Maine Bird List
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... to you all here on Flickr!
I wish you love, joy, peace and time.
Because the most valuable thing we can give others at Christmas is our time. Spending time with your loved ones is the true meaning of Christmas.
(Image based on an older photo of mine, supplemented with prompts in mage.space. I used Photoshop to tweak the colors and make other improvements.)
Frohe Weihnachten!
... wünsche ich allen hier auf Flickr!
Ich wünsche euch Liebe, Freude, Frieden und Zeit.
Denn das Wertvollste, das wir anderen zu Weihnachten schenken können, ist unsere Zeit. Zeit mit den Liebsten zu verbringen ist der wahre Sinn von Weihnachten.
Harris Brown-ALL rights reserved. This image may not be used for ANY purpose without written permission.
Montgomery County, PA. USA
Thanks to all who take the time to view, comment on and favor my images. It is very much appreciated.
My nemesis woodpecker finally stood still for 3 seconds allowing me to get a few images. The Pileated Woodpecker’s primary food is carpenter ants, supplemented by other ants, woodboring beetle larvae, termites, and other insects such as flies, spruce budworm, caterpillars, cockroaches, and grasshoppers. They also eat wild fruits and nuts, including greenbrier, hackberry, sassafras, blackberries, sumac berries, poison ivy, holly, dogwood, persimmon, and elderberry.
Nikon Z9 camera with Nikon Z600mm f 6.3 PF lens.
1/250 F6.3 ISO 720 with fill flash
"Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who trusts in Him!"
Psalm 34:8
A supplement to the “Azumino Valley in Autumn.” It was taken from an abandoned ski slope.
This photo shows the three tiers of autumn colours; mixed forest of ever green Japanese cedar and yellow oak are dominant canopy trees up to an altitude of 1,000 m, reddish brown Buna beech dominates from 1,000 to 2,000 m in the sub-alpine zone and the alpine zone of 2,500 m and above is covered with snow.
The altitude of the lake surface is 830 m.
This is the last photo of the Gleaning of 2025.
Red Deer - Cervus elaphus
Double click
The red deer (Cervus elaphus) is one of the largest deer species. The red deer inhabits most of Europe, the Caucasus Mountains region, Asia Minor, Iran, parts of western Asia, and central Asia. It also inhabits the Atlas Mountains region between Morocco and Tunisia in northwestern Africa, being the only species of deer to inhabit Africa. Red deer have been introduced to other areas, including Australia, New Zealand, United States, Canada, Peru, Uruguay, Chile and Argentina. In many parts of the world, the meat (venison) from red deer is used as a food source.
The red deer is the fourth-largest deer species behind moose, elk and sambar deer. It is a ruminant, eating its food in two stages and having an even number of toes on each hoof, like camels, goats and cattle. European red deer have a relatively long tail compared to their Asian and North American relatives. Subtle differences in appearance are noted between the various subspecies of red deer, primarily in size and antlers, with the smallest being the Corsican red deer found on the islands of Corsica and Sardinia and the largest being the Caspian red deer (or maral) of Asia Minor and the Caucasus Region to the west of the Caspian Sea. The deer of central and western Europe vary greatly in size, with some of the largest deer found in the Carpathian Mountains in Central Europe.Western European red deer, historically, grew to large size given ample food supply (including people's crops), and descendants of introduced populations living in New Zealand and Argentina have grown quite large in both body and antler size. Large red deer stags, like the Caspian red deer or those of the Carpathian Mountains, may rival the wapiti in size. Female red deer are much smaller than their male counterparts.
The European red deer is found in southwestern Asia (Asia Minor and Caucasus regions), North Africa and Europe. The red deer is the largest non-domesticated land mammal still existing in Ireland. The Barbary stag (which resembles the western European red deer) is the only member of the deer family represented in Africa, with the population centred in the northwestern region of the continent in the Atlas Mountains. As of the mid-1990s, Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria were the only African countries known to have red deer.
In the Netherlands, a large herd (ca. 3000 animals counted in late 2012) lives in the Oostvaarders Plassen, a nature reserve. Ireland has its own unique subspecies. In France the population is thriving, having multiplied fivefold in the last half-century, increasing from 30,000 in 1970 to approximately 160,000 in 2014. The deer has particularly expanded its footprint into forests at higher altitudes than before. In the UK, indigenous populations occur in Scotland, the Lake District, and the South West of England (principally on Exmoor). Not all of these are of entirely pure bloodlines, as some of these populations have been supplemented with deliberate releases of deer from parks, such as Warnham or Woburn Abbey, in an attempt to increase antler sizes and body weights. The University of Edinburgh found that, in Scotland, there has been extensive hybridisation with the closely related sika deer.
Several other populations have originated either with "carted" deer kept for stag hunts being left out at the end of the hunt, escapes from deer farms, or deliberate releases. Carted deer were kept by stag hunts with no wild red deer in the locality and were normally recaptured after the hunt and used again; although the hunts are called "stag hunts", the Norwich Staghounds only hunted hinds (female red deer), and in 1950, at least eight hinds (some of which may have been pregnant) were known to be at large near Kimberley and West Harling; they formed the basis of a new population based in Thetford Forest in Norfolk. Further substantial red deer herds originated from escapes or deliberate releases in the New Forest, the Peak District, Suffolk, Lancashire, Brecon Beacons, and North Yorkshire, as well as many other smaller populations scattered throughout England and Wales, and they are all generally increasing in numbers and range. A census of deer populations in 2007 and again in 2011 coordinated by the British Deer Society records the red deer as having continued to expand their range in England and Wales since 2000, with expansion most notable in the Midlands and East Anglia.
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.
A supplement to the series "Azumino and its vicinity in winter."
Kita Alps is half-hidden by snow clouds but this area does not have much snow unlike its neighbours of Hakuba and Otari.
Ikeda-Matsukawa Bridge over the Takasegawa river is locally known as a good view point of Kita Alps peaks, but the bridge itself is rarely shot.
It is so named as it is a boundary between Ikeda and Matsukawa municipalities.
Mt.Fuji-like peak near the centre is called Ariakesan (有明山 2,268 m). It is not very high but looks prominent. Hence it is regarded as a sacred mountain, and there are shrines at the foot and at the peak in Matsukawa village. It is not a volcano.
It is nicknamed Shinano Fuji. Shinano is the old name of Nagano prefecture. It is one of dozens of local Fuji mountains in Japan.
© Leanne Boulton, All Rights Reserved
Candid street photography from Glasgow, Scotland. Fighting with reams of supplements comes with the newspaper territory, I'd hate to have a 'paper round' these days - at least, way back when, it was only the Sunday papers that had all of those supplements in. Enjoy!
I confess I've been at war with 3 squirrels terrorizing my back yard. They were cute for awhile, frolicking with each other, but no more. They're climbing the stucco siding of my house to get to the bird seed feeder, hanging from the gutters, running speed contests on the roof. They broke my outdoor thermometer. They played Jungle Jim on a favorite plumeria till all the branches, flowers and leaves are busted off. Ethan counseled me to accept it - "winning is coping" he said. So, as long as they back off a bit and leave the seed feeder alone ... This afternoon my tree started raining little white somethings. Clearly, something was in the tree, defeathering or peeling I knew not what. I cracked open the patio glass door and knelt down to see squirrel on tree branch peeling a piece of fruit. I thought maybe oranges since I have an orange tree, but nope. I checked the peelings after it was gone - looked like maybe apple or jicama even. I should be happy it comes to my yard to enjoy what it stole from a neighbor, and it's supplementing its bird seed diet and uh branching out. And there are still moments of cuteness and laughter, like a couple of days ago when I was near the fence on a chair picking oranges. Squirrel hopped on fence from the other side and met me face to face. THAT was funny. It ran so fast on that fence it slipped a couple times trying to get away. I'm pretty sure it was squeaking obscenities at me too.
xxxminamikazexxx.blogspot.jp/2017/04/170412.html
The rain of April passed away.☂
Plants are supplemented with water for rain
Plants shine sparkly.✨
I came back home and it is time for healing.
I'm home.......🏠....... •.¸¸◟(˘͈ᵕ ˘͈●)
CP 120 rounds the bottom of Moosehead Lake as it passes through Greenville Junction, ME. They have four NBM SD70M-2's in tow, purchased by Irving to supplement an ongoing power shortage.
title.
北口。階段。直進。
( GFX50R FUJIFILM shot )
images.
Seventeen - Still lonely【日本語字幕つき】
やちまた市。（八街市）千葉県。日本。3月5日。2023年。… 8 / 49
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
４９枚の写真のタイトル。
【夜の終わり。朝の始まり。ー 生まれた場所の駅の周辺 ー 】
撮影日。撮影場所。
やちまた市（八街市）。千葉県。日本。２０２３年３月５日。
補足。
1 僕自身の写真は、３月１２日の同時刻に撮影しました。
2 使用機材等は前回のやちまた市通学路撮影と同じです😃
3 写真は、ほぼ撮影した順番どおりにアップロードしています😃
4 僕は発表してきた写真の全てに連写機能を使っていません。
撮影の解説動画は以下です😃
図に乗って、やちまた市(八街市)の夜を撮ってきました😃
ユーチューブ更新しました😃
炸裂！ マイクロソフト bing と その他ニュース、そして異動について😃
#bing #マイクロソフト #ChatGPT #AI #人事異動 #ダイアナ妃 #新婚旅行 #ピンクサンドビーチ #バハマ #ブラックベリー #アイフォン #アップル #RIM #人間に残される仕事は３つだけ #プレジデント #プレジデントオンライン #ニュース #ビジネスマン #スマホ
title.
North exit. stairs. Go straight.
( GFX50R FUJIFILM shot )
images.
Seventeen - Still lonely
Yachimata City. Chiba prefecture. Japan. March 5, 2023. … 8 / 49
(Today's photo. It's unpublished.)
49 photo titles.
[End of the night. beginning of the morning. - Around the station where I was born -]
Shooting date. shooting location.
Yachimata City (Yachimata City). Chiba prefecture. Japan. March 5, 2023.
supplement.
1 My own photo was taken at the same time on March 12th.
2 The equipment used is the same as the previous Yachimata city school road shooting 😃
3 Photos are uploaded almost in the order they were taken.
4 I haven't used the continuous shooting function in all the photos I've published.
Below is a video explaining the shooting.
I took a picture of Yachimata City at night 😃
This patch of light shining on the whole food vitamins and supplements I take each day fascinated me. Seeing this reminded me it has been such a challenging, painful, intense, lonely journey to get to this point. I’ve also experienced some growth, support, light and a tiny glimpse of life slowly returning. As I tried to heal and recover I was led down a path that involved psychiatric medications that only made things worse for me and prevented me from growing, recovering, and healing (which eventually I courageously discontinued three years ago). And while I’m still struggling a lot I reached a point that I’ve learned the importance of caring for myself in healthy ways—among many things, one way I do this is through these whole food vitamins and supplements.
A specimen of Hoodia gordonii, aka Bushman's Hat, in the Tucson Botanical Gardens. Native to South Africa, Botswana, and Nambia, it's flowers smell like rotting meat and the flowers are pollinated by flies. Heavily collected, to the point of endangerment, for use in weight-loss supplements, the claims of which have been debunked.
A Few Frames on from the previous shot posted...
Red Deer - Cervus elaphus
Hinds scrapping for herd position?
London Royal Parks
The red deer (Cervus elaphus) is one of the largest deer species. The red deer inhabits most of Europe, the Caucasus Mountains region, Asia Minor, Iran, parts of western Asia, and central Asia. It also inhabits the Atlas Mountains region between Morocco and Tunisia in northwestern Africa, being the only species of deer to inhabit Africa. Red deer have been introduced to other areas, including Australia, New Zealand, United States, Canada, Peru, Uruguay, Chile and Argentina. In many parts of the world, the meat (venison) from red deer is used as a food source.
The red deer is the fourth-largest deer species behind moose, elk and sambar deer. It is a ruminant, eating its food in two stages and having an even number of toes on each hoof, like camels, goats and cattle. European red deer have a relatively long tail compared to their Asian and North American relatives. Subtle differences in appearance are noted between the various subspecies of red deer, primarily in size and antlers, with the smallest being the Corsican red deer found on the islands of Corsica and Sardinia and the largest being the Caspian red deer (or maral) of Asia Minor and the Caucasus Region to the west of the Caspian Sea. The deer of central and western Europe vary greatly in size, with some of the largest deer found in the Carpathian Mountains in Central Europe.Western European red deer, historically, grew to large size given ample food supply (including people's crops), and descendants of introduced populations living in New Zealand and Argentina have grown quite large in both body and antler size. Large red deer stags, like the Caspian red deer or those of the Carpathian Mountains, may rival the wapiti in size. Female red deer are much smaller than their male counterparts.
The European red deer is found in southwestern Asia (Asia Minor and Caucasus regions), North Africa and Europe. The red deer is the largest non-domesticated land mammal still existing in Ireland. The Barbary stag (which resembles the western European red deer) is the only member of the deer family represented in Africa, with the population centred in the northwestern region of the continent in the Atlas Mountains. As of the mid-1990s, Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria were the only African countries known to have red deer.
In the Netherlands, a large herd (ca. 3000 animals counted in late 2012) lives in the Oostvaarders Plassen, a nature reserve. Ireland has its own unique subspecies. In France the population is thriving, having multiplied fivefold in the last half-century, increasing from 30,000 in 1970 to approximately 160,000 in 2014. The deer has particularly expanded its footprint into forests at higher altitudes than before. In the UK, indigenous populations occur in Scotland, the Lake District, and the South West of England (principally on Exmoor). Not all of these are of entirely pure bloodlines, as some of these populations have been supplemented with deliberate releases of deer from parks, such as Warnham or Woburn Abbey, in an attempt to increase antler sizes and body weights. The University of Edinburgh found that, in Scotland, there has been extensive hybridisation with the closely related sika deer.
Several other populations have originated either with "carted" deer kept for stag hunts being left out at the end of the hunt, escapes from deer farms, or deliberate releases. Carted deer were kept by stag hunts with no wild red deer in the locality and were normally recaptured after the hunt and used again; although the hunts are called "stag hunts", the Norwich Staghounds only hunted hinds (female red deer), and in 1950, at least eight hinds (some of which may have been pregnant) were known to be at large near Kimberley and West Harling; they formed the basis of a new population based in Thetford Forest in Norfolk. Further substantial red deer herds originated from escapes or deliberate releases in the New Forest, the Peak District, Suffolk, Lancashire, Brecon Beacons, and North Yorkshire, as well as many other smaller populations scattered throughout England and Wales, and they are all generally increasing in numbers and range. A census of deer populations in 2007 and again in 2011 coordinated by the British Deer Society records the red deer as having continued to expand their range in England and Wales since 2000, with expansion most notable in the Midlands and East Anglia.
DESIGNATION: Protector-018
NICKNAME: Galaar
RANK: ARC Captain Grade 1
UNIT: Vornskr, First Regiment, "Bralor's First", 253rd Elite Clone Legion
"The flak from the monasteries guns was intense, explosions rocking the gunship as it flew through Teth's hazy sky. Bralor's Mandalorian scouts had been right, any assault made by General Skywalker on the Separatist held Temple a few klicks west would be all but impossible as long as these guns were operational. Unable to land in the monasteries courtyard or conduct a proper air assault the gunship pilots had been instructed to fly past the structure and land in the jungle at it's base, where the clones of the 253rd Legion would be able to stage and prepare for the next phase of the operation outside the range of the enemy guns.
Stepping out of the LAATi and into the gloomy jungle Galaar peered up at the monaster. It sat atop a massive mountain of stone, it's walls supplemented by a several kilometer tall sheer rock face, a dauting climb for the troopers who had been unable to procure jetpacks. Galaar could already make out tiny white dots moving up the cliff face, the first wave had already begun their ascent. Checking the locks on his jetpack, Galaar began to lead his squad to the base of the cliff, motioning for them to extend their packs wings and ignite their thruster the moment they cleared the canopy. Vornskr shot up the side of the cliff, flying past squads of troopers as the struggled to make their way from outcrop to outcrop using ascension cables. Galaar made it to the top of the monasteries wall right as the first squads using ascension cables were scrambling over the side and engaging the defending B1 battle droids. Swooping past them, Galaar fired at the droids from above, destroying several and giving the troopers enough cover so that they could establish a footing and help their brothers over the wall. So far everything was going to plan, the 253rd had established a footing at the monastery and soon would have in under their control. There was only one thing left to do, silence that kriffing ion cannon so that General Skywalker could begin his assault."
---------------------------
Winter break and finally some time to build. I'm quite happy with how this came out and I just want to should out all the 253rd group members who helped inspire this build. I'm a little out of practice with the log, but I figured it would be best to make an attempt rather than not include one. I've got two weeks until school starts up so I'm hoping I'll be able to get at least another build up, most likely something for WiD. Anyway thanks for stopping by and merry Christmas!
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!
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:
A young girl receives a vitamin A supplement as part of a Child Health Week campaign in Nigeria in 2008.
Learn more about Vitamin A supplementation and MI's work in Nigeria.
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:
Please visit my YouTube, 500px, Instagram & Facebook channels
www.youtube.com/channel/UCt5wf3DvvWAqgUd9NMUItVw
500px.com/p/svive1?view=photos
www.instagram.com/viv_vivekananda/
The superb fairywren (Malurus cyaneus) is a passerine bird in the Australasian wren family, Maluridae, and is common and familiar across south-eastern Australia. The species is sedentary and territorial, also exhibiting a high degree of sexual dimorphism; the male in breeding plumage has a striking bright blue forehead, ear coverts, mantle, and tail, with a black mask and black or dark blue throat. Non-breeding males, females and juveniles are predominantly grey-brown in colour; this gave the early impression that males were polygamous, as all dull-coloured birds were taken for females. Six subspecies groups are recognized: three larger and darker forms from Tasmania, Flinders and King Island respectively, and three smaller and paler forms from mainland Australia and Kangaroo Island. Like other fairywrens, the superb fairywren is notable for several peculiar behavioural characteristics; the birds are socially monogamous and sexually promiscuous, meaning that although they form pairs between one male and one female, each partner will mate with other individuals and even assist in raising the young from such pairings. Male wrens pluck yellow petals and display them to females as part of a courtship display. The superb fairywren can be found in almost any area that has at least a little dense undergrowth for shelter, including grasslands with scattered shrubs, moderately thick forest, woodland, heaths, and domestic gardens. It has adapted well to the urban environment and is common in suburban Sydney, Canberra and Melbourne. The superb fairywren eats mostly insects and supplements its diet with seeds. 40953
Red Deer - Cervus elaphus
and his little mate!! (Sika)
Scottish Highlands
The red deer (Cervus elaphus) is one of the largest deer species. The red deer inhabits most of Europe, the Caucasus Mountains region, Asia Minor, Iran, parts of western Asia, and central Asia. It also inhabits the Atlas Mountains region between Morocco and Tunisia in northwestern Africa, being the only species of deer to inhabit Africa. Red deer have been introduced to other areas, including Australia, New Zealand, United States, Canada, Peru, Uruguay, Chile and Argentina. In many parts of the world, the meat (venison) from red deer is used as a food source.
