’m so glad you like it, Edith.” Bert replies. “I got more than a bit of ribbing from the other chaps on the sailing home. They took up calling me ‘Basket Bert’.”
“Oh they didn’t, Bert?” Edith cries. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing for you be sorry for, Edith, but I afraid that I think it will stick,” Frank adds. “However it’s worth it, if you like the basket. I thought if things were still going well with Frank, you two might use it to go on a picnic in summer.”
“Oh, I will Bert!” Edith replies as she runs her hand along the thin and elegant handle. “It’s wonderful! Thank you so much!”
*The SS Demosthenes was a British steam ocean liner and refrigerated cargo ship which ran scheduled services between London and Australia via Cape Town. It stopped at ports including those in Sydney and Melbourne. She was launched in 1911 in Ireland for the Aberdeen Line and scrapped in 1931 in England. In the First World War she was an Allied troop ship.
**The original Caledonian Market, renown for antiques, buried treasure and junk, was situated in in a wide cobblestoned area just off the Caledonian Road in Islington in 1921 when this story is set. Opened in 1855 by Prince Albert, and originally called the Metropolitan Meat Markets, it was supplementary to the Smithfield Meat Market. Arranged in a rectangle, the market was dominated by a forty six metre central clock tower. By the early Twentieth Century, with the diminishing trade in live animals, a bric-a-brac market developed and flourished there until after the Second World War when it moved to Bermondsey, south of the Thames, where it flourishes today. The Islington site was developed in 1967 into the Market Estate and an open green space called Caledonian Park. All that remains of the original Caledonian Markets is the wonderful Victorian clock tower.
***Petticoat Lane Market is a fashion and clothing market in Spitalfields, London. It consists of two adjacent street markets. Wentworth Street Market and Middlesex Street Market. Originally populated by Huguenots fleeing persecution in France, Spitalfields became a center for weaving, embroidery and dying. From 1882, a wave of Jewish immigrants fleeing persecution in eastern Europe settled in the area and Spitalfields then became the true heart of the clothing manufacturing district of London. 'The Lane' was always renowned for the 'patter' and showmanship of the market traders. It was also known for being a haven for the unsavoury characters of London’s underworld and was rife with prostitutes during the late Victorian era. Unpopular with the authorities, as it was largely unregulated and in some sense illegal, as recently as the 1930s, police cars and fire engines were driven down ‘The Lane’, with alarm bells ringing, to disrupt the market.
****A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.
*****Believed to date from British colonial rule in India, and related to the Hindi expression “tickee babu”, meaning something like “everything's alright, sir”, “tickety-boo” means “everything is fine”. It was a common slang phrase that was popular in the 1920s.
******Islington Studios, often known as Gainsborough Studios, were a British film studio located on the south bank of the Regent's Canal, in Poole Street, Hoxton in Shoreditch, London which began operation in 1919. By 1920 they had a two stage studio. It is here that Alfred Hitchcock made his entrée into films.
*******Dame Nellie Melba was an Australian operatic lyric coloratura soprano. She became one of the most famous singers of the late Victorian era and the early Twentieth Century, and was the first Australian to achieve international recognition as a classical musician. She took the pseudonym "Melba" from Melbourne, her home town. Melba studied singing in Melbourne and made a modest success in performances there. After a brief and unsuccessful marriage, she moved to Europe in search of a singing career. She succeeded in London and Paris. Her repertoire was small; in her whole career she sang no more than 25 roles and was closely identified with only ten. She was known for her performances in French and Italian opera, but sang little German opera. She returned to Australia frequently during the Twentieth Century, singing in opera and concerts, and had a house, “Coombe Cottage” built for her in the Yarra Valley outside of Melbourne.
********A charabanc or "char-à-banc" is a type of horse-drawn vehicle or early motor coach, usually open-topped, more common in Britain, but also found in places like Australia during the early part of the Twentieth Century. It has benched seats arranged in rows, looking forward, commonly used for large parties, whether as public conveyances or for excursions.
This cluttered, yet cheerful domestic scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The central focus of our story, sitting on Ada’s table, is the wicker picnic basket that Bert brought home for Edith. In truth it is not Australian made, but was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside.
In front of the basket stands Ada’s cottage ware teapot. Made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson, it has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched rood and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.
Surrounding the cottage ware teapot are non-matching teacups, saucers, a milk jug and sugar bowl, all of which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom.