The red deer is the fourth-largest deer species behind moose, elk and sambar deer. It is a ruminant, eating its food in two stages and having an even number of toes on each hoof, like camels, goats and cattle. European red deer have a relatively long tail compared to their Asian and North American relatives. Subtle differences in appearance are noted between the various subspecies of red deer, primarily in size and antlers, with the smallest being the Corsican red deer found on the islands of Corsica and Sardinia and the largest being the Caspian red deer (or maral) of Asia Minor and the Caucasus Region to the west of the Caspian Sea. The deer of central and western Europe vary greatly in size, with some of the largest deer found in the Carpathian Mountains in Central Europe.Western European red deer, historically, grew to large size given ample food supply (including people's crops), and descendants of introduced populations living in New Zealand and Argentina have grown quite large in both body and antler size. Large red deer stags, like the Caspian red deer or those of the Carpathian Mountains, may rival the wapiti in size. Female red deer are much smaller than their male counterparts.
The European red deer is found in southwestern Asia (Asia Minor and Caucasus regions), North Africa and Europe. The red deer is the largest non-domesticated land mammal still existing in Ireland. The Barbary stag (which resembles the western European red deer) is the only member of the deer family represented in Africa, with the population centred in the northwestern region of the continent in the Atlas Mountains. As of the mid-1990s, Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria were the only African countries known to have red deer.
In the Netherlands, a large herd (ca. 3000 animals counted in late 2012) lives in the Oostvaarders Plassen, a nature reserve. Ireland has its own unique subspecies. In France the population is thriving, having multiplied fivefold in the last half-century, increasing from 30,000 in 1970 to approximately 160,000 in 2014. The deer has particularly expanded its footprint into forests at higher altitudes than before. In the UK, indigenous populations occur in Scotland, the Lake District, and the South West of England (principally on Exmoor). Not all of these are of entirely pure bloodlines, as some of these populations have been supplemented with deliberate releases of deer from parks, such as Warnham or Woburn Abbey, in an attempt to increase antler sizes and body weights. The University of Edinburgh found that, in Scotland, there has been extensive hybridisation with the closely related sika deer.
Several other populations have originated either with "carted" deer kept for stag hunts being left out at the end of the hunt, escapes from deer farms, or deliberate releases. Carted deer were kept by stag hunts with no wild red deer in the locality and were normally recaptured after the hunt and used again; although the hunts are called "stag hunts", the Norwich Staghounds only hunted hinds (female red deer), and in 1950, at least eight hinds (some of which may have been pregnant) were known to be at large near Kimberley and West Harling; they formed the basis of a new population based in Thetford Forest in Norfolk. Further substantial red deer herds originated from escapes or deliberate releases in the New Forest, the Peak District, Suffolk, Lancashire, Brecon Beacons, and North Yorkshire, as well as many other smaller populations scattered throughout England and Wales, and they are all generally increasing in numbers and range. A census of deer populations in 2007 and again in 2011 coordinated by the British Deer Society records the red deer as having continued to expand their range in England and Wales since 2000, with expansion most notable in the Midlands and East Anglia.
“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
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:
Locomotive Services Limited 90001 INTERCITY (Royal Scot) made a visit to London Euston to supply power to GWR's Night Riveria Sleeper that was diverted away from London Paddington. It is seen photographed having uncoupled from 57605/57603 as it prepares to head back to Crewe on 0Z53.
Supplementing its large fleet of Tridents, Nu-Venture purchased an ex-London WVL in September 2020 and was soon slotted in for repaint into fleet livery.
Looking smart in fleet colours, Nu-Venture WVL272 LX06 ECF is seen making a small diversion on Chatham Road, Ringlestone, whilst running empty from the garage in Aylesford to Cornwallis Academy to work school route 66 to Kingswood via Chart Sutton, Headcorn and Ulcombe. Thursday 12th November 2020.
Volvo B7TL - Wrightbus Eclipse Gemini 10.1m (Ex-Go-Ahead London WVL272)
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 chic, dining room, which stands adjunct to her equally stylish drawing room. She has decorated it in a restrained Art Deco style with a smattering of antique pieces. It is also a place where she has showcased some prized pieces from the Portman Gallery in Soho including paintings, her silver drinks set and her beloved statue of the ‘Modern Woman’ who presides over the proceedings from the sideboard.
Lettice is hosting a luncheon for her future sister-in-law Arabella Tyrwhitt who will soon marry her eldest brother Leslie. As Arabella has no sisters, and her mother is too unwell at present to travel up to London from Wiltshire, Lettice has taken it upon herself to help Arabella shop and select a suitable trousseau. So, she has brought her to London to stay in Cavendish Mews, rather than opening up the Tyrwhitt’s Georgian townhouse in Curzon Street for a week, so from there she can take Arabella shopping in all the best shops in the West End, and take her to her old childhood chum and best friend Gerald Bruton’s couturier in Grosvenor Street for her wedding dress. Lettice has invited a few of her friends from her Embassy Club coterie whom Arabella met there the other night. Lettice has asked her best girlfriend, the recently married Margot Channon and one of her other dear friends Minnie Palmerston. As both ladies are married, Lettice is hoping they may be able to shed some light on what life is like as a married woman with Arabella whilst also sharing in an afternoon of delicious food and delightful gossip.
“Oh Gerald will make you the most wonderful wedding dress, Bella,” Margot enthuses to Arabella. “Believe me! He made me the most stylish gown for my wedding last year. You’ll be the talk of the Wiltshire downs.”
“I think your mother is a wonderful sport letting Lettice help you pick your wedding gown, Bella.” exclaims Minnie. “My mother wouldn’t let me choose so much as a button without her say so, and my wedding dress wasn’t anywhere near as modern and fashionable as I would have liked. It wasn’t even made by the couturier I wanted! I had to settle for old fashioned Lucille*.”
“Well,” Arabella says a little awkwardly. “My mother, err, she isn’t all that well at present, you see.”
“So,” Lettice quickly pitches in to avoid Arabella any awkward explanations. “I’m doing Lady Tyrwhitt the biggest favour whilst she is indisposed, by hosting Bella here in my flat and taking her shopping.” Arabella smiles in relief at her future sister-in-law who sits to her right at the head of the table. “I mean, what’s the point in opening up their London townhouse for just a few days when Bella is welcome here at any time?”
“And where everything is so lovely and welcoming.” Arabella says gratefully.
“Hhmm… that’s most sensible, Lettice.” Minnie says.
“And this way, I can take Bella to places like the Embassy Club whilst she’s up here, as well as take her frock shopping.” Lettice giggles with a wink at Bella. “I can show here what she’s missing being stuck in dull old Wiltshire.”
“Oh, it’s not as dull as all that, Tice,” Arabella remarks, her face flushing with mild embarrassment as she feels so unworldly in comparison to Lettice and her smart London friends. “After all, we have cattle shows, garden parties and…”
“Cattle shows!” baulks Margot, her left hand pressing over her mouth in horror, her diamond engagement ring glinting under the light of the dining room. “How beastly! I do hope that there aren’t any cattle shows I have to go on Cornwall! I should dislike that intensely.”
“I agree!” nods Minnie, her green glass chandelier earrings bobbing about as they dangle from her lobes.
“You both grew up in London, so of course a cattle show is beastly to you two,” Lettice replies. “But Bella and I both grew up in the country, so we are used to life there. Cattle shows are part of county social life.”
“If I had to go and look at beastly… well beasts, in order to meet eligible men,” Minnie says with an air of distaste as she wrinkles her nose. “I think I’d rather stay single.”
“Good job the closest thing you’ve come to the countryside is Hyde Park on a summer’s day then isn’t it, Minnie?” retorts Lettice with a playful smile.
“I quite enjoy the county social round,” Arabella admits with a shy smile. “And whilst I’m so grateful for you taking me to nightspots around London, Tice, I don’t think I’ll ever be a nightclub kind of girl.”
“Poor darling,” Lettice teases her good naturedly as she speaks out to her other friends at the table. “She doesn’t know yet how deliciously addictive nightclubs can be.”
“We’ll fix that,” giggles Margot, reaching out a hand across the table, past the central floral arrangement of lightly fragrant white roses in a glass bowl and enveloping Arabella’s smaller hand with her own. “Don’t you worry about that Lettice.”
Picking up her thoughts on life in Wiltshire, Bella adds, “Wiltshire isn’t quite the ends of the earth socially. Don’t forget, we do have balls and parties to go to there, like your mother’s glittering Hunt Ball.”
“Yes,” titters Minnie. “Where Lettice met that dishy Selwyn Spencely!”
Margot joins in with Minnie’s girlish peals.
“Oh do stop you two!” Lettice says with a playful wave of her hand. “I’ve only had to opportunity to have luncheon with him once thus far since the ball.”
“But you are planning to see him again, aren’t you Tice?” asks Arabella.
“Of course she is,” teases Margot with a wag of her bejewelled finger. “You can see it written all over her face!”
“Lettice!” Minnie cries, pointing her her elegant finger at her friend across the table. “You’re holding out on us. You’ve arranged to see him again, haven’t you?”
“Lettice!” gasps Margot. “Not fair! Spill the beans at once!”
“Well,” Lettice admits. “He did ring me this morning.”
“And?” Margot and Minnie ask, their breath baited with excitement.
“And we’ve arranged to have luncheon again after Bella returns home to Wiltshire.”
Margot and Minnie squeal and clap with delight, gushing forth congratulations as though Lettice had just announced her engagement to Selwyn.
“I hope you aren’t putting off seeing him just because I’m here, Tice.” Bella says quietly, a guilty look crossing her pretty face.
“Not at all, Bella!” Lettice reaches over and squeezes Arabella’s hand comfortingly. “He telephoned whilst you were in the bathroom this morning. You are my guest and as such, you have my undivided attention. Mr. Selwyn Spencely can wait a few days.”
“Well, they do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.” remarks Margot. “It certainly did for Dickie and I.”
“Where are you going, Lettice?” asks Minnie eagerly.
“I’ll tell you where, but not what day.” Lettice agrees. “The last thing I want is for you and Charles to be sitting, goggle eyed at the next table.”
“As if I would!” Minnie gasps, pressing a hand dramatically to her chest.
“As if you wouldn’t, more like!” Lettice retorts.
“Well,” Minnie looks across an Margot guiltily. “Yes, we would.”
The pair giggle conspiratorially.
“So where?” Minnie asks.
“The Café Royal.**”
“Oh how deliciously luxurious, Lettice darling!” Margot enthuses.
“I shall have Charles book us a table there every night for the fortnight after Bella leaves.” giggles Minnie teasingly, but her wink to Lettice assures her that she won’t.
“Oh Minnie!” Margot laughs. “You are awful!”
Just as Margot and Minnie break into more girlish titters, Edith, Lettice’s maid, emerges from the kitchen through the green baize door and walks towards the table with a tray on which she carries four of her home made orange curd tarts.
“Ah! What good timing!” Lettice claps her hands. “Edith, you are a brick! Ladies, dessert!”
Edith bobs a curtsey to her mistress and begins to serve the desserts to her guests first by carefully holding the tray on an angle to Arabella’s left, so she may easily help herself to one without the whole tray tipping forward and the tarts spilling onto the polished parquetry dining room floor.
“Thank you for that roast beef luncheon, Edith,” Arabella remarks as she selects the tart closest to her. “It was quite delicious.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Tyrwhitt.” Edith murmurs in reply, her face flushing with pleasure at the compliment.
Edith moves on and serves Minnie and then Margot, before finally coming back to Lettice who selects the one remaining tart from the tray. Ensuring that everyone has a replenished drink, Edith retreats to the kitchen, allowing the four ladies to carry on their conversation undisturbed by her presence.
“This looks delicious, Lettice darling.” remarks Margot as she looks down at the tart before her, the pastry a pale golden colour, a twist of candied orange and a dollop of whipped cream decorating its top.
“Yes,” concurs Minnie. “You’re so lucky Lettice. I don’t know how you manage to find such good staff in London.”
“I told you, Minnie. Mater gave me the telephone number of an excellent agency. That’s where I got Edith from. I’ll give it to you.”
“Oh,” Minnie sulks. “I think even if I employed the most perfectly qualified maid, I’d do something to muck the whole arrangement up. I usually do.”
“Good heavens, whatever are you talking about, Minnie?” Lettice exclaims.
“She’s only saying that because of her dining room faux pas.” Margot elucidates as she picks up her spoon and fork to commence eating her tart.
“What dining room faux pas?” Lettice asks.
Minnie looks around Lettice’s dining room at the restrained black japanned furnishings, white Art Deco wallpaper and elegant decorations. “I should just have done what Margot did and engaged you to decorate it for me.” she remarks as she picks up her own spoon and fork and begins to disseminate her dessert.
“What dining room faux pas?” Lettice asks again.
“At least you have taste, Lettice, unlike me.” Minnie continues uninterrupted.
“Nonsense Minnie darling, you have one of the most tasteful and fashionable wardrobes in London!” Margot counters.
“Well, it obviously doesn’t extend to my ability as an interior decorator.” Minnie grumbles back as she stabs her tart with her fork.
“Minnie, what dining room faux pas?” Lettice asks again, the smallest lilt in her raised voice betraying her frustration at being ignored.
“Well, you know how Charles’ grandfather left us the house in St John’s Wood?” Minnie asks.
“Yes,” Lettice says, laying aside her spoon and fork, leaving her trat untasted as she looks intently into the green eyes of her redheaded friend.
“When we moved in, it was full of all of old Lady Arundel’s ghastly furniture. Charles’ grandfather hadn’t done a single thing to update the place, so it was all dusty of festoons and potted palms.”
“So pre-war Edwardian!” adds Margot just before she pops the daintiest piece of tart into her mouth, smiling as she tastes it.
“Charles says to me when I complain about how dark and cluttered it is: ‘Minnie darling, why don’t you redecorate’. So of course I thought to myself that if you could do it so effortlessly, why couldn’t I?”
“I wouldn’t say effortlessly, Minnie darling.” Lettice corrects her friend. “Anyway, do go on. I’m all ears.”
“Well, I was delighted! My first real project as a wife, making a comfortable home for my husband. I asked Charles what room I should start with, and he suggested the dining room. After all, bringing potential business partners home to his dead grandmother’s fusty old dining room wouldn’t look very good, would it?”
“Indeed not, Minnie darling.” Lettice agrees, her lids lowering slightly as she concentrates on her friend’s story.
“He said that perhaps rather than throw out Lady Arundel’s dining table, I might start by picking some papers that went well with the dark furniture and red velvet seats, but would match our wonderful modern paintings which we hung in place of the muddy oils that were in there.”
“You could see where the old paintings had been by the non-faded patches of red flocked wallpaper.” Margot titters.
“That sounds ghastly,” Lettice remarks. “How sensible Charles was to suggest the walls first. Then you can decide what your new dining room furnishings will be once you are ready, and there’s no rush to fling out what you have at present.”
“Very well observed, Lettice darling.” Margot agrees.
“So where is the faux pas in that, then?” asks Lettice, looking across the roses of the centrepiece at her two friends in a perplexed fashion.
“The faux pas is what I chose!” pouts Minnie. “I’d started off so well too. I had the old black marble fireplace torn out and replaced with a lovely new surround.”
“Very streamline and modern,” Margot agrees, taking another mouthful of tart.
“Oh yes!” Minnie exclaims. “Quite to die for. Then I went to Jeffrey and Company*** looking for papers. It’s where my mother got our wallpapers for our homes when I was growing up.”
“Mine too.” affirmed Margot.
“And the assistant showed me the most divine poppies pattern on a geometric background. I thought to myself that being red, the poppies were a perfect choice for the walls.”
“It sounds perfect to me, Minnie darling.” Lettice says. “I still don’t see where the faux pas is?”
“You haven’t seen it on the walls.” Margot remarks half under her breath, looking apologetically at Minnie.
“No, it’s true Margot.” Minnie admits defeatedly with a sigh. “It sounds wonderful, but it looks positively awful!”
“Oh I wouldn’t have said that,” Margot counters. “It is rather busy and rather draws attention away from your paintings, but it isn’t awful.”
“Well Charles thinks it is! He says it’s like eating in a Maida Vale**** dining room! He doesn’t even want to eat in there now, and he certainly won’t bring any potential business partners around for dinner. He’s rather take them to his club!” Minnie whines. She drops her cutlery with a clatter onto the black japanned dining room table’s surface and hurriedly snatches her napkin from her lap. Carefully she dabs at the corners of her eyes.
“Oh Minnie!” Margot says, quickly getting up from her seat, dropping her own napkin on the seat of her chair and walking around to her friend where she wraps her arms around her shoulders comfortingly.
“Minnie darling. Please don’t cry.” Lettice gasps, standing up in her seat.
“You have modern wallpaper, but it doesn’t feel like Maida Vale in here.” Minnie says tearfully, thrusting her arms around in wild gesticulations.
Discreetly, Arabella moves Minnie’s half empty champagne flute out of her immediate reach to avoid any adding any drama with the spilling of drinks or shattering of glass to what is already an uncomfortable enough situation with the young woman sobbing in her seat whilst being comforted by her friends. Quietly Arabella wonders if the hot rush of London life with all its drama is all that good for the constitution if people behave this way over luncheon tables in the capital, and she secretly longs to retreat to the safety of her much quieter home of Garstanton Park back in Wiltshire.
“Do you need the smelling salts, Miss?” Edith, who unnoticed with Minnie’s loud crying and moaning, has slipped back into the dining room from the kitchen.
“What?” Lettice turns and registers her maid’s presence. “Ahh, no. No thank you Edith. Mrs. Palmerston is just having another one of her momentary dramas.”
“I am not!” bursts out Minnie, causing her already flushed face to go even redder as another barrage of tears and moaning escapes her shuddering frame.
“Of course you are, Minnie darling.” Lettice counters calmly in a good natured way. Turning back to her anxious maid she adds, “It will be over in a minute. Thank you, Edith.”
“Very good Miss.” Edith replies bewilderingly with raised eyebrows and an almost imperceptible shake of her head as she looks again at Mrs. Palmerston, red faced and weeping in her chair, her bare arms being rubbed by Mrs. Channon who coos and whispers quietly into her ears.
“Minnie has always been highly strung.” Lettice quietly assures Arabella whom she notices is looking particularly uncomfortable in her seat. “It will pass in a moment, and then we’ll get on with luncheon.”
After a few minutes of weeping, Minnie finally calms down, and both Lettice and Margot return to their seats to finish their desserts, all three behaving as if Minnie’s outburst had never occurred, and that such behaviour was not only understandable, but perfectly normal. Arabella, with her head down, eyes focussed squarely upon her half eaten tart says nothing and follows suit. For a few moments, nothing breaks the silence but the sound of cutlery scraping against crockery.
“I know, Minnie darling,” Lettice breaks the embargo on speaking cheerfully. “Why don’t I come and look at your dining room.”
“Oh would you?” exclaims Minnie with a sigh of relief. “Could you? Oh! That would be marvellous! What a brick you are, Lettice.” Then she pauses, her sudden happy energy draining away just as quickly. “But you can’t.” She shakes her head. “You’re redecorating Margot’s.”
Arabella unconsciously holds her breath, waiting for Minnie to start crying again.
“Well, yes I am,” Lettice agrees. “But there’s no reason why I can’t have two clients at once.”
“She’s not actually doing anything at ‘Chi an Treth’ at present,” Margot says, picking up her wine glass and draining it. “Are you Lettice darling?”
“Well I can’t right now, you see Minnie.” Lettice elucidates. “Funnily enough I’m waiting for Margot’s wallpapers to be printed by Jeffrey and Company, but they won’t be ready for a few weeks. So I can come and have a look, maybe make some recommendation for you and Charles to consider. Then if you’re happy, I can commence work after I’ve finished Margot’s.”
“Oh, but what about Bella? You’re helping her shop for her trousseau.” Minnie protests.
“I can assure you, I don’t need any help shopping for clothes.” Arabella says, releasing her pent-up breath. “Tice has pointed me in the direction of Oxford Street, so I can take myself there.”
“As it happens, we’re visiting Gerald on Thursday for Bella’s first consultation for her wedding dress. Why don’t I come on Thursday for luncheon whilst Bella and Gerald consult? She doesn’t need me to help her decide what she wants. She already has a good idea, don’t you Bella?”
Arabella nods emphatically.
“Well Thursday is cook’s afternoon off, but if you think you could cope with some sandwiches.” Minnie says hopefully.
“That’s settled then!” Lettice says with a sigh.
Suddenly the mood in the room lightens and spontaneous conversation begins to bubble about Lettice’s dining table again as Margot and Minnie ask Arabella about her plans for her wedding dress.
*Lucile – Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon was a leading British fashion designer in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries who use the professional name Lucile. She was the originator of the “mannequin parade”, a pre-cursor to the modern fashion parade, and is reported to have been the person to first use the word “chic” which she then popularised. Lucile is also infamous for escaping the Titanic in a lifeboat designed for forty occupants with her husband and secretary and only nine other people aboard, seven being crew members. When hemlines rose after the war, her fortunes reversed as she couldn’t change with the times, always wanting to use too much fabric on gowns that were too long and too fussy and pre-war.
**The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.
***Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Cmpany’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.
****Although today quite an affluent suburb of London, in 1922 when this scene is set, Maida Vale was more of an up-and-coming middle-class area owing to its proximity to the more up market St John’s Wood to its west. It has many late Victorian and Edwardian blocks of mansion flats. Charles’ remark that he felt like he was in a Maida Vale dining room was not meant to be taken as a compliment considering they live in St John’s Wood.
Lettice’s fashionable Mayfair flat dining room is perhaps a little different to what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures I have collected over time.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The orange curd tarts with their twist of orange atop each are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. The empty wine glasses and the glass bowl in the centre of the table are also 1:12 artisan miniatures all made of hand spun and blown glass. They too are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The vase is especially fine. If you look closely you will see that it is decorated with flower patterns made up of fine threads of glass. The cream roses in the vase were also hand made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The Art Deco dinner set is part of a much larger set I acquired from a dollhouse suppliers in Shanghai, as is the cutlery set. The champagne flutes that are filled with glittering golden yellow champagne were made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The candlesticks were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
In the background on the console table stand some of Lettice’s precious artisan purchases from the Portland Gallery in Soho. The silver drinks set is made by artisan Clare Bell at the Clare Bell Brass Works in Maine, in the United States. Each goblet is only one centimetre in height and the decanter at the far end is two- and three-quarter centimetres with the stopper inserted. Lettice’s Art Deco ‘Modern Woman’ figure is actually called ‘Christianne’ and was made and hand painted by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland. ‘Christianne’ is based on several Art Deco statues and is typical of bronze and marble statues created at that time for the luxury market in the buoyant 1920s.
Lettice’s dining room is furnished with Town Hall Miniatures furniture, which is renown for their quality. The only exceptions to the room is the Chippendale chinoiserie carver chair (the edge of which just visible on the far left-hand side of the photo) which was made by J.B.M. Miniatures.
The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug hand made by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia. The paintings on the walls are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States. 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 we have not strayed far from Cavendish Mews and are still in Mayfair, but are far enough away in her mind that Lettice has chosen to take a taxi, hailed for her by her maid Edith from the nearby square, to Bond Street where the premises of the Portland Gallery stand. She is sharing the taxi with her friend Minnie Palmerston, a banker’s wife whom she met at the Embassy Club, which is also on Bond Street. Minnie decided to attempt to redecorate her own dining room with disastrous results, so she has enlisted the assistance of Lettice, who has already established a colour palette and has ordered wall hangings and fabric for new dining chairs, to repair the damage she has done. As the taxi pulls up to the kerb, Lettice and Minnie both peer through the window at the impressive three storey Victorian building with Portland stone facings, which is where the gallery takes its name from. The ground floor part of the façade has been modernised in more recent times, and now sports magnificent plate glass windows through which passers by may look at the beautiful objets d’art artfully presented in them. Currently one window is full of brilliantly painted pottery which reminds Lettice of her Aunt Eglantine’s works, whilst the other has a single modernist statue of white marble set up against a rich black velvet curtain, bathed in light from a spotlight, giving it a very dramatic look.
“That’ll be four and six, mum.” the taxi driver says through the glass divider between the driver’s compartment and the passenger carriage as he leans back in his seat. Stretching his arm across the seat he tips his cap in deference to the well dressed ladies swathed in fox furs and stylish hats in the black leather back seat.
After paying the taxi fare for them both, Minnie encourages Lettice to alight from the taxi first. As they spill from its door, they are both mid laugh over an amusing story about a mutual acquaintance that Minnie shared with Lettice.
Minnie remarks excitedly as the taxi chugs away belching out fumes, “And thinking of gossip, I read in the newspapers that your friend Elizabeth* is going to be the Princess of Wales**.”
“You’re such a gossip, Minnie darling.” Lettice chides her friend mildly as she guides them both across the busy footpath and towards the door. “You’d be the last person I’d share Elizabeth’s confidences with.”
“So she has…”
“If she had shared any with me!” Lettice quickly extinguishes Minnie’s burrowing for gossip with a definite statement in serious and well modulated tones. “As it is, I haven’t seen her since she went to spend Christmas at St Paul’s, Walden Bury. Now come along. We are here to pick objets d’art for your dining room, not prattle about idle gossip.”
“You’re such a spoil sport!” Minnie sulks.
“I’m not when it comes to interior design.” Lettice assures her. “Now let’s find something to go with those wonderful paintings of your husband’s.”
Lettice ushers Minnie through the full length plate glass doors on which the Portland Galleries’ name is written in elegant gilt font along with the words ‘by appointment only’ printed underneath in the same hand. As the door closes behind them, shutting out the sound of noisy automobiles and chugging busses and the clatter of footsteps on the pavement and the chatter of shoppers, the air about them changes. In the crisp and cool silence of the gallery the ladies’ heels click across the black and white marble floor.
“Now, I’ve ordered wall hangings from Jeffrey and Company*** to deck out the dining room. It’s metallic and red dioxide in colour,” Lettice enthuses, suddenly aware of how her well modulated tones bounce off the hard surfaces and objects on display in the gallery. “It’s so striking, I know you’re just going to love it.”
“Hhhmmm,” Minnie muses in a non-committal fashion as her eye flits around the red painted gallery hung with paintings and populated with tables, cabinets and pillars upon which stand different sculptures and other artistic pieces.
“The wallpaper, Minnie,” Lettice sighs in exasperation, misunderstanding Minnie. “I’ve ordered it. Goodness, I do wish you’d concentrate for more than five minutes for a change.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that, Lettice darling.”
“About what?”
“About the wall hangings Lettice darling.” Minnie purrs. “I’m wondering whether we shouldn’t reconsider how the dining room is to be furbished.”
“Reconsider, Minnie?” Lettice looks with shocked and wide eyes at her friend. “What on earth do you mean, reconsider?”
“Well, I was just wondering whether it mightn’t be better to have gold wallpaper instead.”
“Gold wallpaper?”
“You know darling, to represent the golden sands of Egypt.” Minnie says with a dramatic air, raising her right hand to her forehead, her eyes drifting upwards in the affected stance of a silent film star. “Everyone I know is going positively wild over anything Egyptian after the discovery of that boy king’s tomb****. Simply mad for it, darling! All of Charles’ frightfully boring banking friends can talk of nothing else, and nor can their wives.” She giggles. “They’ve finally got something interesting to talk about.”
“But we’re here today, Minnie darling, to pick ornaments to decorate the room with. The papers are already ordered at great expense.” Lettice looks with concern at her friend. “You can’t go and change your mind now.”
“Of course I can, Lettice darling!” Minnie scoffs with a wave of her maroon coloured leather glove clad hand. “Charles is footing the bill. He’ll pay for whatever you ask, carte blanche.” She cocks one of her well manicured eyebrows over her glittering eye. “He’s convinced that anything you choose will be a patch on anything I’ve done thus far, which in reality probably isn’t too far from the truth.”
“Exactly!” Lettice retorts. “And I’ve chosen red dioxide as the colour for the dining room, not gold.”
“But gold would be so fashionable, Lettice darling!” Minnie insists. “So now!”
“And it might just as quickly be yesterday, tomorrow.” Lettice retorts, irritated at little by the fickle nature of her friend. “I’m trying to help you come up with a dining room that won’t need redecorating for a while.”
“But I…”
Lettice silences Minnie by holding up her navy glove clad hands in protestation. “I promise that it will be modern and fashionable, and yet timeless too.” She plays her trump card knowingly. “Don’t you trust me, Minnie darling?” She gazes at her friend with dewy eyes. “After all, you did ask me to redecorate the room for you. Don’t you trust my judgement any more?”
“Oh… oh no!” Minnie stutters in reply. “No! Of course I do. Your taste is excellent. Of course, you’re right.”
“Then metallic red dioxide wallpaper it will be.” Lettice says with a satisfied sigh.
“Well, I’ll settle for some rather exotic looking Egyptian statues then,” Minnie says. “Like that one you have on your mantle.”
“My ‘Theban Dancer’***** do you mean?”
“Yes, yes! She’s the one!” Minnie enthuses. “Or that daringly modern one you have on your dining room sideboard.”
“Well, they both came from the Portland Gallery, so I’m sure we can find some beautiful examples to suit you here.” Lettice assures her as she entwines her arm with her friend. “Come on, let’s see what there is.”
“Ah! Miss Chetwynd!” a mature frock coated man greets Lettice with a broad smile. Taking her hand, he kisses it affectionately, yet with respect. “How do you do.”
“Mr. Chilvers!” Lettice greets the smartly dressed man with a warm smile and the familiarity of the regular client that she is. “How do you do.”
“And to what do we owe this great pleasure of your visit today, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Chilvers asks obsequiously, releasing Lettice’s fingers and clasping his hands together in front of him.
Born Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde in the Russian seaside resort town of Odessa, the patrician gallery owner with the beautifully manicured and curled handlebar moustache fled Russia after the Revolution, escaping aboard the battleship HMS Marlborough****** from Yalta in 1919 along with the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family. Arriving a in London later that year after going via Constantinople and Genoa, the Russian emigree was far more fortunate than others around him on the London docks, possessing valuable jewels smuggled out of Russia in the lining of his coat. Changing his name to the more palatable Peter Chilvers, he sold most of the jewels he had, shunned his Russian heritage, honed his English accent and manners, to reinvent himself as the very British owner of an art gallery in Bond Street, thus enabling him to continue what he enjoyed most about being Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde and enjoy a thriving arts scene. As one of his more high profile customers, Mr. Chilvers happily fawns over Lettice, delighted that she chooses to patronise his very exclusive gallery for pieces to decorate the interiors of her clients’ homes with.
“Mr. Chilvers, this is my friend Minnie Palmerston. I’m redecorating her St John’s Wood dining room. Minnie, this is Mr Chilvers. He owns and runs the Portland Gallery.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” Mr. Chilvers raises Minnie’s hand to his lips and kisses it, all the while admiring the beautiful redhead with striking green eyes, swathed in maroon and draped in red fox furs.
“Minnie’s taken rather a shine to my ‘Theban Dancer’ and my ‘Modern Woman’, Mr. Chilvers,” Lettice explains. “Perhaps you can show us something of a similar vein?”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Chetwynd, Miss Palmerston,” Mr. Chilvers croons. “Right this way. I think I might have just the thing.”
“He’s the gallery owner,” Lettice whispers to her friend behind her hand. “He always thinks he has something.” She pauses. “Although to be fair, this is an amazing gallery and he often does.”
Minnie looks at Lettice with a hopeful smile.
Indicating for them to follow him with an open palm gesture, Mr. Chilvers leads the ladies through the gallery.
The rich red walls are hung with all kinds of modern paintings, many not dissimilar to those that grace the walls of Minnie and Charles’ dining room. Lettice’s own drawing room paintings come from the gallery. Dour street scenes and vibrant abstract still lives hang alongside dynamic portraits. Most of the furnishings are black japanned wood and made in a very stark, yet stylish way, so as not to distract from the artworks that sit upon their surfaces. Hand painted pottery in bright colours and ornate spun glass pieces sit upon tables and buffets and inside mirrored cabinets whilst statues stand proudly on pillars and stands. The air is rich with the fragrance of ornate floral arrangements strategically set about the gallery as colourful foils to compliment various artworks. Everywhere there is colour and interest.
“What kind of display are you looking for, ladies?” Mr. Chilvers asks as Lettice and Minnie follow in his sweetly spiced eau de cologne wake.
Minnie looks alarmingly at Lettice, who quickly answers for them both, “I have two rather tall pillars that will stand either side of an existing new tile fireplace. I also have a simple black japanned sideboard.”
“Is there a mantle on the fireplace?” the gallery owner asks as they walk.
“A small central recess only, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice says knowledgably, much to Minnie’s surprise, for even as the owner of the fireplace she has never so much as considered whether it has a mantle or not.
“And the specifics of the room?” Mr. Chilvers asks, running his index finger along the edge of a display table as he does, rubbing his clean thumb and forefinger together and releasing a satisfied sigh as he does.
“It’s my dining room.” Minnie begins. “I tried to do the redecoration myself but…”
Lettice quickly places a forbidding arm across Minnie’s chest, silencing her. Minnie glances at her friend whose eyes widen as she shakes her head to indicate that the gallery owner doesn’t need to know about Minnie’s decorative disasters.
“The room,” Lettice says smoothly over the top of her friend. “Is in an early Victorian townhouse, so it has high ceilings and is tall rather than wide. I have metallic red dioxide papers embossed with leaves and flowers on order from Jeffrey and Company. Mr. and Mrs. Palmerston are devotees of modern art, Mr. Chilvers, so the paper, whilst striking, is really there to support their paintings already chosen for the room.”
“Always the arbiter of smart and select taste, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Chilvers replies with a smile as he glances back at the two ladies and tweaks his moustache. “So, something tall, perhaps, with some gilding?”
“Quite so, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice agrees.
“And nothing too ornate, of course.” he adds.
“Indeed no, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice concurs.
“You are very fortunate in your choice of interior designer, Mrs. Palmerston.” He turns back and keeps walking. “Too many women with too much time on their hands take it upon themselves to redecorate rooms, creating a disastrous and gauche pale imitation of what they have seen elsewhere, which simply doesn’t suit their homes.”
Minnie’s eyes grow wide as she glances at Lettice in alarm. Lettice silently raises he finger to her lips to indicate that she hasn’t said anything about Minnie’s attempt to redecorate her dining room herself, which makes Minnie sigh with relief.
“Rather like creating a Maida Vale dining room in St John’s Wood, would you say, Mr. Chilvers?” Minnie asks a little nervously.
“Quite so, Mrs. Palmerston. Well said.” he agrees as his pace slows. “I do so dislike bored ladies like that. I have no time for artless women who dabble in art, and I won’t have them in my gallery.”
“Oh!” Minnie bluffs with false joviality. “Oh, my husband and I quite agree with you. There is nothing worse than a poorly decorated room, Mr. Chilvers, full of tasteless tatt.” She is so grateful that the imposing gallery owner has his back to her so that he cannot see the colour of her face betraying the truth of Minnie’s experience.
“Indeed, Mrs. Palmerston,” he agrees. “But that is something you won’t have to suffer under the skilled artistic eye and adept hands of Miss Chetwynd. She has found the profession that suits and showcases her skills admirably.”
“Yes,” Minnie says, blushing deeper and smiling coyly. “I’ve seen the work she has done to the home of friends of ours.”
“Ah,” Mr. Chilvers purrs as they reach a corner of the gallery. He stops in front of a beautiful, and unusually, round flame wood cabinet on a large pedestal. “I think, ladies, you might find something to your liking in here.” He opens up the doors and turns to the two ladies. “A selection of modern sculpture and some of my finest Venetian glass*******. There are also some rather fetching sculptures to either side.” he adds with a wave of his elegant hand. “Well, I’ll leave you to discuss your choices with your client, Miss Chetwynd. I do hope, Mrs. Palmerston, that you will find something to please you.”
The two ladies watch him sweep away before turning to the cabinet.
“Thank you for not telling Mr. Chilvers about my… you know.” Minnie starts gesticulating wildly.
“You nearly gave the game up yourself, Minnie.” Lettice chides her friend kindly in a conspiratorial whisper. “Mr. Chilvers is a frightful snob. It’s almost like he comes from the highest echelons of some European aristocracy, and yet even with Leslie’s help I’ve been unable to trace him prior to opening this gallery in 1920. He’s quite the mystery! And,” she adds. “He doesn’t let just anyone shop here, even by appointment.”
“Which would explain why Charles and I have never been here.” Minnie replies.
“Indeed. Well, I think Mr. Chilvers would refuse Charles automatically on face value. Being a banker, I think he would consider him far too gauche and newly minted for his establishment.”
“Oh.” Minnie casts her eyes downwards.