Sitting on the table in the foreground is a McVitie and Price’s Small Petite Beurre Biscuits tin, containing a selection of different biscuits. The biscuits were made by hand of polymer 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. McVitie's (Originally McVitie and Price) is a British snack food brand owned by United Biscuits. The name derives from the original Scottish biscuit maker, McVitie and Price, Ltd., established in 1830 on Rose Street in Edinburgh, Scotland. The company moved to various sites in the city before completing the St. Andrews Biscuit Works factory on Robertson Avenue in the Gorgie district in 1888. The company also established one in Glasgow and two large manufacturing plants south of the border, in Heaton Chapel, Stockport, and Harlesden, London (where Edith’s father works). McVitie and Price's first major biscuit was the McVitie's Digestive, created in 1892 by a new young employee at the company named Alexander Grant, who later became the managing director of the company. The biscuit was given its name because it was thought that its high baking soda content served as an aid to food digestion. The McVitie's Chocolate Homewheat Digestive was created in 1925. Although not their core operation, McVitie's were commissioned in 1893 to create a wedding cake for the royal wedding between the Duke of York and Princess Mary, who subsequently became King George V and Queen Mary. This cake was over two metres high and cost one hundred and forty guineas. It was viewed by 14,000 and was a wonderful publicity for the company. They received many commissions for royal wedding cakes and christening cakes, including the wedding cake for Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Phillip and Prince William and Catherine Middleton. Under United Biscuits McVitie's holds a Royal Warrant from Queen Elizabeth II.
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.
In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table, the Windsor chair and the ladderback chair to the left of the photo, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery and silver pots on them which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. There are also some rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and a bread tin in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I recently acquired from The Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom. There are also tins of various foods which would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. Amongst other foods on the dresser are a tin of Macfie’s Finest Black Treacle, two jars of P.C. Flett and Company jam, a tin of Heinz marinated apricots, a jar of Marmite, some Bisto gravy powder, some Ty-Phoo tea and some Oxo stock cubes. All these items are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans.
Robert Andrew Macfie sugar refiner was the first person to use the term term Golden Syrup in 1840, a product made by his factory, the Macfie sugar refinery, in Liverpool. He also produced black treacle.
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.
The American based Heinz food processing company, famous for its Baked Beans, 57 varieties of soups and tinend spaghetti opened a factory in Harlesden in 1919, providing a great deal of employment for the locals who were not already employed at McVitie and Price.
Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.
In 1863, William Sumner published A Popular Treatise on Tea as a by-product of the first trade missions to China from London. In 1870, William and his son John Sumner founded a pharmacy/grocery business in Birmingham. William's grandson, John Sumner Jr. (born in 1856), took over the running of the business in the 1900s. Following comments from his sister on the calming effects of tea fannings, in 1903, John Jr. decided to create a new tea that he could sell in his shop. He set his own criteria for the new brand. The name had to be distinctive and unlike others, it had to be a name that would trip off the tongue and it had to be one that would be protected by registration. The name Typhoo comes from the Mandarin Chinese word for “doctor”. Typhoo began making tea bags in 1967. In 1978, production was moved from Birmingham to Moreton on the Wirral Peninsula, in Merseyside. The Moreton site is also the location of Burton's Foods and Manor Bakeries factories. Typhoo has been owned since July 2021 by British private-equity firm Zetland Capital. It was previously owned by Apeejay Surrendra Group of India.
The first Bisto product, in 1908, was a meat-flavoured gravy powder, which rapidly became a bestseller in Britain. It was added to gravies to give a richer taste and aroma. Invented by Messrs Roberts and Patterson, it was named "Bisto" because it "Browns, Seasons and Thickens in One". Bisto Gravy is still a household name in Britain and Ireland today, and the brand is currently owned by Premier Foods.
Oxo is a brand of food products, including stock cubes, herbs and spices, dried gravy, and yeast extract. The original product was the beef stock cube, and the company now also markets chicken and other flavour cubes, including versions with Chinese and Indian spices. The cubes are broken up and used as flavouring in meals or gravy or dissolved into boiling water to produce a bouillon. Oxo produced their first cubes in 1910 and further increased Oxo's popularity.
The large kitchen range in the background is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water).