“Don’t do that, Minnie darling!” Lettice puts a comforting arm around her friend. “You are a good person, and so is Charles.” She rubs Minnie’s arm. “Don’t worry about Mr. Chilvers snobbery. I can already tell that he likes you. I knew he would admire you for your striking fiery red tresses and stunning green eyes. He finds you intriguing.”
“He does?”
“Yes. He didn’t even acknowledge poor Margot on the one occasion I brought her here.”
“But she’s richer and better connected than I am.”
“Sshhh!” Lettice shushes her friend with a finger to her lips. “He obviously doesn’t think so.”
“It’s a funny way to run a business, I must say.” Minnie says as she picks up a beautiful glass comport of aqua blue and toys with it in her hands, feeling the cool material between her fingers.
“Mr. Chilvers seems to rise above all that, which is why I think he is from a very aristocratic European family. Italian perhaps?” She picks up a tall Venetian glass vase with amber decoration around its base, holding it up as if it serves as proof as to Mr. Chilver’s lineage.
“With a name like Chilvers, he can hardly be Italian, Lettice darling!” Minnie replaces the comport on the shelf.
“Oh, you can be so dense sometimes, Minnie darling!” Lettice giggles. “You don’t imagine that Chilvers is his real name, do you?”
“Well…” Minnie gulps.
“Of course it’s not! If he’s an Italian prince, or count, he probably has a real family name of Chiavaroli or Chiodini.” Lettice giggles girlishly as the syllables roll around like a foreign language in her mouth. “Anyway, going back to what I was saying before, if through being connected with me, you receive a foray into the joys of exclusive shopping here, I know you will find many a fine piece to ornament your home with. Once Mr. Chilvers knows you have taste.”
“He hasn’t seen the disaster I made of my dining room.” Minnie blurts out, interrupting her friend.
“And he doesn’t have to know about it.” Lettice soothes quietly. “Just keep mum.”
“Yes!” Minnie sighs. “Me and my big mouth. One day you won’t be around, and I’ll get myself into real trouble.”
“Well, luckily I was here, Minnie darling.” Lettice says with a smile. “Anyway, once Mr. Chilvers knows you, he’ll forgive you if you bring Charles: especially if Charles brings an open chequebook.”
“Do you think he might be Russian?” Minnie asks quietly, looking discreetly over her shoulder to Mr. Chilvers as he sits at his black japanned desk in the middle of the gallery, scribbling notes into a ledger.
“Who?” Lettice asks, wide eyed as she removes the copy of the ‘Theban Dancer’ from the middle shelf of the cabinet and considers whether it will fit onto the recess of Minnie’s dining room fireplace.
“Mr. Chilvers, of course, Lettice darling! Now who’s being dense?”
“Good heavens no!” Lettice scoffs. “He’s English is far too good and his manners too impeccable to be a Russian emigree. Have you ever met any? They can be quite horrible and so terribly haughty, even if they are now all as poor as church mice.” She too looks over to Mr. Chilvers, who either doesn’t know he is being scrutinised, or is far too polite to acknowledge it. “No, he’s Italian, I’m sure of it.” She sighs as she admires his dark hair, pale skin, and sharp cheekbones. “Now, this isn’t helping us pick any pieces for your dining room, Minnie darling. I was thinking that the ‘Theban Dancer’ you like might just fit on the small recess on your fireplace. Do you really like her enough to want her? Is she exotic enough for your current tastes?”
The two women begin to look earnestly at the objects around them to select pieces for Minnie’s dining room, and all the while, Mr. Chilvers writes in his ledger, the nib of his fountain pen scratching across the surface of the page, his ears ever alert to every whisper of conversation in his gallery, but his eyes remaining downcast out of deference for Lettice, one of his favourite customers.
*Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, as she was known at the beginning of 1923 when this story is set, went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to". He proposed again in 1922 after Elizabeth was part of his sister, Mary the Princess Royal’s, wedding party, but she refused him again. On Saturday, January 13th, 1923, Prince Albert went for a walk with Elizabeth at the Bowes-Lyon home at St Paul’s, Walden Bury and proposed for a third and final time. This time she said yes. The wedding took place on April 26, 1923 at Westminster Abbey.
**In early January 1923 a newspaper ran a gossip item that Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon was soon to be engaged to Prince Albert the Duke of York’s elder brother, the Prince of Wales – a story that reportedly annoyed her. Rumour has it that part of Elizabeth’s hesitance to marry Albert was due to her being in love with David – the loftier “catch” – however, these stories are highly unlikely and probably have more to do with trying to explain her later hatred for Wallis Simpson. More likely, she knew that the story meant more pressure for her to make up her mind about Albert and she knew the rumour would wound him
***Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Company’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.
****On the 4th of November 1922, English archaeologist Howard Carter and his men discovered the entrance to the boy king, Pharaoh Tutankhamun's tomb in the Valley of the Kings, sparking a worldwide interest in all things Egyptian. The craze he started became known as Tutmania, and it inspired everything from the architecture of public building and private houses alike to interior design and fashion. Famously at the time, socialite Dolores Denis Denison applied one of the earliest examples of getting the media of the day to pay attention to her because of her dress by arriving at the prestigious private view of the King Tut Exhibition in London, dressed as an Egyptian mummy complete in a golden sarcophagus and had to be carried inside by her driver and a hired man. Although it started before the discovery of the tomb, the Art Deco movement was greatly influenced by Egyptian style. Many of the iconic decorative symbols we associate with the movement today came about because of Howard Carter’s discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb in the Valley of the Kings.
*****The exquisite sculpture “Theban Dancer” was cast by the esteemed Belgian-French sculptor Claire Jeanne Roberte Colinet, and is one of the most recognised figures representing the exoticism and frenetic energy and movement of the 1920s. Cast in the 1920s, the “Theban Dancer” is gilt and enamelled bronze, usually sitting upon a marble plinth.
******In 1919, King George V sent the HMS Marlborough to rescue his Aunt the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna after the urging of his mother Queen Dowager Alexandra. On the 5th of April 1919, the HMS Marlborough arrived in Sevastopol before proceeding to Yalta the following day. The ship took Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family including Grand Duke Nicholas and Prince Felix Yusupov aboard in Yalta on the evening of the 7th. The Empress refused to leave unless the British also evacuated wounded and sick soldiers, along with any civilians that also wanted to escape the advancing Bolsheviks. The Russian entourage aboard Marlborough numbered some 80 people, including forty four members of the Royal Family and nobility, with a number of governesses, nurses, maids and manservants, plus several hundred cases of luggage
*******Venetian glass is glassware made in Venice, typically on the island of Murano near the city. Traditionally it is made with a soda–lime "metal" and is typically elaborately decorated, with various "hot" glass-forming techniques, as well as gilding, enamel, or engraving. Production has been concentrated on the Venetian island of Murano since the Thirteenth Century. Today Murano is known for its art glass, but it has a long history of innovations in glassmaking in addition to its artistic fame - and was Europe's major centre for luxury glass from the High Middle Ages to the Italian Renaissance. During the Fifteenth Century, Murano glassmakers created cristallo—which was almost transparent and considered the finest glass in the world. Murano glassmakers also developed a white-coloured glass (milk glass called lattimo) that looked like porcelain. They later became Europe's finest makers of mirrors.
Whilst this up-market London gallery interior complete with artisan pieces may appear real to you, it is in fact made up completely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces I have had since I was a teenager.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On the top shelf of the round Art Deco display cabinet are a selection of 1:12 artisan glass pieces. Each one is made from real blown glass and is decorated with spun glass patterning in a different colour. They all come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
On the middle shelf is a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality of the detail in their pieces, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925. She is flanked by two hand coloured spun glass comports. These I have had since I was a teenager. I acquired them from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house miniatures.
The New Woman Art Deco statue on the bottom shelf of the cabinet is a hand painted 1:12 artisan pewter miniature also from Warwick Miniatures Ireland. She is named “Christianne”, and she also comes in a more risqué form as a nude.
The very striking round mirror backed mahogany Art Deco cabinet is made by high end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. It comes from their Swanson range. The two pedestals either side of it were also made by Bespaq.
The two statues on the pedestals are 1:12 artisan miniatures also from Warwick Miniatures Ireland, however they have been had painted by me.
The black console table and the table in the foreground were made by Town Hall Miniatures.
The two porcelain vases on the console table have been hand painted and came from an online miniatures specialist on E-Bay. The glass comport is a 1:12 artisan glass piece made from real blown glass and is hand tinted. It comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The paintings on the wall come from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The vase of flowers in the foreground is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.
The Clarice Cliff style Art Deco tea set and tray on the table in the foreground have been hand painted and came from an online miniatures specialist on E-Bay.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not at Cavendish Mews, although we are still in Mayfair, moving a few streets away to Hill Street, where Edith, Lettice’s maid, and her beau, grocery boy Frank Leadbetter, are visiting Edith’s friend and fellow maid Hilda. It is a beautiful, sunny Sunday and Sundays all three have as days off from their jobs as domestic servants and delivery boy. Taking advantage of this, all three are going to spend the afternoon at Hammersmith Palias de Danse*. As usual, Frank collects Edith from Cavendish Mews and the pair then go to the home of Lettice’s married friends Margot and Dickie Channon, where Hilda works as a live-in maid.
Being Hilda’s day off, her employers usually decamp for the day, and today they are visiting their friend Priscilla who recently married American dry goods heir Georgie Carter. The pair have just returned to London from their honeymoon which took in much of Europe before visiting Georgie’s family in Philadelphia. The quartet will dine at the Café Royal**, doubtless at the expense of Georgie since the Channons seem perpetually to have financial difficulties, but as a result, the Channons have invited the Carters back to their Hill Street flat for after supper coffee, which means that Hilda must do one of her most hated jobs: grind coffee beans to make real coffee for Georgie Carter, who is particular about his American style coffee. We find the trio in the kitchen of the Hill Street flat, the ladies’ dancing frocks and Frank’s suit at odds with their surrounds as Hilda grinds the coffee beans sitting in a white china bowl in the large wooden and brass coffee grinder. By preparing the coffee, ready to make before she goes out, it will be easy to serve when her employers and their guests return after dinner, and the beans will still be fresh enough for Georgie’s liking.
“You know,” Frank remarks as he stands at Edith’s elbow and watches Hilda turn the handle of the coffee grinder with gusto. “I don’t see why they can’t just drink Camp Coffee*** like the rest of us.”
“Oh Frank!” gasps Edith, looking up at her beau and patting his hand with her own as he squeezes her left shoulder lovingly. “You know perfectly well why not, Frank. Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s friend, Mr. Carter is an American gentleman, and just like Miss Wanetta Ward the American moving picture star, he doesn’t like British coffee.”
“What rot!” Frank scoffs at the suggestion. “There’s nothing wrong with British coffee! If British coffee isn’t to Mr. Carter’s taste, let him have tea then, and save poor Hilda the effort of having to grind up coffee beans for his lordship.” He slips off the jacket of his smart Sunday blue suit, revealing his crisp white shirt, red tie and smart navy blue vest. He drapes it over the back of the Windsor chair Edith sits in. “Come on old girl,” he says to Hilda as he moves around the deal pine kitchen table. “Give me a go then. Give your arms a chance to recuperate before we go dancing.”
“You’re such a Socialist, Frank Leadbetter.” pipes up Hilda as with a grunt, she pushes the handle of the grinder mechanism over a particularly recalcitrant coffee bean.
“What?” gasps Frank as he takes over grinding from the grateful maid. “I thought you’d come to my defence, Hilda, especially as I’m being so chivalrous as to grind coffee beans for you.”
“Oh I am grateful, Frank, ever so.” Hilda replies, rubbing her aching forearms with her fat, sausage like fingers. “But just because you are being gallant, doesn’t mean I can’t call you a Socialist.”
“Because a hard working man like me thinks I’m every bit as good as this friend of your Mr. and Mrs. Channon, I’m now a Socialist?” Frank asks in an appalled voice. “You’re as bad as Edith’s mum.” He nods in his sweetheart’s direction.
“Mum thinks Frank might be a Communist.” Edith explains. “Even though we’ve both told her that he isn’t.”
“Handsome is as handsome does.” remarks Hilda with a cheeky smile as she glances at Frank winding the red knob topped brass handle of the grinder.
“I’m neither, I’ll have you know, Hilda Clerkenwell!” Frank retorts. “I’d prefer to think of myself as more of a progressive thinker when it comes to the rights and privileges of the working man,” He looks poignantly at Hilda. “And woman.”
“Same thing.” Hilda retorts matter-of-factly as she starts to straighten the russet grosgrain bandeau**** embellished with gold sequins which has slipped askew whilst she has been grinding coffee beans.
“Pardon my ignorance,” Edith begins gingerly. “But what exactly is a Socialist?”
“Socialism is a political movement that wants to reform various economic and social systems, transferring them to social ownership as opposed to private ownership.” remarks Hilda as she runs her hands down the back of her hair.
“Well done, Hilda!” Frank congratulates her.
“You sound surprised, Frank.” Hilda says with a cheeky smile. “Don’t they have smart girls where you come from, present company excluded, Edith!” Hilda adds hurriedly so as not to offend her best friend.”
“Oh, you know I’m not very political,” Edith assures Hilda, yet at the same time self consciously toys with her blonde waves as she speaks.
“I must confess, Hilda, I am a little surprised.” Frank admits. “I don’t know many girls who are interested in social rights and can give explanations so eloquently.”
“I’m so sorry Frank!” Edith defends herself. “I know you’ve tried to teach me, but I can’t help it. I get confused between this ist and the other ist. They all seem the same to me.” She blushes with mild embarrassment at her own ignorance.
“No, no, Edith!” Frank assures her as he stops grinding the coffee beans and reaches out his left hand, clasping her right one as it rests on the tabletop and squeezes it reassuringly. “This isn’t a criticism of you! It was a compliment to Hilda. You’re wonderful, and there are things that you understand and are far better at than me.”
“Than both of us, Edith.” adds Hilda quickly, the look of concern about her friend taking umbrage clear on her round face.
“Yes, inconsequential things.” Edith mumbles in a deflated tone.
“No, not at all.” Frank reassures her soothingly as he takes up grinding coffee again. “What good am I to myself if I can’t cook a meal to feed myself.”
“And for all my love of reading, Edith, you know I can’t sew a stitch.” Hilda appends. “I could never have made this beautiful frock.” She grasps the edge of the strap of her russet coloured art satin***** dress as she speaks. “Not in a million years. We’re all good at different things, and no-one could say you weren’t smart, Edith.”
“That’s right.” Frank concurs, smiling at his sweetheart. “One of the reasons why I’ve always admired you is because you aren’t some silly giggling Gertie****** like some of the housemaids I’ve known. You aren’t turned by just a handsome face, and your head isn’t filled with moving picture stars and nothing else.”
“Well, I do like moving picture stars, Frank.” Edith confesses.
“Oh I know, Edith, and I love you for that too.” Frank reassures her. “But it’s not all that is in there. You have a good head on your shoulders.”
“And a wise one too.” Hilda interjects. “How often do I ask you for advice? I’ve always asked you for your opinion on things for as long as we’ve been friends.”
“You are clever, and insightful, and you want a better life for yourself too, and that’s why I really love you. We want the same things from life.” Frank says in a soft and soothing tone full of love as he gazes at Edith. “You are very pretty, and no-one can deny that – not even you,” He holds out an admonishing finger as Edith goes to refute his remark. “But beauty, however glorious will fade. Just look at our Dowager Queen Mother*******. When beauty fades, wit and intelligence remain, and you have both of those qualities in spades, Edith.”
“Oh Frank.” Edith breathes softly. “You aren’t ashamed of me then?”
“Of course I’m not Edith! How could I ever be ashamed of you? I’m as proud as punch******** to step out with you! You’re my best girl.”
Frank winds the gleaming brass coffee grinder handle a few more times before stopping. He pulls out the drawer at the bottom and as he does, the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans fills the air around them, wafting up his, Edith and Hilda’s nostrils. He sighs with satisfaction at a job well done.
“Good enough for his American lordship?” Frank asks Hilda.
She peers into the drawer. “Good enough.” she acknowledges with another of her cheeky smirks, nodding affirmatively.
“I still think he could jolly well grind his own, you know, Hilda!” Frank opines.
“Socialist.” she laughs in reply as she walks around Frank, withdraws the drawer of ground coffee and knocks the contents into the small, worn Delftware coffee cannister with careful taps, so as not to spill and waste any of the hard-won grinds.
“I bet you, your Wanetta Ward doesn’t grind her own coffee, Edith.” Frank goes on as he walks back around to Edith and slips his jacket on again.
“I bet you she does, Frank!” Edith counters.
“What? A moving picture star grinding her own coffee? I don’t believe it!”
“Miss Ward is a very unorthodox person, Frank, even for an American.” she assures him. “I think she might surprise you if you ever get the pleasure of meeting her one day.”
“Maybe.” Frank says doubtfully. “Well now that coffee is ground, we should really get going.” He runs his hands around the back of his jacket collar to make sure it is sitting straight. “The Hammersmith Palais waits for no-one, not even those who slave for undeserving Americans.” He laughs good heartedly. “Shall we go?”
“Oh yes!” enthuses Edith as Frank chivalrously pulls out her chair for her as she stands up. “I’ll fetch our coats.”
With her pretty blue floral sprigged frock swirling about her figure, Edith hurries over to the pegs by the door where Frank’s, Hilda’s and her own coat and hats hang. She moves lightly across the floor, practicing her dance steps as she goes, silently moving to the music she hears the band playing in her head.
“I really wonder why I bother sometimes.” Hilda says despondently as she pulls her brown coat on over the top of the luxurious man-made silk frock that Edith made for her and decorated with lace trimming and small bursts of sequins.
“Like I said,” Frank mutters. “He should settle for Camp Coffee like the rest of us, or have tea.”
“Not grinding coffee, Frank!” Hilda scoffs in reply. “I mean go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais week after week. What’s the point?”
“What do you mean, Hilda?” Edith asks gently, slipping her arms into her own black three-quarter length coat as Frank holds to open for her.
“I mean why do I bother going dancing when no man at the Palais ever looks at me, even in this beautiful new frock you made me, Edith.” She picks up the lace trimmed hem of her dance dress and lifts it despondently.
Edith and Frank both glance anxiously at one another for a moment. Both know they are thinking exactly the same thing. What Hilda says is true. Whenever the three of them go to the Hammersmith Palais de Danse there are always far more women in attendance than men. The Great War decimated the male population, and almost drove an entire generation of young men into extinction. Sadly, this means that more and more women are finding themselves without a gentleman to step out with, and are deemed surplus to needs by society. In spite of any of his faults, Edith knows how lucky she is to have a young man like Frank. Even the attentions of pretty girls are less in demand with fewer men in circulation desiring their company. Unlike Edith, Hilda is a little on the plump side, enjoying the indulgence of sticky buns from the bakers and an extra serving of Victoria Sponge at the Lyons Corner Shop********* at the top of Tottenham Court Road. Her face is friendly, with soft brown eyes and a warm smile, but she isn’t pretty. Even with the judicious application of a little powder and rouge acquired from the make-up counter of Selfridges********** her skin lacks the fresh gleam that Edith has, and for as long as she has known her, Edith has always found Hilda to have a very pale complexion. When the three of them do go dancing, Frank is often the only man she dances with when he partners her around the dancefloor, and more often than not, Hilda ends up taking the part of the man, dancing with any number of other neglected wallflowers, just to ward of the tedium of waiting for someone to ask her to dance. The plight, for plight it was, of women like Hilda was all too common, in the post-war world of the 1920s.
“Perhaps you’re looking in the wrong place, Hilda.” Frank says.
“What do mean, Frank?”
“Well, a girl with brains like you needs a man who will stimulate her mentally. Perhaps you might find the man of your dreams at a library.”
“A library!” Hilda’s mind conjures up images of pale bookish young men in glasses with phlegmatic characters who would much rather shake her hand limply and discuss the benefits of Socialism, rather than sweep her off her feet romantically.
“Not at all helpful, Frank!” hisses Edith as she watches her best friend’s face fall.
“I was only joking.” Frank shrugs apologetically, unsure what to say.
Edith hurries over and wraps her arm around Hilda’s slumping shoulders consolingly. “A faint heart never won a fair lady, Hilda.” She pulls Hilda to her lovingly. Hilda looks up at her friend sadly, yet thoughtfully. “And I think it works the same in reverse.”
Seeing a way to make amends for his ill-timed joke, Frank pipes up, “That’s exactly right, Hilda. Edith wouldn’t have been anywhere near as attractive to me if she hadn’t had a bit of pluck.”
“And you look splendid in the dance frock I made for you, Hilda,” Edith adds. “Really you do.”
“Do you really think so, Edith?” Hilda asks, looking at her friend.
“Of course I do! I’m a professional seamstress, and you are my best friend. I wouldn’t make something that didn’t suit you!”
“No, no of course not.” Hilda replies.
“And didn’t Mrs. Minkin say that russet satin would suit your colourings?”
“She did.”
“Well then,” Edith replies matter-of-factly. “There is nothing more to be said.”
“That’s right.” agrees Frank, and without further ado, he sweeps Hilda into his arms.
With the ease of a natural dancer, Frank begins to waltz his partner carefully across the black and white chequered linoleum floor of the Channon’s kitchen, guiding her around the kitchen table and the chairs gathered around it, past the black and white stove and the dresser cluttered with crockery and provisions.
“Oh Frank!” Hilda says, laughing joyously as she allows herself to be swept away. “You really are a one!”
Edith smiles as she sees a light return to her best friend’s eyes, and a smile appear upon her pert lips. She considers herself so fortunate not just because she has a chap to step out with, but because Frank is so kind and considerate. Not just any man would understand or appreciate Edith’s wish to include Hilda in their excursions to the Hammersmith Palais de Danse, and not every man would be as willing to take a turn with her on the dancefloor, as has been proven. Then again, Frank is no ordinary man, and as time goes on and she gets to know him better, the more she is becoming aware that her sweetheart is a very special man indeed. She laughs as Frank dips Hilda, making her squeal in delight, before raising her up again and restoring her to her feet.
“There!” Frank says with a huff as he catches his breath. “Now that your feet are suitably warmed up, you’re ready to go, Miss Clerkenwell. We’ll have no more talk of you not wanting to come dancing with us.”
“Today might be the day you meet someone, Hilda. Don’t give up on the chance.” Edith enthuses.
“Oh alright you two!” Hilda acquiesces. “I give up. Let’s go then.”
“That’s the spirit, Hilda!” Frank says. “That pluck will win you a fine and handsome gentleman with a brain that you deserve.”
“I can hardly battle both of you, can I?” Hilda laughs as she carefully places her floppy brimmed brown velvet and copper faille poke-style bonnet decorated with a beige rose and leaves atop her head.
The three friends walk out of the kitchen door that leads out onto the flat’s back stairs and begin to descend to the street. Hilda locks the door behind her and the coffee grinder and the as of yet to be ground coffee beans sit on the table, ready for when she returns later that day to serve to Margot, Dickie and their friends Priscilla and Georgie Carter.
*The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.
**The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.
***Camp Coffee is a concentrated syrup which is flavoured with coffee and chicory, first produced in 1876 by Paterson & Sons Ltd, in Glasgow. In 1974, Dennis Jenks merged his business with Paterson to form Paterson Jenks plc. In 1984, Paterson Jenks plc was bought by McCormick & Company. Legend has it (mainly due to the picture on the label) that Camp Coffee was originally developed as an instant coffee for military use. The label is classical in tone, drawing on the romance of the British Raj. It includes a drawing of a seated Gordon Highlander (supposedly Major General Sir Hector MacDonald) being served by a Sikh soldier holding a tray with a bottle of essence and jug of hot water. They are in front of a tent, at the apex of which flies a flag bearing the drink's slogan, "Ready Aye Ready". A later version of the label, introduced in the mid-20th century, removed the tray from the picture, thus removing the infinite bottles element and was seen as an attempt to avoid the connotation that the Sikh was a servant, although he was still shown waiting while the kilted Scottish soldier sipped his coffee. The current version, introduced in 2006, depicts the Sikh as a soldier, now sitting beside the Scottish soldier, and with a cup and saucer of his own. Camp Coffee is an item of British nostalgia, because many remember it from their childhood. It is still a popular ingredient for home bakers making coffee-flavoured cake and coffee-flavoured buttercream. In late 1975, Camp Coffee temporarily became a popular alternative to instant coffee in the UK, after the price of coffee doubled due to shortages caused by heavy frosts in Brazil.
****A bandeau is a narrow band of fabric worn round the head to hold the hair in position. Although bandeaus existed long before the 1920s, there was a resurgence in popularity for embroidered grosgrain ribbons to be worn around the head across the forehead in the 1920s, and they are synonymous with 1920s flapper fashion.
*****The first successful artificial silks were developed in the 1890s of cellulose fibre and marketed as art silk or viscose, a trade name for a specific manufacturer. In 1924, the name of the fibre was officially changed in the U.S. to rayon, although the term viscose continued to be used in Europe.
******Although obscure as to its origin, the term “giggling Gertie” is of English derivation and was often used in a derisive way to describe silly children and young people, usually girls, who were deemed as being flippant and foolish.
*******Queen Alexandra was Queen of the United Kingdom and the British Dominions, and Empress of India, from the twenty-second of January 1901 to the sixth of May 1910 as the wife of King-Emperor Edward VII. Daughter of King Christian IX of Denmark, at the age of sixteen Alexandra was chosen as the future wife of Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, the son and heir apparent of Queen Victoria. When she arrived in England she was famed for her beauty and her style of dress and bearing were copied by fashion-conscious women. From Edward's death, Alexandra was queen mother, being a dowager queen and the mother of the reigning monarch. Alexandra retained a youthful appearance into her senior years, but during the Great War her age caught up with her. She took to wearing elaborate veils and heavy makeup, which was described by gossips as having her face "enamelled".
********Although today we tend to say as “pleased as punch”, the Victorian term actually began as “proud as punch”. This expression refers to the Punch and Judy puppet character. Punch's name comes from Punchinello, an Italian puppet with similar characteristics. In Punch and Judy shows, the grotesque Punch is portrayed as self-satisfied and pleased with his evil actions.
*********J. Lyons and Co. was a British restaurant chain, food manufacturing, and hotel conglomerate founded in 1884 by Joseph Lyons and his brothers in law, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein. Lyons’ first teashop opened in Piccadilly in 1894, and from 1909 they developed into a chain of teashops, with the firm becoming a staple of the High Street in the United Kingdom. At its peak the chain numbered around two hundred cafes. The teashops provided for tea and coffee, with food choices consisting of hot dishes and sweets, cold dishes and sweets, and buns, cakes and rolls. Lyons' Corner Houses, which first appeared in 1909 and remained until 1977, were noted for their Art Deco style. Situated on or near the corners of Coventry Street, Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and other products. In addition, they possessed hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time, the Corner Houses were open twenty-four hours a day, and at their peak each branch employed around four hundred staff including their famous waitresses, commonly known as Nippies for the way they nipped in and out between the tables taking orders and serving meals. The tea houses featured window displays, and, in the post-war period, the Corner Houses were smarter and grander than the local tea shops. Between 1896 and 1965 Lyons owned the Trocadero, which was similar in size and style to the Corner Houses.
********** Selfridges, also known as Selfridges & Co., is a chain of upscale department stores in the United Kingdom that is operated by Selfridges Retail Limited, part of the Selfridges Group of department stores. It was founded by Harry Gordon Selfridge in 1908. Harry Gordon Selfridge, Sr. was an American-British retail magnate who founded the London-based department store. His twenty year leadership of Selfridge’s led to his becoming one of the most respected and wealthy retail magnates in the United Kingdom. He was known as the 'Earl of Oxford Street'.
***********Faille is a type of cloth with flat ribs, often made in silk. It has a softer texture than grosgrain, with heavier and wider cords or ribs. Weft yarns are heavier than warp, and it is manufactured in plain weaving. It was especially popular in the Nineteenth Century, and its popularity, although somewhat dwindling, did carry through into the early decades of the Twentieth Century.
This cosy domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:
On Hilda’s deal table stands her coffee grinder with its brass handle, wooden base and drawer, and red knobs. It comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The little Delftware canister and the white china bowl also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. The coffee beans in the bowl are really black carraway seeds. The vase of flowers comes from an online shop on E-Bay.
Hilda’s Windsor chair is a hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniature which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat, but it is definitely an unmarked artisan piece.
In the background you can see a very modern and up-to-date 1920s gas stove. It would have been expensive to instal at the time, and it would have been the cook’s or maid’s pleasure to cook on and in. It would have included a thermostat for perfect cooking and without the need of coal, it was much cleaner to feed, use and easier to clean. It is not unlike those made by the Roper Stove Company in the 1920s. The Roper Stove Company previously named the Florence-Wehrle Company among other names, was founded in 1883. Located in Newark, Ohio, the company was once the largest stove producer in the world. Today, the Roper Stove Company is a brand of Whirlpool.
Spokesmodels for client Supplement-IT.com. They developed a vitamin supplement for IT professionals.
See the video here www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpaDlwlVhVU
Strobist:2 bare sb600's for BG illumination left and right rear. Sb800 shoot thru umbrella high camera right. Sb800 in 17" SB low camera left. Triggered by PW's processed in LR.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Tonight however we have headed east of Cavendish Mews, down through St James’, past Trafalgar Square and down The Strand to one of London’s most luxurious and fashionable hotels, The Savoy*, where, surrounded by mahogany and rich red velvet, gilded paintings and extravagant floral displays, Lettice is having dinner with the son of the Duke of Walmsford, Selwyn Spencely. The pair have made valiant attempts to pursue a romantic relationship since meeting at Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie’s, Hunt Ball the previous year. Yet things haven’t been easy, their relationship moving in fits and starts, partially due to the invisible, yet very strong influence of Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, the current Duchess of Walmsford. Although Lettice has no solid proof of it, she is quite sure that Lady Zinnia does not think her a suitable match for her eldest son and heir. From what she has been told, Lettice also believes that Lady Zinnia is matchmaking Selwyn with his cousin Pamela Fox-Chavers. In an effort to see what her potential rival for Selwyn’s affections is like, Lettice organised an ‘accidental’ meeting of she, Pamela and Selwyn at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show** a few weeks ago. As a result of this meeting, Selwyn has finally agreed to explain to Lettice his evident reluctance to introduce her to his mother as a potentially suitable match. Yet as she walks beneath the grand new Art Deco portico of the Savoy and the front doors are opened for her by liveried doormen, Lettice is amazed that surrounded by so many fashionable people, Selwyn thinks the Savoy dining room is the place to have a discreet dinner, especially after they have been very discreet about their relationship for the past year.
Lettice is ushered into the grand dining room of the Savoy, a space brilliantly illuminated by dozens of glittering electrified chandeliers cascading down like fountains from the high ceiling above. Beneath the sparkling light, men in white waistcoats and women a-glitter with jewels and bugle bead embroidered frocks are ushered into the dining room where they are seated in high backed mahogany and red velvet chairs around tables dressed in crisp white tablecloths and set with sparkling silver and gilt china. The large room is very heavily populated with theatre patrons enjoying a meal before a show and London society out for an evening. The space is full of vociferous conversation, boisterous laughter, the clink of glasses and the scrape of cutlery against crockery as the diners enjoy the magnificent repast served to them from the hotel’s famous kitchens. Above it all, the notes of the latest dance music from the band can be heard as they entertain diners and dancers who fill the parquet dance floor.
A smartly uniformed waiter escorts Lettice to a table for two in the midst of the grand dining salon, where Selwyn, dressed in smart white tie stands and greets Lettice.
“My Angel!” he gasps, admiring her as she stands before him in a champagne coloured silk crepe gown decorated with sequins with a matching bandeau set amidst her Marcelled** hair. “Don’t you look ravishing!”
“Thank you, Selwyn.” Lettice purrs in pleasure as she allows the waiter to carefully slide the seat of the chair beneath her as she sits. “That’s very kind of you to say so.” She gracefully tugs at her elbow length white evening gloves.
Sparkling golden French champagne is poured into their crystal flutes from a bottle sitting in a silver cooler on the linen covered table by their obsequious waiter. The expansive menu is consulted with Lettice selecting Pied de Veau*** and Selwyn choosing Cambridge Sausages**** both dishes served with a light Salade Romaine*****. Polite conversation is exchanged between the two. Lettice is given congratulations on the great success of the publication of her article in ‘Country Life’******, which Selwyn has finally seen. Selwyn is asked how Pamela’s coming out ball went. The pair dance elegantly around the true reason they are there.
It is only when a large silver salver of cheeses is put down and they are served Vol-au-Vent de Volaille à la Royale******* on the stylish gilt edged white plates of the Savoy that Lettice finally plucks up the courage to start the conversation that they have been trying to avoid.
Cutting a small piece of flaky golden pastry and spearing it with a piece of tenderly cooked chicken and a head of mushroom Lettice inserts it into her mouth and sighs with delight.
“There is nothing nicer than dinner at the Savoy, is there my Angel?” Selwyn addresses his dinner partner.
“Indeed no,” Lettice agrees after swallowing her dainty mouthful. “However, I must confess that I was surprised that you chose the Savoy dining room for us to meet. It’s the most indiscreet place to have a discreet dinner.” She deposits her polished silver cutlery onto the slightly scalloped edge of her plate. “We’ve been so careful up until now, choosing places where we are less likely to garner attention. Here we sit amongst all the most fashionable people of London society. There are bound to be friends of both your parents and mine who will see us sitting here together at a table for two.” She glances around at the bejewel decorated ladies looking like exotic birds in their brightly coloured frocks and feathers and their smartly attired male companions. “There are even photographers here this evening.”
“I know my Angel.” Selwyn replies matter-of-factly before putting a small amount of his own vol-au-vent into his mouth.
“Whilst I know my mother won’t mind seeing my name associated with yours, or a picture of the two of us together at the Savoy,” She glances nervously at Selwyn as he serenely chews his second course. “I thought we were trying to avoid Zinnia’s attention.”
Selwyn finishes his mouthful and then takes a slip of champagne before elucidating somewhat mysteriously. “A change of plans, my Angel.”
“A change of plans, Selwyn?” Lettice queries, running her white evening glove clad fingers over the pearls at her throat as she worries them. “What does that mean? I don’t understand.”
“You and I have had some rather awkward conversations over my refusal to introduce you to Zinnia, haven’t we, Lettice?”
“We have, darling Selwyn. And I thought that was what we were going to talk about this evening.”
“And so we will, but I also want this evening to be a statement of intention.”
“A statement of intention?” Lettice’s heart suddenly starts to beat faster as she licks her lips.
“Yes. . I invited you here this evening because it is one of the most fashionably public places to be seen. I want people to see us together this evening, my darling, whether it be Zinnia’s spies amongst us, or just the general citizenry of society. I also thought that since there is a rather ripping band playing tonight, that you and I might cut a rug******** a bit later and that perhaps we might get photographed. Zinnia won’t want to meet you, unless your presence is waved in front of her like a red rag to a bull.”
“I’m not sure I like that term when used in conjunction with your mother, Selwyn darling.” Lettice says warily.
“But it’s true. For all her forthrightness and ferocity, Zinnia is very good at playing ostriches when she wishes, and pretending not to see things she doesn’t want to see.” Selwyn explains before taking another sip of champagne. “I should have done this earlier, like when we agreed that I would escort you to your friend Priscilla’s wedding in November last year. However, I wasn’t man enough to stand up to her. Now I want to make a statement about you, about us,” He reaches out and places his pale and elegant right hand bearing a small signet ring over Lettice’s evening glove clad left hand, staring Lettice directly in the eye. “And I need Zinnia to sit up and take notice.”
Lettice picks up her champagne flute in her right hand and quickly sips as small amount of the effervescent beverage to whet her suddenly dry throat. She considers what Selwyn has just said along with other things people have said to her about Selwyn and Lady Zinnia over the last year since she reacquainted herself with Selwyn.
“The day I attended Priscilla’s wedding without you,” Lettice begins. “I met Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.”
“Sir John!” Selwyn scoffs, releasing Lettice’s hand, leaving a warm patch that Lettice can still feel through the thin fabric of her white glove. “He’s one of Zinnia’s cronies. I’m quite sure that they had,” Selwyn pauses whilst he finds the right word. “An understanding, shall we say, when they were both younger.” He looks at Lettice again. “I hope I didn’t shock you, my Angel.”
“Not at all, Selwyn darling.” Lettice assures him. “After all, I am twenty-three now, and a lady who has set forth into the world.”
“I’m glad my Angel. I’d never want to shock you with something like that.”
“It doesn’t shock me, Selwyn darling, but it would explain some things he said to me that day when I was cornered by him.”
“Cornered?”
“Yes. I now think he deliberately sought me out and cornered me so he could tell me what he did.”
“What did Sir John say?” Selwyn queries.
“I didn’t really pay that much attention to it,” Lettice begins, glancing down at her partially eaten vol-au-vent. “At least not at first. I thought he was just spitting venom at me because I spurned his affections the evening of Mater’s Hunt Ball when I met you.”
“What did he say?” Selwyn presses anxiously.
“When I explained your absence as my escort – he only knew because he is related to Cilla’s mother and she had been crowing to him about your attendance at the wedding – he laughed when I said that you were at Clendon********* meeting Pamela. He said it was not a coincidence that you were forced to cancel your own plans in preference for spending time with your cousin. He said that your mother had orchestrated it.”