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not at Cavendish Mews, although we are still in Mayfair, moving a few streets away to Hill Street, where Edith, Lettice’s maid, is visiting her friend and fellow maid Hilda. Edith and Hilda used to share at attic bedroom together in the Pimlico townhouse of Mr. and Mrs. Plaistow, their former situation, where they worked together as parlour maids. Edith recently helped Hilda obtain a new position as live-in maid for Lettice’s married Embassy Club coterie friends, Dickie and Margot Channon. Whilst Edith spends her Sundays off with her beau, Willison’s Grocers delivery boy Frank, she shares her Wednesdays off between visiting her parents in Harlesden and spending the day enjoying the pleasures London has to offer with Hilda. It is in the Channon’s Hill Street flat’s kitchen that we find ourselves today where Edith and Hilda are taking luncheon before heading off to nearby Oxford Street for a spot of window shopping.
Hilda has found that the Channon’s rather chaotic household and way of living somewhat of challenge to get used to working in, but it always guarantees great stories that she can share with her best friend, and this is what the girls are doing. The Channons are away, visiting Dickie’s parents, the Marquess and Marchioness of Taunton in Cornwall, which makes it easier for Hilda to entertain Edith at the flat in Hill Street, and the pair are enjoying Dickie and Margot’s unknown largess as the table is set with tea for two, bread from the glazed bread crock and a choice of spreads for them to enjoy.
“Well, “ Hilda says with a sigh of relief as she unscrews the yellow lid from the Marmite* jar. “I can tell you I was relieved to hear Mrs. Channon say to your Miss Lettice over lunch last week that the reason why they are going to see her in-laws is because they find it too lowering to visit the flat.” She scoops some of the thick dark Marmite out of the jar and smears the paste thinly across her slice of bread.
“Mmmm…” murmurs Edith in reply, her own knife still laying next to her untouched slice of bare bread.
“She sounds like a nasty old trout anyway.” Hilda prattles on as she cuts her slice of Marmite topped bread into two by slicing it with ungainly drags of her Bakelite** handled knife. “Poor Mrs. Channon always comes back from these stays at the in-law’s castle so downcast, and despondent.”
“Yes…” Edith replies in a distracted way, still leaving her bread untouched.
“And I’ve heard she and Mr. Channon talk about the fact that they have no children yet.” Hilda picks up one half of her bread and bites into it hungrily, chewing her mouthful a few times and half swallowing it before adding, “I mean, I know they have been married for a year and all, so it is unusual.” She loudly chews her mouthful of bread and Marmite a few more times. “But you can’t force babies to come, now can you?”
“Mmmm…”
“And, I mean fancy the Marchioness being rich enough to live in a castle, yet she and the Marquess barely give Mr. Channon a penny to live by, and they won’t visit his home because they think it’s too lowering.” Hilda emphasises the last word before taking another large bite of her bread. “What a cheek! ‘d hate her for a mother-in-law, no matter how rich she is! She’s just plain rude, if you ask me! Don’t you agree, Edith?”
“No…” Edith replies after a few moments, her voice reedy and tinged with a far off quality.
“You don’t, Edith?” Hilda asks, her face screwing up in disbelief, her mouth a thin, long line moving up and down as she chews.
“I don’t what?” Edith replies.
“You don’t agree with me, Edith!” Hilda retorts in surprise. “Haven’t you been listening to me?” She looks at the slice of bare bread on Edith’s plate and her untouched cup of tea, and then up into Edith’s rather pale and wan face with apprehension. “What’s wrong Edith? You haven’t touched your tea.”
“Oh!” Edith gasps, before smiling at her friend. “Nothing, Hilda.” She picks up the jar of Golden Shred Marmalade*** and unscrews the painted red lid.
“Aren’t you going to put butter on your bread first?” Hilda asks with disquiet as she watches Edith’s clean knife edge towards the gelatinous golden orange conserve within the jar.
“What?” Edith looks at the marmalade and then looks at the bar of creamy pale yellow butter on the white glazed tray of the butter dish. “Oh! Oh yes!” She giggles somewhat forcefully at her mistake. “Silly me.”
“What’s wrong Edith?” Hilda asks her friend in genuine concern as she watches her butter her bread. “You’ve been a bit off ever since you’ve arrived, and I don’t think you’ve really heard a word I said since you got here.”
“Yes I have, Hilda!” Edith defends.
“You’re not,” Hilda glances down to Edith’s stomach, encased in a pretty floral print frock of her own making, cocking her eyebrow as she does. “You know… in the family way with Frank, are you?”
“Hilda!” Edith let’s her knife clatter loudly onto her blue and white plate. “Good heavens, no!” She blushes. “I’m not that kind of girl! You know that! How could you even think such a thing? I haven’t let Frank touch me like that, and he knows he can’t, until he’s put a ring on my finger.”