“And so she had, my Angel.” Selwyn conforms. “And that is why I said that I should have been more of a man and stood up to Zinnia at that time. However,” He releases a pent up breath which he exhales shudderingly. “Zinnia is not someone to cross, especially when she is determined, or in a foul mood, of which she was both.”
“Sir John said that even though we had been discreet about spending time together, that your mother already knew about our assignations.”
“I would imagine him to be quite correct.”
“I accused him of telling her, but he denied it.”
“I would doubt that even as a crony of Zinnia, he would have had the pleasure of breaking the news of your existence as a potential future daughter-in-law to her. Zinnia’s talons reach far and wide, and her spies exist in some of the most unlikely places. What else did Sir John have to say?”
“He said that your mother is the one who would undoubtedly arrange your marriage to suit her own wishes. He implied that I ought not tip my cap at you since you were not free to make your own decision when it came to the subject of marriage. He said that even your father wouldn’t cross your mother on that front.”
Selwyn chuckles sadly. “Sir John is well informed.”
“So it’s true then?”
“What is, darling?”
“That you aren’t free to marry.”
“No, of course not. Not even Zinnia with all her bluster can force me to marry someone I don’t want to.”
Lettice releases a breath she didn’t even realise she was holding in her chest beneath the silk crepe and sparkling beading of her gown.
“However, Zinnia and my Uncle Bertrand have their own plans as regards Pammy and her relationship to me, and they are both applying pressure to both of us.”
“Sir John said that too.” Lettice utters deflatedly.
“I should like to point out, my Angel, that I was not aware as to the plans and plotting afoot for Pammy and I when I met you again at your mother’s ball.” Selwyn assures Lettice. “I didn’t even know about it in the lead up to Priscilla’s wedding. It was only that weekend at Clendon when I was first reintroduced to Pammy and I inadvertently overheard snippets of private conversations Zinnia and my uncle that I realised that they had been hatching their plot to bind us into a marriage of convenience to bind our families closer together for almost as long as Pammy has been alive.”
“So this wasn’t something new, then?”
“It was to me, Lettice darling, but not to them. Do you remember I told you at the Great Spring Show that my real aunt, Bertrand’s first wife, Miranda, was a bolter**********?”
“Yes Selwyn.”
“And that he fled to America and that was where he met Rosalind?”
“Yes Selwyn.”
“Well, the reason why he fled to New York was because the failure of his marriage to Miranda and her desertion of him led to quite a scandal. The scandal clung to Pammy, long after Miranda was gone, and I think after a he married Rosalind, being connected to an element of scandal herself, being a divorcée, she hatched the plan with Uncle Bertrand and Zinnia with Pammy’s social well being at heart.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean that from the outside, there is nothing unusual or untoward about two distant cousins marrying. The fact that the Spencely and Fox-Chavers happen to be two very distinguished and wealthy old families who would doubtless look to intermarry across the generations also throws off any whiff of scandal.”
“Are you saying they planned to marry you two so that Pamela would be untarnished by her mother’s actions?”
“Yes.”
“But how is the child responsible for her mother’s sins, Selwyn?”
“You know as well as I do, coming from a family as old and well established as your own, Lettice, that scandal sticks like glue.”
“Then why throw a ball for Pamela? Why introduce her to society?”
“Because as the next Duke of Walmsford, it is only fitting that I should marry a suitable girl from a suitable family who has been presented in society. Certain families won’t allow their daughters to socialise with poor Pammy, and I’m quite sure that whilst they send their eligible sons, just as many would never countenance a marriage between them and Pammy.”
“So if Pamela marries well, into a family who would welcome her, she is absolved of any wrongdoings of her mother. There is no whiff of scandal and she rises above reproach.”
“Exactly.” Selwyn sighs. “Clever girl.”
Lettice takes a larger than usual gulp of champagne as she allows the thoughts just formed from their conversation to sink in. “And how does Pamela feel about this? Does she even know that she is being matched with you, Selwyn?”
“Yes she does,” Selwyn explains. “Although I was the one who told her. However, like me, she has no desire to see us to get married. She barely knows me, and both of us treat each other like siblings rather than potential romantic marriage prospects.”
“Does she know why your mother, aunt and uncle hatched this plan?”
“Well,” Selwyn replies uncertainly. “She knows her mother deserted Uncle Bertrand, but I don’t think she realises that Miranda’s legacy to her is a tainted one, and I’m quite sure she doesn’t know about some of the other debutante’s families attitudes towards her because of Miranda’s actions.”
“So what is she to do, if no decent bachelor will have her, and you won’t marry her?”
“I didn’t say that no eligible bachelors would consider marriage with Pammy, Angel, only some.” Selwyn says with a smile. “And half of those who won’t marry her would only have wanted to marry her for her money.”
“You sound as if you know something.” Lettice remarks, giving her dinner partner a perplexed look.
“Oh I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, my Angel.” he replies mysteriously.
“So, what would you say then, Selwyn darling?” Lettice prods.
“I’d go so far as to say that being the happy and pretty young thing that she is, Pammy is in no short supply of admirers whose families would overlook her mother’s status as a bolter.”
“Because they want to marry her for her Fox-Chavers money?”
“Well, there are a few of those, I’ll admit,” Selwyn agrees. “But that is why her dear cousin Selwyn is escorting her to all these rather tedious London Season occasions. I can keep those wolves away. However even if we discount them, there are still a few rather decent chaps who are vying for Pammy’s attentions.”
“Are there any that Pamela is interested in?” Lettice asks hopefully.
“As a matter of fact there are two young prospects whom she is quite keen on, or so she confides in me.”
“Oh that’s wonderful, Selwyn!” Lettice deposits her glass on the linen covered surface of the table and claps her hands in delight, beaming with a smile of happy relief. The her face falls. “But then, what are we all to do? Hasn’t your mother charged you with chaperoning Pamela throughout the Season?”
“Well, that was the other reason why I decided to bring you to the Savoy, my Angel.” Selwyn remarks. “We need to be seen together about town, and the best way to do that is to be seen at the functions and places that will be popular because they are part of the London Season, like cricket matches at Lords, and the Henley Regatta************.”
“And the Goodwood races!” adds Lettice with enthusiasm. “And Cowes week************!”
“That’s the spirit, my Angel!” Selwyn encourages her with equal enthusiasm. “Zinnia has charged me with chaperoning Pammy for her own end, but we will use the Season to thwart her with our own ends in mind.”
“Oh Selwyn, how clever you are! What a darling you are!”
Just at that time, the waiter who served them their vol-au-vents and player of cheese approaches the table. Noticing their half eaten meals and their cutlery sitting idle, he tentatively asks, “Shall I clear now, Your Grace?”
“If you would fetch us clean plates and cutlery for the cheese.” Selwyn replies. “Which I think we shall enjoy after a turn on the dancefloor. Don’t you agree, my Angel?” He stands up, pushing his chair back and offering Lettice his hand.
“I do indeed, Selwyn darling!” Lettice pulls her napkin from her lap and drops it on the tabletop.
The waiter pulls out Lettice’s chair, and taking Selwyn’s hand, Lettice allows him to lead her proudly across the dining room of the Savoy. Pairs of eyes note the handsome young couple and lips whisper behind glove clad hands and fans as remarks are made as to who they are and that they appear to be together as a couple, yet for the first time since the night of her mother’s Hunt ball, Lettice doesn’t care what people are thinking or saying. She feels light, as though floating on a cloud, and as she falls comfortably into Selwyn’s strong arms and they begin to sway to the music, she feels proud to be with Selwyn: the man she is falling in love with, and who intends to marry her.
*The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.
**May 20 1913 saw the first Royal Horticultural Society flower show at Chelsea. What we know today as the Chelsea Flower Show was originally known as the Great Spring Show. The first shows were three day events held within a single marquee. The King and Queen did not attend in 1913, but the King's Mother, Queen Alexandra, attended with two of her children. The only garden to win a gold medal before the war was also in 1913 and was awarded to a rock garden created by John Wood of Boston Spa. In 1919, the Government demanded that the Royal Horticultural Society pay an entertainment tax for the show – with resources already strained, it threatened the future of the Chelsea Flower Show. Thankfully, this was wavered once the Royal Horticultural Society convinced the Government that the show had educational benefit and in 1920 a special tent was erected to house scientific exhibits. Whilst the original shows were housed within one tent, the provision of tents increased after the Great War ended. A tent for roses appeared and between 1920 and 1934, there was a tent for pictures, scientific exhibits and displays of garden design. Society garden parties began to be held, and soon the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show became a fixture of the London social calendar in May, attended by society ladies and their debutante daughters, the occasion used to parade the latter by the former. The Chelsea Flower Show, though not so exclusive today, is still a part of the London Season.
***Pied de Veau is a dish of calves feet served in a thick creamy chicken sauce, often served with carrots and onions.
****Cambridge Sausages are made from coarse ground lean and fatty pork with binder (rice in some receipts) and a heavy admixture of sweet spices such as mace, ginger and nutmeg, linked, in medium skins.
*****Salade Romaine is a salad made of Romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, red onions, parmesan cheese, and a delicious olive garden dressing.
******Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.
*******Vol-au-Vent de Volaille à la Royale is a dish of sliced chicken with mushroom and quenelles cooked in a cream sauce served in a puff pastry casing. The Savoy’s kitchens were famous for their deliciously light and tasty vol-au-vent selections, with 1920s menus often containing a selection of four to six varieties as plats du jour.
********The term “cutting a rug” emerged in the 1920s from American culture and became common parlance on both sides of the Atlantic by the 1930s. It came about because of African American couples doing the Lindy Hop (also known as the Jitterbug). This was vigorous, highly athletic dancing that when done continuously in one area made the carpet appear as though it was “cut” or “gashed”. Selwyn using this language would have been at the front of the latest fashion for exciting youthful language from America.
*********Clendon is the family seat of the Duke and Duchess of Walmsford in Buckinghamshire.
**********A Bolter is old British slang for a woman who ended her marriage by running away with another man.
***********The Henley Royal regatta is a leisurely “river carnival” on the Thames. It was at heart a rowing race, first staged in 1839 for amateur oarsmen, but soon became another fixture on the London social calendar. Boating clubs competed, and were not exclusively British, and the event was well known for its American element. Evenings were capped by boat parties and punts, the air filled with military brass bands and illuminated by Chinese lanterns. Dress codes were very strict: men in collars, ties and jackets (garishly bright ties and socks were de rigueur in the 1920s) and crisp summer frocks, matching hats and parasols for the ladies.
************Cowes Week is one of the longest-running regular regattas in the world, and a fixture of the London Season. With forty daily sailing races, up to one thousand boats, and eight thousand competitors ranging from Olympic and world-class professionals to weekend sailors, it is the largest sailing regatta of its kind in the world. Having started in 1826, the event is held in August each year on the Solent (the area of water between southern England and the Isle of Wight made tricky by strong double tides). It is focussed on the small town of Cowes on the Isle of Wight.
This splendid array of cheeses on the table would doubtless be enough to please anyone, but I suspect that even if you ate each cheese and biscuit on this silver tray, you would still come away hungry. This is because they, like everything in this scene, are in reality 1:12 size miniatures from my miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau:
The silver tray of biscuits have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The cheeses and the vol-au-vents come from Beautifully handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as do the two slightly scalloped white gilt plates and the wonderful golden yellow roses in the vase on the table. The cutlery I acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The silver champagne cooler on the table is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The bottle of champagne itself is hand made from glass and is an artisan miniature made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The bottle is De Rochegré champagne, identified by the careful attention paid to recreating the label in 1:12 scale. The two glasses of sparkling champagne are made of real glass and were made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The two red velvet upholstered high back chairs I have had since I was six years old. They were a birthday present given to me by my grandparents.
The painting in the background in its gilded frame is a 1:12 artisan piece made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The red wallpaper is beautiful artisan paper given to me by a friend, who has encouraged me to use a selection of papers she has given me throughout 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.
Concerned about her beau, Selwyn Spencely’s, true affections for her, and worried about the threat his cousin and 1923 debutante, Pamela Fox-Chavers, posed to her own potential romantic plans with Selwyn, Lettice concocted a ruse to spy on Pamela and Selwyn at the Royal Horticultural Society’s 1923 Great Spring Show*. As luck would have it, Lettice ran into Pamela and Selwyn, quite literally in the latter’s case, and they ended up having tea together. Whilst not the appropriate place to talk about Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, whom Lettice suspects of arranging a match between Selwyn and Pamela, who are cousins, Selwyn has agreed to organise a dinner with Lettice where they can talk openly about the future of their relationship and the interference of Lady Zinnia. However, whilst Lettice waits for the dinner to be arranged, she has a wonderful distraction to take her mind off things.
That is why today we are far from London, returning to Wiltshire, where Lettice grew up at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his new wife Arabella. However, we are not at Glynes, but rather in Glynes Village at the local village hall where a much loved annual tradition is taking place. Every year the village have a summer fête, run by the local women and overseen by Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, to help raise money for a worthy cause in the village. The summer fête is one of the highlights of the village and country calendar as it always includes a flower show, a cake stand, stalls run by local famers’ wives selling homemade produce, games of hoopla, a coconut shy, a tombola and a jumble sale, a white elephant stall and a fortune teller – who is always local haberdasher Mrs. Maginot who has a theatrical bent and manages the Glynes theatrical players as well as her shop in the village high street. All the stalls and entertainments are held either in the village hall or the grounds surrounding it. Not only do the citizens of the village involve themselves in the fête, but also the gentry, and there is always much excitement when matriarch of the Brutons, Lady Gwyneth – Gerald’s mother, and Lady Isobel Tyrwhitt – Arabella’s mother, attend. Neither lady have been well over the last few years with Lady Gwyneth suffering a spate of bronchial infections and Lady Isobel receiving treatment for cancer, so it is a rare treat to have both in attendance. This year’s summer fête is a special one for Arabella in particular, for as the newly minted Mrs. Leslie Chetwynd, she now joins the effort to help run the Glynes summer fête for the first time and has been given the second-hand clothing stall to run as part of the jumble sale.
The Glynes village hall is a hive of activity, and the cavernous space resounds with running footsteps, voluble chatter from the mostly female gathering, hammering and children’s laughter and tears as they run riot around the adults as they set up their stalls. Mr. Lovegrove, who runs the village shop, climbs a ladder which is held by the elderly church verger Mr. Lewis and affixes the brightly coloured Union Jacks and bunting that have been used every year since the King’s Coronation in 1911 around the walls. Lady Sadie casts a critical eye over the white elephant stall, rearranging items to put what she considers the best quality items on more prominent display, whilst removing a select few pieces which she thinks unsuitable for sale, which she passes to Newman, her ladies maid, to dispose of. Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler arranges and categorises books for the second-hand book stall, perhaps spending a little too much time perusing some of the titles. Mrs. Elliott who runs the Women’s Institute manages the influx of local women bringing in cakes with regimental efficiency. And amongst all the noise, activity and excitement, Arabella busies herself unpacking boxes of old clothes and tries her best to make her trestle an attractive addition to the summer fête. Lettice perches on an old bentwood chair, offering suggestions to her sister-in-law whilst pulling faces as she lifts up various donations before depositing them in disgust where they had been beforehand.
“Here we are then,” Gerald announces as he walks across the busy floor of the hall bearing a wooden tray containing several teacups and a plate of cupcakes from the refreshments stand, narrowly avoiding Mrs. Lovegrove’s two youngest children as they chase one another around his legs. The sound of his jolly call and his footsteps joining all the other cacophony of setting up going on around him. “Refreshments for the hard workers,” he looks at Arabella. “And the not-so-hard-workers.” he looks at Lettice.
“Don’t be cheeky!” Lettice says to him with a hard stare, letting a limp stocking fall from her hand and collapse into a wrinkled pool on the trestle table’s surface.
Gerald puts the three tea cups down where he can find a surface on Arabella’s trestle table, followed by a long blue and gilt edged platter on which sit three very festive cupcakes featuring Union Jacks made of marzipan sticking out of white clouds of icing.
“Mrs. Casterton’s special cupcakes.” he announces proudly with a beaming smile.
“How on earth did you get those, Gerald?” gasps Lettice in surprise, eyeing the dainty cakes greedily. “Mrs. Casterton hasn’t let me take food from her kitchen since I started dining at the table with the rest of the family, never mind pinch anything from her stall for the fundraiser!”
“It helps when you aren’t her employer’s indulged youngest child.” Gerald says, tapping his nose knowingly.
“I was not an indulged child!” Lettice defends, raising her hand to the boat neckline of her frock and grasping her single strand of creamy white pearls hanging about her neck. “You were more indulged by Aunt Gwen than I ever was by Mater or Pater.”
“Oh, just ignore him, Tice!” laughs Arabella from her place behind the trestle. “You know Gerald has always had the ability to charm anything from anyone when he wants to.”
“That’s true,” Lettice replies, eyeing Gerald with a cocked eyebrow and a bemused smile as she picks up her magenta and gilt rimmed cup and sips her tea. “I had forgotten that.”
“What can I say?” laughs Gerald proudly with a shrug of his shoulders.
“It’s not so much what you can say as what you can do, Gerald.” mutters Arabella with a frustrated sigh.
“I am at your service, my lady?” Gerald replies, making a sweeping bow before Arabella and Lettice, who both laugh at his jester like action.
“Be careful what you promise, Gerald.” giggles Lettice.
“Bella would never expect too much from me, Lettice.” Gerald retorts with a smile. “She’s known me all her life and she knows what my limitations are.”
“Well, I was hoping you could help me by working some magic on my second hand clothing stall.” Arabella remarks with another frustrated sigh as she tugs at the old fashioned shirtwaister** blouse with yellowing lace about the collar. “I’ve tried and tried all morning, but nothing I seem to do helps make anything look more modern and more attractive to buy.”
Lettice and Gerald look around at Arabella’s stall. The shirtwaister outfit with its pretty, albeit slightly marked, lace, tweed skirt and leather belt with a smart, yet old fashioned Art Nouveau buckle really is the most attractive piece that she has on display. Around it on the surface of her trestle are a jumble of yellowing linen napkins complete with tarnished napkin rings, a selection of embroidered, tatted*** and crocheted doilies, mismatched pairs of leather and lace gloves and several rather worn looking hats that are really only suitable for gardening now, rather than being worn to church services on Sunday.
“I warned you Gerald.” Lettice says with a knowing wink.
“Don’t you remember how much we all felt sorry for whomever ran the second-hand clothing stall at the fête each year as children, Bella?” Gerald asks.
“It was always the short straw.” Lettice adds.