“Oh, that’s a relief!” Hilda sinks back not the comfort of the round back of her Windsor chair. “Then what is it? Something’s bothering you. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. Is it Miss Lettice? Has she done something? I know your brother is home. Is he alright?”
“Of course my brother’s alright!” Edith scoffs in surprise. “You only saw him at the Hammersmith Palais**** on Sunday. And no, it’s nothing about Miss Lettice.”
“Well, a lot can happen in a few days, Edith. So, what is it, then. Is it to do with Frank?”
Edith doesn’t reply for a moment, which tells her best friend so much before she finally does reply falteringly. “Well, yes… well not him, exactly.”
“What is it then?” Hilda sits forward and picks up the last bite of her first half of her bread. “Come on! Out with it then!”
Edith sighs deeply and toys with the marmalade as she smears it across her slice of bread. “I’m worried about meeting Frank’s grandmother on Sunday.”
“But I thought you wanted to meet her.” Hilda replies, her eyes widening in surprise. “You’re the one who has been banging on to me for weeks about Frank dragging his heels. Now he’s gone and done the right thing and organised for you two to finally meet. I don’t understand.”
“Oh, I am glad, Hilda. Really, I am.”
“Well you don’t sound it, I must confess.” Hilda says matter-of-factly as she snatches up her second half of her bread and bites deeply into it, emitting a small gasp of pleasure at doing so.
Edith cuts her slice of bread in half with desultory strokes as she considers her reply. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try me.”
“Alright. Well, I’m worried that she won’t like me.”
“What?” Hilda gasps. “What is there not to like about you, Edith? You’re wonderful! Frank’s picked himself the best of the catch!” She pats Edith’s arm comfortingly as she leans forward. “You’re pretty and smart. You’ve landed yourself a good job as far as being in service goes. Goodness,” She slaps Edith’s forearm. “You’re even clever enough to whip Frank up a shirt on that new Singer***** of yours, I’ll wager. I’m sure she’ll be tickled pink that her grandson has found such a catch as you.”
“But she sounds so grand, Hilda. She makes lace, and she lives in Upton Park. It sounds much nicer than Harlesden.”
“What rubbish!” Hilda scoffs. “Lots of women make lace, and they aren’t fine ladies like Mrs. Channon or Miss Lettice. In fact, I doubt that either of our mistresses could sew their own lace. And as for Upon Park, it’s just an ordinary suburb, just like any other in London.”
“Have you been there?”
“Well, no.” Hilda admits. But as her friend’s face falls, she quickly adds, “But I have been with you to the Premier****** in East Ham, and that isn’t far away, and there’s nothing particularly grand or special about it. Upton Park is just an ordinary London suburb, just like many others, and that includes Harlesden.”
“I don’t really know much about Frank’s upbringing, other than his parents died in the Spanish Flu epidemic. His grandmother might not approve of a working girl whose father works in a biscuit factory and a mother who is a laundress.”
“Rubbish! Your parents are both respectable people, Edith. Your mum keeps a lovely house and did a splendid job of raising you and your brother. You’ve nothing whatever to be ashamed of! I’m sure your nerves are just bringing all this nonsense up.”
“Oh,” Edith sighs. “You’re probably right, Hilda.” She smiles wanly at her friend and reaches up her own right hand and places it gratefully on her best friend’s left forearm. “Thank you.”
“Course I’m right.” Hilda says with satisfaction.
The pair settle back in companionable silence for a short while. Hilda happily helps herself to another slice of thick and soft white bread from the bread crock, far nicer than the bread she used to be served by the cook in Mrs. Plaistow’s, who deliberately gave the maids food of a poorer quality out of sheer spite, whilst feeding she and her kitchen maid little delicacies that she would create just for them. Smearing a thick layer of rich, dark and gleaming Marmite on her bread, Hilda feels the silence change. Glancing up at her friend she watches as she gingerly nibbles at her slice of bread, spread with a thin layer of jewel like orange marmalade. Her eyes, usually so bright, seem dull and sad and she is obviously troubled and distracted by something more than she is saying. Hilda sips her tea and ponders the situation.
“There’s something else worrying you, isn’t there Edith?” she confronts her friend at length.
“No, I…”
“Don’t try and deny it!” Hilda protests, raising one of her doughy arms with its wide hands and fat, sausage like fingers. “I’ve known you long enough Edith Watsford, to know there is something wrong. What is it? Don’t you want to tell it me?”