“Yes, being stuck under the piercing stare of His Majesty.” Gerald indicates to the portrait of King George V, dating back to the pre-war years when the King still had colour in his hair.
“The worst stall to have because none of the villagers ever seem to have anything nice or remotely fashionable to donate, even for a good cause like new books for the village school.” Lettice picks up a pretty primrose yellow napkin. “These are nice at least.”
“Except there are only three of them.” points out Arabella with a disappointed air. “I can’t seem to find a fourth.” She picks up a red dyed straw hat in the vain hope that it will be there, even though she has searched beneath it three times already. “And I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Tea for two, perhaps?” Gerald suggests hopefully as he picks up his own teacup and takes a sip of tea.
“Oh, you two are no help!” scoffs Arabella. “I’ve a right mind to stick you both with these!” She grasps a pair of knitting needles complete with some rather dreadfully made rows of incomplete knitting and a ball of wool and thrusts them through the air between she, Lettice, and Gerald. “They’ll get you working.”
“Even if they do, Bella, we aren’t miracle workers.” remarks Gerald.
All three of them laugh good heartedly.
“Oh I must make the best of it,” Arabella sighs resignedly as she tugs at the left leg-of-mutton sleeve**** of the shirtwaister. “After all, this is my first year as Leslie’s wife, and the first jumble sale I am actively helping to run to help raise funds for the village. I must make this stall a success no matter what.” The steely determination in her voice surprises her as she speaks. “I’m a Chetwynd now, and I can’t disappoint the villagers with a poor show.”
“Nor Mater.” adds Lettice, taking another sip of tea.
“No indeed!” agrees Gerald. “Lady Sadie will be judging you from afar, Bella, rest assured. If your stall isn’t a great success, you’ll hear about it.”
“In a dozen little quips.” Lettice adds.
“More like a hundred.” corrects Gerald.
“Tearing delicately phrased strips off you.” agrees Lettice.
“Inflicting as much pain for as long as possible.” adds Gerald with seriousness.
“Oh stop, Gerald!” laughs Arabella. “She isn’t anywhere near as much of a dragon as you and Tice paint her to be.”
“You’ve only been married to the family for a little while now,” Lettice counters, looking at her sister-in-law over the magenta and gilt painted rim of her cup. “And you and Leslie have your own lives and are left pretty much to your own devices down in the Glynes Dower House from what I can gather. We’ll give you a little while longer to find out the truth about your wicked mother-in-law.” She smiles cheekily.
“I have grown up alongside you, going in and out of your house, Tice,” Arabella replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. “So it’s not like Sadie is an unknown quantity to me.”
“But you’ve never been a recipient of her acerbic tongue either, I’ll wager.” adds Gerald dourly. “You’re far too sweet and compliant a young daughter-in-law for that, but both Lettice and I have.”
“I still don’t know,” Lettice queries, turning her attention to Gerald. “What was it you said to Mater that night of Hunt Ball that set her so against you, Gerald? I’ve never known her to take against anyone so vehemently, except perhaps poor Aunt Egg who can never do any right in her eyes.”
Gerald blushes, remembering the altercation he had with Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, at the ball. In a slightly inebriated state he told her that neither she nor Lettice had any sway over Selwyn Spencely’s choice of a wife, any more than Selwyn did himself, explaining that it was his mother, the Duchess of Mumford, Lady Zinnia, who would choose a wife for him. “I keep telling you, darling girl. I really don’t remember,” he replies awkwardly, covering his tracks as best as he can. “If you remember, I was rather tight***** that night on your father’s champagne.”
“Well,” Arabella says with a sigh. “I’m determined not to incur her wrath, even though I’m sure it’s nowhere near as awful as you two suggest.”
“Oh-oh!” Gerald mutters under his breath to Lettice. “In coming.”
“Oh no.” moans Lettice quietly in return behind the painted smile she places on her face as she, Gerald and Arabella are suddenly set upon by the Miss Evanses, the two spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village.
The trio smile benignly as the two sisters twitter to one another in crackling voices that sound like crisp autumn leaves underfoot as they approach them.
“Well, twice in as many weeks, Miss Chetwynd!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses in delight, a joyous smile spreading across her dry, unpainted lips. “Last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, and now here! How very blessed we are to see you again.”
“How do you do, Miss Evans, Miss Evans,” Lettice acknowledges them both with a curt nod from her seat. She glances at the two old women, who must be in their seventies at least, both dressed in a similar style to when she saw them last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, in floral gowns of pre-war Edwardian era length, their equally old fashioned whale bone S-bend corsets****** forcing their breasts into giant monobosoms down which sautoirs******* of glittering Edwardian style beads on gold chains cascade. Wearing toques with feather aigrettes jutting out of them atop their waved white hair they look like older versions of Queen Mary.
“I’m afraid you are a little early for the jumble sale, Miss Evans and Miss Evans,” Arabella remarks sweetly. “We are still setting up.”
“Oh, thank you! We know, Mrs. Chetwynd.” twitters the elder of the Miss Evanses, surprising Arabella a little as she still gets used to being referred to by her new married name. “I was just remarking to Henrietta this very morning over breakfast that we do so much look forward to the village fête every year.”
“Yes, it’s a nice way for us to be able to support the local community in our own small way, isn’t that right Geraldine?” enthuses her sister, raising her white lace glove clad hand to her wrinkled and dry mouth as she giggles in a rather unseemly girlish way.
“Indeed yes, Henrietta. It is to aid the school this year, is it not?”
“It is Miss Evans.” Arabella confirms. “To help buy new books for the children.”
“A very fine cause, I must say,” the younger of the Miss Evanses remarks indulgently. “Helping the young ones to read and develop their fertile minds. Rather like gardening, wouldn’t you say?”
“It is not even remotely like gardening!” quips her sister. “Stop talking such nonsense Henrietta.”
“We shall of course be glad of your patronage when the jumble sale opens in an hour.” Arabella quickly says in an effort to diffuse any unpleasantness between the two spinster sisters, at the same time emphasising the time the sale begins.
“Well,” adds the elder of the Miss Evanses seriously. “We shall of course come and spend a few shillings and pence when it opens officially, but…”
“Oh!” interrupts the younger of the Miss Evanses. “Is your frock designed by Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd?” She addresses Gerald in the old fashioned deference of the village and county folk when addressing the children of the bigger aristocratic houses.
“Yes, Miss Evans. Mr. Bruton,” Lettice applies gravatas to the correct reference to Gerald’s name now that he is of age. “Did design my frock.”
“Oh it’s ever so smart!” the younger of the sisters enthuses.
“Thank you, Miss Evans.” Gerald acknowledges her.
“And your hat?” Miss Evans points to the yellow straw hat. “Didn’t I see you wearing that at Master Leslie’s wedding to Miss Arabella?”
“Mrs. Chetwynd, I think you mean, Henrietta.” corrects her sister with a sharpness to her remark.
“Oh yes!” bristles the younger Miss Evans at her sister’s harsh correction, raising her hand to her mouth again. “Yes of course! Mrs. Chetwynd, I do apologise.”
“It’s quite alright, Miss Evans.” Arabella assures her. “I am still getting used to being Mrs. Chetwynd myself.”
“How very observant of you, Miss Evans.” Lettice addresses the younger of the siblings. “I did indeed have my hat made for Leslie and Bella’s wedding. It was made by a friend of Mr. Bruton’s, Miss Harriet Milford.”
“Yes, well thinking of hats, I…” begins the elder Miss Evans.
“Oh it’s most becoming, Miss Chetwynd.” the younger Miss Evans interrupts her sister again as she compliments Lettice in an obsequious manner, followed by another twittering giggle.
“I can send someone down to Holland House this afternoon after the fête with her details if you like.” Lettice replies. “The next time you’re in London, you might pay her a call.”
The two sisters give one another a sour look at the idea, their lips thinning and their eyes lowering as they nod to one another in unison before turning back to Lettice and Gerald.
“Aside from the Great Spring Show, we don’t have much call to go up to London these days, do we Henrietta?”
“Indeed no, Geraldine.” agrees the younger Miss Evans between pursed lips, a tinge of regret in her statement.
“Besides we find the services of Mrs. Maginot’s in the high street to be quite adequate.”
“Good lord!” gasps Gerald, causing the two spinster sisters to blush at his strong language. “Is old Mrs. Maginot still going?” He chuckles. “Fancy that!”
The elder Miss Evans clears her dry and raspy throat awkwardly before continuing. “For our more bucolic, and doubtlessly simple tastes, Master Bruton, we find Mrs. Maginot to be quite satisfactory.” Both sisters raise their lace gloved hands to their toques in unison, patting the runched floral cotton lovingly. “We aren’t quite as fashionable as you smart and select London folk down here in sleepy little Glynes, Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd, but we manage to keep up appearances.”
“On indeed yes, Miss Evans.” Lettice replies with an amused smile. “No-one could fault you on maintaining your standards.”
“I imagine you will soon be designing Miss Chetwnd’s own wedding frock, Master Bruton.” the younger of the Miss Evanses announces rather vulgarly.
“That’s only if I let her get married, Miss Evans,” Gerald teases her indulgently. “I might like to whisk her away and lock her in a tower so that I can keep her all to myself.”
“After what we all saw with our own eyes at the Hunt Ball, I’m sorry Master Bruton, but I don’t think you are in the running for Miss Chetwynd’s affections!” the younger Miss Evans twittering giggle escapes her throat yet again as her eyes sparkle with delight at the very faintest whiff of any gossip.
“How is Mr. Spencely, Miss Chetwynd?” the elder Miss Evans asks pointedly, her scrutinising gaze studying Lettice’s face.
Lettice blushes at the directness of both Miss Evans’ question and her steely gaze. “Oh, he’s quite well, as far as I know, Miss Evans.” she replies awkwardly.
“As far as you know?” the older woman’s outraged tone betrays her surprise as she looks quizzically into Lettice’s flushed face.
“Well, I haven’t seen Selw… err, Mr. Spencely just as of late.”
“Oh?” the elder Miss Evans queries. “I thought we saw you leave the tent we were in at the Great Spring Show, on the arm of Mr. Spencely.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was him, Miss Chetwynd.” adds the younger Miss Evans as she raises a lace clad finger in thought. “He’s very striking and hard to mistake for someone else.”
Silently Lettice curses the beady eyed observation the two spinster sisters are known for. Of course, they of all people at the bustling and crowded Chelsea flower show, noticed her inadvertent stumble into Selwyn and then her departure with him. Although perfectly innocent, and accompanied by her married friend Margot Channon, and Selwyn’s cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers, she can see how easily the Miss Evanses can construe the situation to their own advantage of spreading salacious London gossip about Lettice, as daughter of the local squire, around the citizenry of Glynes village.
“I believe you were here for a purpose, Miss Evans.” Gerald pipes up, quickly defending his best friend from any more uncomfortable cross examination.
“Oh,” the elder Miss Evans replies, the disappointment at the curtailing of her attempt to gather gossip clear in both her tone of voice and the fall of her thin and pale face. “Yes.” She turns to Arabella. “I have actually come early today to see you on business, Mrs. Chetwynd.”
“Me, Miss Evans?” Arabella raises her hand to the scalloped collar of her blouse and toys with the arrow and heart gold and diamond broach there – a wedding gift from her husband.
“Yes.” replies the elder of the two sisters. “You see, when I heard that you were running the second-hand stall this year, I did feel sorry for you.”
“Sorry for me, Miss Evans?”
“Yes,” she replies, screwing up her eyes. “For as you know, there is always a poor offering of donated goods by the other villagers, and it makes for a rather sad and depressing sight amidst all this gaiety.” She gesticulates over Arabella’s trestle with a lace glove clad hand, sending forth the whiff of lavender, cloves and camphor in the process.
“Unless you are donating one of your lovely frocks to the sale, Master Bruton?” the younger of the Miss Evanses adds with a hopeful lilt in her voice. “I should buy it, even if it didn’t fit me.”
Gerald splutters and chokes on the gulp of tea he has just taken as the question is posed of him. Coughing, he deposits his cup quickly and withdraws a large white handkerchief which he uses to cover his mouth and muffle his coughs.
“Oh, poor Master Bruton!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses as she reaches out and gently, but pointlessly, taps Gerald on the shoulder in an effort to help him. “Did you tea go down the wrong way?”
“I arrest my case.” her elder sister snaps giving Gerald a steely, knowing look.
“Now be fair, Miss Evans,” Lettice defends her friend, filled with a sudden burst of anger towards the hypocritical old woman, who despite having plenty of money of her own, only spends a few shillings at the fundraiser every year. “Gerald is still establishing himself in London! He cannot afford to give one of his frocks away when he has to pour what little profit he currently makes back into supporting and promoting his atelier.”
“As you like, Miss Chetwynd.” Miss Evans replies dismissively. “It is a pity though that neither Master Bruton, nor yourself could cast something Mrs. Chetwynd’s way, to help make her stall more,” She pauses momentarily as she considers the correct word. “Appealing.”
Lettice feels the harshness of the old woman’s rebuke, but she says nothing as she feels a flush of shame rise up her neck and fill her face.
“Geraldine!” her younger sister scolds her. “That’s most uncharitable of you.”
“Charity, my dear Henrietta, begins at home.” She looks critically at the knotted half completed knitting, the yellow and age stained linen and the mismatched gloves. “And Mrs, Chetwynd, I see that try as you might, you cannot disguise the usually dispirited efforts of the village used clothing drive this year.”
“Oh, well I haven’t really finished setting up yet, Miss Evans.” Arabella defends herself. “There are still some things to unpack from the boxes behind me.” She indicates to several large wooden crates stacked up behind her against the wall under the watchful gaze of the King.
“Which are items that doubtlessly didn’t sell last year, or the year before that have been shuffled away, only to make their annual reappearance.”
“Perhaps you have something appealing,” Lettice emphasises her re-use of the elder Miss Evans’ word as she tries to regain some moral standing against the older woman. “To offer at this year’s second-hand clothing stall, Miss Evans.”
“As a matter of fact,” the elder Miss Evans replies with a self-satisfied smile and sigh. “That is exactly why I am here.”
With a groaning heave, she foists the wicker basket, the handle of which she has been grasping in her bony right hand, up onto the trestle table’s surface. She opens one of the floral painted flaps and withdraws a large caramel felt Edwardian style picture hat of voluminous pre-war proportions from within the basket’s interior. The brim of the hat is trimmed with coffee and gold braid, woven into an ornate pattern whilst the crown is smothered in a magnificent display of feathers in curlicues and the brim decorated with sprigs or ornate autumnal shaded foliage and fruit.
“As I said, charity begins at home, so I thought I would add some style and panache to your stall, Mrs. Chetwynd, with the addition of this beautiful hat.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says with a sweet, yet slightly forced smile as the older woman tears off a smaller blue stiffed lace hat from a wooden hatstand and replaces it with her enormous millinery confection.
“I know it is only a hat from Mrs. Maginot, and not a London milliner,” she looks pointedly at Lettice. “But I dare say it will be more than suitable for our modest little country jumble sale.”
“Oh I’m sure it will be,” Arabella lies politely as she looks in dismay at the old fashioned headwear.
“Geraldine!” gasps her sister in disbelief. “You love that hat! I remember you had Mrs. Maginot make it for the King’s Coronation celebrations at great expense!”
“That’s true, Henrietta, but it just sits in a box at home these days and never gets worn anymore. It seems a shame to hide it away when it could look fetching on another’s head in church on Sunday. No-one will have anything to rival it. Not even you, Miss Chetwynd.”
“I agree with that,” whispers Lettice discreetly into Gerald’s ear, unnoticed by either of the spinster sisters. “I’d rather die than be caught in that ghastly thing. It looks every minute of it’s age.”
“Just a touch Miss Havisham, don’t you think?” Gerald whispers back, causing both he and Lettice to quietly snort and stifle their giggles.
“Well, that really is most kind of you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says loudly and brightly with a polite nod of acknowledgement, anxious to cover up the mischievous titters from her friend and sister-in-law.
“It’s my pleasure.” she replies with a beatific smile. “Well, we shan’t hold you up any longer from doing your setting up of the clothes, Mrs. Chetwynd. Come along Henrietta. Let’s go and make sure Mr. Beatty has my floral arrangement in a suitably advantageous place. I’m not having it shunted to the back like last year.”
“Oh, yes Geraldine.” her sister replies obsequiously.
Lettice, Gerald and Arabella watch as the two old ladies slowly retreat and heave a shared sigh of relief.
Gerald deposits his cup on the trestle’s surface and walks up to the grand Edwardian hat and snatches it off the wooden stand before placing it atop his own head with a sweeping gesture. “Do you think it suits me?” he laughs.
Lettice and Arabella laugh so much they cannot answer.
“Well,” Gerald sighs, returning the hat to the stand. “Even if Hattie could make hats a hundred times more fashionable than this, maybe some local lady who is a bit behind the times will want to take this beauty home.” He arranges it carefully on the rounded block so that it shows off the autumnal themed fruit garland pinned to the wide felt brim.
“That’s the spirit I need, Gerald.” Arabella manages to say as she recovers from laughing at her friend’s theatrical modelling of the hat, and quietly she hopes that someone will buy the hat and everything else she has in her remit to sell, to help raise money for schoolbooks for the local village and country children that attend the Glynes Village School.
*May 20 1913 saw the first Royal Horticultural Society flower show at Chelsea. What we know today as the Chelsea Flower Show was originally known as the Great Spring Show. The first shows were three day events held within a single marquee. The King and Queen did not attend in 1913, but the King's Mother, Queen Alexandra, attended with two of her children. The only garden to win a gold medal before the war was also in 1913 and was awarded to a rock garden created by John Wood of Boston Spa. In 1919, the Government demanded that the Royal Horticultural Society pay an entertainment tax for the show – with resources already strained, it threatened the future of the Chelsea Flower Show. Thankfully, this was wavered once the Royal Horticultural Society convinced the Government that the show had educational benefit and in 1920 a special tent was erected to house scientific exhibits. Whilst the original shows were housed within one tent, the provision of tents increased after the Great War ended. A tent for roses appeared and between 1920 and 1934, there was a tent for pictures, scientific exhibits and displays of garden design. Society garden parties began to be held, and soon the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show became a fixture of the London social calendar in May, attended by society ladies and their debutante daughters, the occasion used to parade the latter by the former. The Chelsea Flower Show, though not so exclusive today, is still a part of the London Season.
**A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.
***Tatting is a technique for handcrafting a particularly durable lace from a series of knots and loops. Tatting can be used to make lace edging as well as doilies, collars, accessories such as earrings and necklaces, and other decorative pieces.
****A leg of mutton sleeve is a sleeve that has a lot of fullness around the shoulder-bicep area but is fitted around the forearm and wrist. Also known as a gigot sleeve, they were popular throughout different periods of history, but in particular the first few years of the Twentieth Century.