Edith looks guiltily at her, evidently upset at withholding information from her most trusted of friends, yet unable to voice them. Finally, she speaks.
“You’ll think me foolish, if you thought my other reasons were rubbish, Hilda.”
“Your reasons may be rubbish,” Hilda agrees. “But your concerns aren’t. Come on Edith. We tell each other everything. You know I won’t think you’re foolish. Like I said before, you’re a smart girl, and smart girls aren’t foolish.” She smiles in a welcoming fashion, encouraging Edith to share. “I won’t pass judgement on you.” she concludes softly, putting down her slice of bread, just to prove the point that she is paying full attention. “Promise.”
Edith puts down her own nibbled slice of bread and explains with a heaviness and reluctance, “I feel foolish, because I can’t help but feel I’m cheating on Bert’s memory by going to see Frank’s grandmother.”
When Edith pauses and looks across at her friend, Hilda doesn’t respond, even though she wants to. She wants to tell her that such an idea is nonsense, and that she has been crying over the photo of a dead man for far too long as it is, but she knows that will only make Edith feel foolish, and she doesn’t want her to feel that way. Instead, she stays silent for a moment before asking, “How’s that then?”
“Well, by me going to see Frank’s grandmother, it commits me more to Frank, and I can’t help but feel that in doing so, I’m not being generous to Bert’s memory.”
“That’s,” Hilda begins, about to add the word rubbish. However, she quickly changes her mind, swallows the word and instead says, “Understandable.”
“Do you really think so, Hilda?”
Hilda smiles, but her smile contains pity for her friend. “For all the time we shared that awful, cold attic bedroom at Mrs. Plaistow’s, I remember how often you talked about Bert, and how often you looked at his picture. Of course, he was your first love, and whilst I have no real experience of love myself, I do know that first loves remain in your heart.”
Edith nods shallowly.
“But I think that Bert would be disappointed in you if you didn’t take this chance with Frank, Edith. He sounded like a nice chap, and I think he’d be happy for you if you had a chance at love again. You’re lucky.” she adds. “Not all of us get that chance.” Now her pity is for herself.
“Oh, I’m sorry Hilda!” Edith exclaims. “I must sound so ungrateful! Here I am with a lovely man like Frank, and I’m worried about a man who isn’t even alive any more.”
“He lives in your heart.” Hilda says in a strangulated voice as she struggles to hold back her own tears.
“Don’t worry, Hilda!” Edith assures her friend. “We’re going to find you a good man at the Hammersmith Palais. You wait and see!”
“Not with the number of women there are in comparison to the men.” Hilda says doubtfully, picking up her bread slice and her cup. “Like most of the plainer girls, I end up dancing with other women rather than sit and be a wallflower. Thank goodness for your Frank dancing with me from time to time, or your brother last week.” After slurping a sip of hot sweet and milky tea, she adds, “My Mum used to tell me I had good child-bearing hips. I think she used to say it out of kindness, because I’ve always been on the heftier side.” She looks down at herself. “I’ll never be a slip of thing like you, and there’s a fact.”
“Oh I wouldn’t…” Edith begins, but Hilda holds up her hand in protest again as she pops her bread between her teeth.
Taking the slice out of her mouth, she continues, “Anyway, Mum doesn’t say that any more, partially I think to spare me the humiliation of being reminded that I’m still single at the age of twenty three, but I think more so to keep herself from remembering that as her only child left alive, if I am destined to be an old maid, she’ll never have grandchildren.”
“Oh, don’t talk like that, Hilda! You might meet the man you are going to marry, tomorrow.”
“Let’s be honest, Edith,” Hilda says in a deflated fashion. “I’m nowhere near as pretty as you, nor as trim, and with so many young men killed in the war, my chances of finding someone are slim. Besides, I can’t sew my own pretty frocks like you can, and it seems that dresses in my size are mostly muddy brown or olive in colour. They are hardly becoming are they?”
“Well, we might be able to do something about that.” Edith says with a genuine smile that returns brightness to her eyes. “Now that I do have my own sewing machine, I can just as easily make up a frock for you as I can for me. I have plenty of Weldon’s******* at home.”
Hilda’s sad face suddenly brightens and her cheeks fill with colour, giving her a pretty flush of pink. “Would you Edith?” she dares to ask. “Would you really?”
“Oh yes, of course I will!” Edith exclaims. “If I start working on it in the evenings this week, it might even help keep my mind off meeting Frank’s grandmother. I probably won’t have anything ready for a week or two, but if you don’t mind waiting.”
“Oh, of course I don’t mind waiting! That would be wonderful!”
“Well,” Edith says, sparking up herself at the thought of making a frock for her best friend. “I know we said we were going to go and look in the shop windows on Oxford Street, but why don’t we go to Mrs. Minkin’s Haberdashers in Whitechapel instead? We could pick some nice fabric today, and maybe even look at frock patterns to see what you like.”
“We’d better eat up then!” Hilda says before stuffing what is left of her second slice of bread into her mouth and washing it down with another slurp of tea. Through a wall of chewed up bread mixed with tea she adds, “Whitechapel’s a bit further away than Oxford Street.”
As Edith stands and prepares to help tidy the luncheon dishes away, Hilda waves her hands over them, indicating to her that she will take care of them when she gets back. Hilda goes to the pegs by the back door to the flat and picks up her chocolate brown overcoat and camel felt cloche with the chocolate brown grosgrain ribbon, the latter of which she pulls down over her mousy brown hair. Holding out Edith’s black coat to her, the pair of best friends wrap up against the still chilled early spring weather and slip out the door, their joyously chattering filling the air like birdsong as they discuss what Hilda’s new frock might look like.
*Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.
**Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.
***Golden Shred orange marmalade still exists today and is a common household brand both in Britain and Australia. They are produced by Robertson’s. Robertson's Golden Shred recipe perfected since 1874 is a clear and tangy orange marmalade, which according to their modern day jars is “perfect for Paddington’s marmalade sandwiches”. Robertson's marmalade dates back to 1874 when Mrs. Robertson started making marmalade in the family grocery shop in Paisley, Scotland.
****The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.
*****The Singer Corporation is an American manufacturer of consumer sewing machines, first established as I. M. Singer & Co. in 1851 by Isaac M. Singer with New York lawyer Edward C. Clark. Best known for its sewing machines, it was renamed Singer Manufacturing Company in 1865, then the Singer Company in 1963. In 1867, the Singer Company decided that the demand for their sewing machines in the United Kingdom was sufficiently high to open a local factory in Glasgow on John Street. The Vice President of Singer, George Ross McKenzie selected Glasgow because of its iron making industries, cheap labour, and shipping capabilities. Demand for sewing machines outstripped production at the new plant and by 1873, a new larger factory was completed on James Street, Bridgeton. By that point, Singer employed over two thousand people in Scotland, but they still could not produce enough machines. In 1882 the company purchased forty-six acres of farmland in Clydebank and built an even bigger factory. With nearly a million square feet of space and almost seven thousand employees, it was possible to produce on average 13,000 machines a week, making it the largest sewing machine factory in the world. The Clydebank factory was so productive that in 1905, the U.S. Singer Company set up and registered the Singer Manufacturing Company Ltd. in the United Kingdom.******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.
*******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.
This cosy domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:
On Hilda’s deal table is everything required for a nice, hearty luncheon for two working maids. The bread crock, butter knives and the butter dish come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The bar of butter on the dish I have had since I was six. It came as part of a dinner set, underneath a silver butter dish. The blue and white floral tea set, plates and bread slices all come from different online stockists of miniatures on E-Bay. The vase of flowers also comes from an online shop on E-Bay. The jar of Marmite and the jar of Golden Shred Marmalade are handmade artisan miniatures with great attention to the labelling, made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire., a panoply of things as she readies luncheon for Lettice and her guests. The mahogany stained serving tray, the gravy boat of gravy, the chopping board, napkins and cutlery all came from an English stockist of 1:12 artisan miniatures whom I found on E-Bay. Edith’s green handbag, appearing on the table at the bottom right-hand corner of the photo, is handmade from soft leather. I bought it along with many other items from an American miniature collector named Marilyn Bickel.
Hilda’s two different Windsor chairs are hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniatures which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat of either, but both are definitely unmarked artisan pieces.
In the background you can see a very modern and up-to-date 1920s gas stove. It would have been expensive to instal at the time, and it would have been the cook’s or maid’s pleasure to cook on and in. It would have included a thermostat for perfect cooking and without the need of coal, it was much cleaner to feed, use and easier to clean. It is not unlike those made by the Roper Stove Company in the 1920s. The Roper Stove Company previously named the Florence-Wehrle Company among other names, was founded in 1883. Located in Newark, Ohio, the company was once the largest stove producer in the world. Today, the Roper Stove Company is a brand of Whirlpool.