*****’Tight’ is an old fashioned upper-class euphemism for drunk.
******Created by a specific style of corset popular between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the outbreak of the Great War, the S-bend is characterized by a rounded, forward leaning torso with hips pushed back. This shape earned the silhouette its name; in profile, it looks similar to a tilted letter S.
*******A Sautoir is a long necklace consisting of a fine gold chain and typically set with jewels, a style typically fashionable in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.
Whilst this charming village fête scene may appear real to you, it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection, including items from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Perhaps the main focus of our image, the elder Miss Evans’ camel coloured wide brimmed Edwardian picture hat is made of brown felt and is trimmed with miniature coffee coloured braid. The brim is decorated with hand curled feathers, dyed to match the shade of the hat, as well as a spray of golden “grapes” and dyed flowers. Acquired from an American miniatures collector who was divesting herself of some of her collection, I am unsure who the maker was, other than it was made by an American miniature artisan. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable.
The shirtwaister dummy, complete with lace blouse, tweed skirt and Art Nouveau belt attached to a lacquered wooden base, is an artisan miniature as well, once again by an unknown person. It came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The divine little patriotic cupcakes, each with a Union Jack on the top, has been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Each cupcake is only five millimetres in diameter and eight millimetres in height! The plate on which they stand and the teacups on the table are made by the Dolls House Emporium and are part of a larger sets including plates, tureens and gravy boats.
Miss Evans’ wicker picnic basket that can be seen peeping out near the right-hand side of the picture was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside. When I bought it, it arrived containing the little yellow napkins folded into triangles and the hand embroidered placemats that you see on the table in the foreground.
The knitting needles and tiny 1:12 miniature knitting, the red woven straw hat, the doilies, the stockings and the napkins in their round metal rings all came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The elbow length grey ttravelling gloves on the table are artisan pieces made of kid leather. I acquired these from a high street dolls house specialist when I was a teenager. Amazingly, they have never been lost in any of the moves that they have made over the years are still pristinely clean.
The wooden boxes in the background with their Edwardian advertising labels have been purposely aged and came from The Dolls’ House Supplier in the United Kingdom.
The Portrait of King George V in the gilt frame in the background was created by me using a portrait of him done just before the Great War of 1914 – 1918. I also created the Union Jack bunting that is draped across the wall in the background.
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.
Lettice is sitting at her Hepplewhite desk next to the fire in her drawing room. Across it she has open a book of modern interpretations of folk art, a title that she has only recently picked up from her father’s favourite bookshop, Mahew’s* in Charing Cross Road. She has recently accepted a commission to redecorate the St. John’s Wood dining room of friends of hers, Charles and Minnie Palmerston, after Minnie papered the room in fashionable, but totally unsuitable, wallpaper. Charles and Minnie want a modern look to go with their modern art, so Lettice is hoping to gain some inspiration about wall treatments from the book. The colours and patterns she sees are beautiful, but nothing catches her eye as she flips though the pages. Suddenly her thoughts are interrupted by a noisy jangling.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
The telephone in the drawing room starts ringing.
Edith, Lettice’s maid looks through from the adjoining dining room where she is dusting. “That infernal contraption!” she mutters to herself.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“Oh Edith, be a brick and get that, would you.” Lettice calls sweetly to her maid, spying her through the open double doors.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“I think it would be better if you answered it, Miss.” Edith says doubtfully.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“Nonsense, it might be someone I might not want to be at home to. You answer it.” She waves her hand dismissively at the telephone and turns back to her book, before she continues to flip through it in a desultory fashion.
Edith walks in and up to the black japanned occasional table upon which the silver and Bakelite telephone continues to trill loudly.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“I know you don’t like it, Edith, but any household you work in will have one now, so you may as well get used to it.” Lettice says in a matter-of-fact way. “Just pick it up and answer it, Edith. “
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“I should pull your chord out next time I’m Hoovering.” Edith mutters. “Let’s hear you ring then!”
Edith hates answering the telephone. It’s one of the few jobs in her position as Lettice’s maid that she wishes she didn’t have to do. Whenever she has to answer it, which is quite often considering how frequently her mistress is out and about, there is usually some uppity caller at the other end of the phone, whose toffee-nosed accent only seems to sharpen when they realise they are speaking to ‘the hired help’ as they abruptly demand Lettice’s whereabouts.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
Smoothing her suddenly clammy hands down the apron covering her print morning dress she answers with a slight quiver to her voice, “Mayfair 432, the Honourable Miss Lettice Chetwynd’s residence.” Her whole body clenches and she closes her eyes as she waits for the barrage of anger from some duchess or other titled lady, affronted at having to address the maid. A distant male voice speaks down the line. “Oh Mr. Spencely, how do you do. Yes, this is Edith, Miss Chetwynd’s maid.”
“Selwyn!” Lettice squeaks excitedly. She waves anxiously to catch Edith’s attention. “Bring it over here!” she hisses, gesticulating enthusiastically to her maid to drag the phone across the drawing room.
“Oh, I’m not sure, Mr. Spencley,” Edith says with a cheeky smile playfully curling up the corners of her mouth. “I’ll just check and see whether she is in.”
Edith walks over to Lettice’s desk slowly, swaying her hips as she goes, dragging the white and black houndstooth flex behind her.
“Oh you!” Lettice mouths as she takes the receiver from her maid’s hand as Edith puts the base of the telephone on the desk next to Lettice’s silver roller.
With her amusement over, Edith retreats quickly through the green baize door, back to the kitchen, to give her mistress the privacy she deserves.
“Selwyn darling!” Lettice exclaims down the receiver. “What a lovely surprise! How are you?”
“I’m fit as a fiddle my Angel,” Selwyn’s voice calls down the phone over the constant pop of crackling. “How are you?”
“Never better.”
“I say, I do hope I haven’t caught you at an inopportune moment.”
“No, no,” she assures him. “Not at all! As a matter of fact you’re a lovely distraction. I’ve just taken on a new commission to decorate my friend Minnie’s dining room, and nothing is inspiring me. Perhaps you’ll help inspire me.”
“Well that’s good, my Angel.” he replies, his voice crackling with static.
“I say, where are you, Selwyn darling? You sound rather faint. You’re not at your club, are you? This line is quite dreadful.”
The line falls silent for a few moments as Lettice holds her breath.
“I’m at Clendon**,” he finally answers laconically.
“Clendon?” She pauses. “You haven’t forgotten that Priscilla and Georgie’s wedding is on Wednesday***, have you? Are you going to drive down from Buckinghamshire to London?” When there is no reply to her questions, just the constant crackle of the line, Lettice asks again, “Are you sure you’re alright, Selwyn darling.”
“Listen my Angel, I have to tell you something.”
Lettice swallows awkwardly as her joyful mood at talking to Selwyn suddenly dissipates and a roiling starts twisting her stomach.
“I’m so sorry, Lettice darling, but I can’t attend the wedding with you like we’d planned.”
“What?” Lettice asks as she feels the colour drain from her face. “Not come?”
“No. You see, I’m afraid that Zinnia has made some alternate arrangements that I didn’t know about. My Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Rosalind, the Fox-Chavers, are visiting Clendon for a week, and they’ve brought their daughter, my cousin Pamela. She is going to debut next year, and, well, I’ve been charged by Zinnia to help chaperone Pamela in the 1923 Season. I haven’t seen her since we were children together, rather like you and I. Zinna has organised this week for us to get to know one another again, so that I can do my duty and be a good chaperone. I’m so sorry.”
Lettice feels the stinging in the backs of her eyes, as tears threaten to spill from her lids.
“Couldn’t you… couldn’t you just….”
“Look it’s no good, my Angel.” Selwyn cuts her off. “Zinnia has packed the week with all sorts of outings and excursions, luncheons and the like. You know there is nothing I would rather do than spend a wonderful afternoon with you, but you must understand, this is my duty. What kind of Duke will I be if I don’t fulfil my duties?”
As the dam breaks and the tears spill from her eyes and silently cascade down her cheeks, Lettice longs to ask Selwyn about his duty to her, but good breeding and an upbringing of etiquette doesn’t allow her to speak her unvoiced question.
“Of course.” she manages to utter in a strangled voice. “You must… you must do your duty to your cousin. You’re such a… such a gentleman,” The word feels hollow as she speaks it from her suddenly dry mouth. “So gallant. That’s one of the many reasons why I like you… Selwyn darling.” She tries to take a deep breath, but can only manage shallow ones, feeling as though she is wearing one of her pre-war whalebone corsets. “No wonder… Zinnia wants you to chaperone her. Who else in London society cold she trust when it comes to… to gentlemen?”
There is silence broken only intermittently by the crackling in the lines for a short while before Selwyn speaks again.
“Look, I know you’re disappointed….”
“It’s quite alright, Selwyn darling.” she cuts him off, glad that he is not before her now, where her face will give away the lie in her words and tone. “Don’t worry, I’ll get Gerald to escort me.”
The fact is that Gerald is a friend of Priscilla’s as well, and been invited to the wedding himself.
“Good old Bruton.” Selwyn replies with a sigh of relief. “Always so reliable.”
“Yes, he’s a good companion, and he… he always enjoys a good meal and some champagne at… at someone else’s expense.”
The words sound hollow as she speaks them down the line, even though the tone is a falsely cheerful one. Once again there is momentary silence.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you, my angel.” Selwyn says. “I really would rather be with you than Pamela, whom I barely know.” He sounds genuinely sad, although in her state of sudden disappointment, Lettice half wonders if she is imagining it, or willing it to be so. “As soon as this wretched week of entertaining is over, I’ll be back in London and we’ll have dinner. Simpson’s maybe?”
“Yes… yes that would be lovely, Selwyn darling.” She struggles to swallow. “You, you just let me know. I’m not going down to Glynes any time soon, and what with this new commission, I’ll be quite tied up here in London for ages.”
“That’s the spirit, my Angel!”
There is a whining call in the background at Selwyn’s end.
“Oh! That’s Zinnia!” There is a sudden urgency in his voice, almost as if he is frightened of getting caught out doing something wrong. “Look, I snuck into father’s study to make this call, and I’ve been missed. I really must go! I’ll speak to you next week, my Angel. Pip-pip****!”
“Pip-pip, then…” Lettice begins, yet already she is saying goodbye to nothing but dead air.
Deflated, Lettice hangs up the receiver in the cradle of the telephone where it makes a clunking, muffled ding. It is only then that she finally allows herself to vice her cries as she allows them to spill forth from within her, like the tears that dampen her cheeks as they run in rivulets down ger face.
*A. H. Mayhew was once one of many bookshops located in London’s Charring Cross Road, an area still famous today for its bookshops, perhaps most famously written about by American authoress Helene Hanff who wrote ’84, Charing Cross Road’, which later became a play and then a 1987 film starring Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins. Number 56. Charing Cross Road was the home of Mayhew’s second-hand and rare bookshop. Closed after the war, their premises is now the home of Any Amount of Books bookshop.
**Clendon is the family seat of the Duke and Duchess of Walmsford in Buckinghamshire.
***Wednesdays were the most popular days for couples to get married in the 1920s. This is due to an old English wedding superstition very popular at the time. An auspicious rhyme from English folklore rules: “Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth, Wednesday best of all, Thursday for losses, Friday for crosses, Saturday for no luck at all”.
****Pip-pip, that particularly cheery of old-fashioned British farewells, is said to have been formed in imitation of the sound made by a car horn and first came into vogue in the early 1920s after the Great War.
For anyone who follows my photostream, you will know that I collect and photograph 1:12 size miniatures, so although it may not necessarily look like it, but this cluttered desk is actually covered in 1:12 size artisan miniatures and the desk itself is too. All are from my collection of miniatures.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Lettice’s Hepplewhite drop-drawer bureau and chair are beautifully and artfully made by J.B.M. miniatures. Both the bureau and chair are made of black japanned wood which have been hand painted with chinoiserie designs, even down the arms of the chair and inside the bureau. The chair set has a rattan seat, which has also been hand woven.
The book of folk art open on Lettice’s desk is a 1:12 size miniature made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. It is a German edition called “Moderner Volkunst Zierat” (“Modern Folk Art Ornament”) by P. Siegel, consisting of ornament designs from the 1920s printed by the pochoir stencilling technique. You can see images of the illustrations faithfully reproduced in 1:12 size by Ken Blythe here: bibliodyssey.blogspot.com/2012/11/moderner-volkskunst-zie.... Most of the books I own that Ken Blythe has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside one of the books he has made. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into this volume, it contains twelve double sided pages of illustrations and it measures twenty-three millimetres in height thirty three millimetres in width and is only two millimetres thick. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just one of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!
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 latter comes from Doreen Jenkins’ Small Wonders Miniatures in England, whilst the other two come from Melody Jane Dolls’ House, also in England. The photos themselves are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out.
Also on the desk, are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles, a roller, a blotter and a letter opener, all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The ink blotter is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame.
The 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 not in Lettice’s flat. Instead, we are in central London, near the palace of Westminster and the Thames embankment at the very stylish Metropole Hotel*, where Lettice’s latest client, American film actress Wanetta Ward is living whilst her Edwardian Pimlico flat is redecorated by Lettice. We find ourselves in the busy dining room of the hotel where the gentle burble of voices fills the room and mixes with the sound of silver cutlery against the blue banded gilt hotel crockery, the clink of glasses raised and the strains of popular Edwardian music from the small palm court quartet playing discreetly by a white painted pillar. Surrounded by suited politicians and a smattering of older women, Lettice and Miss Ward sit at a table for two where a splendid selection of sweet and savory afternoon tea has been presented to them on a fluted glass cake stand by a smartly dressed waiter.
“Isn’t this fun?” Miss Ward giggles delightedly, looking at the delicacies placed before them. “Taking afternoon tea in London. What a wonderfully British thing to do. I’ve really taken to enjoying this rather quaint observance.” Pouring coffee from a silver coffee pot with an ebonised handle into her cup, she takes a sip. “Ugh!” she exclaims as she shudders and pulls a face. “Which is more than I can say for this sludge you British call coffee.” With a look of distain, she deposits the cup back into its saucer with a loud clatter. “No one makes coffee like we do back home.”
“Perhaps you might care for tea?” Lettice remarks quietly and diplomatically, indicating to the silver teapot beside her. “We’re very well known for our excellent tea.”
“Ugh!” Miss Ward says again, only this time without the melodrama of face pulling. “I think I’ll stick to the sludge, if it’s all the same to you, darling. You people might have conquered India and her tea plantations, but no-one makes tea like they do in Shanghai.” She sighs. “It’s almost an art form.”
“Perhaps we should have had cocktails then.”
“Now you’re talking, darling girl.”
“Only it might be frowned upon – two ladies alone, sitting and drinking in a hotel dining room.”
“See,” Miss Ward remarks in a deflated tone. “It’s like I told you when we met at my flat. You British are all a bunch of stuffed shirts**.” Looking around at the table of older gentlemen next to them, enjoying a fine repast as well as some good quality claret from a faceted glass decanter, she adds somewhat conspiratorially with a flick of her eyes, “And they don’t get much more stuffed that this bunch of politicians.”
“Are you always so frank, Miss Ward?”
“I’m American, darling. We’re known for our frankness as much as you are known for your diplomacy. I’d be letting the home side down if I wasn’t, especially whilst on foreign soil. Anyway,” she continues as a burst of guffaws come from the table as the gentlemen laugh at something one of them said. “I think they have been here for most of the afternoon, and that isn’t their first bottle. They aren’t going to pay enough attention to either of us to care what we two ladies are saying. I think they are happy if our secret women’s business stays secret. Don’t you agree Miss Chetwynd?”
Lettice discreetly looks over at them, noticing their florid faces and slightly rheumy eyes. “Yes, most probably.”
“In spite of the sludge they pass off as coffee here, I can say that afternoon tea at the Metropole is delicious.” The American woman picks up the cake stand and holds it aloft before Lettice for her to select a petit four. “Here! Try one.”
“I haven’t been here since before the war.” Lettice remarks, choosing a ham and tomato savoury before gazing around the room at the elegant Georgian revival furnishings, the restrained Regency stripe wallpaper, the watercolours of stately British homes in gilt frames and the white linen covered tables with stylish floral arrangements on each.
“Has it improved?”
“In looks, undoubtedly. It used to be very Victorian: lots of flocked wallpaper, dark furniture and red velvet. No, this is much brighter and more pleasant. The food however,” Lettice glances at the pretty petit four on her plate. “Is yet to be tested.” She picks up her cup and sips her tea. “Do you have your first script from Islington Studios*** yet, Miss Ward?”
“Oh I do, darling!” Miss Ward’s eyes grow wide and glisten with excitement. “The film is called ‘After the Ball is Over’. It’s a bit of a Cinderella story. A beautiful girl, despised by her haughty stepmother and stepsister wins the heart of a local lord, all set against the beautiful English countryside.” She picks an egg and lettuce savoury from the cake stand and takes a larger than polite bite from it before depositing the remains on her own plate.
“And are you the heroine?”
“Good heavens, no!” Miss Ward nearly chokes on her mouthful of egg and pastry. Placing the back of her hand to her mouth rather than her napkin, she coughs roughly, finishes her mouthful and then adds, “I’d rather die than play the heroine! They are always such insipid characters.” She pulls a face and then clears her throat of the last remaining crumbs. “No, I’m playing the stepsister, who uses her womanly wiles to charm the local lord in the first place.” She lowers her kohl lined eyes and smiles seductively. “She’s much more fun as a character, as are all mistresses and villainesses. Just think about the faerie tales you read when you were a girl. What a dull life Snow White or Cinderella would have led were it not for their wicked stepmothers.”
“I’d never considered that.” Lettice takes a small bite from her savoury.
“Trust me, I may not win the hearts of the audience, but I’ll be more memorable for playing the baddie than I ever would be for playing the helpless heroine.”
“How shockingly cynical, Miss Ward.”
“Cynical yes,” The American looks thoughtfully towards the ceiling for a moment before continuing, “But also truthful.”
“Well,” Lettice says a little reluctantly. “Thinking of truth, you haven’t invited me to afternoon tea just so I can enjoy the selection of sweet and savoury petit fours.” She withdraws her folio from beside her seat and places it on the table.
“Ahh!” Miss Ward’s green eyes sparkle with excitement. “The designs for my flat! I finally get to see them!” She rubs her elegant hands with their painted fingernails together gleefully.
“Now first, your boudoir.” Lettice withdraws a small pencil and watercolour sketch.
The sight of the picture makes Miss Ward gasp with delight as she stretches out her fingers to clutch the drawing. Bringing it closer to her, her painted lips curl up in pleasure.
“I thought a treatment of gold embellishment and brocade on black japanned furnishings might give a sense of luxury. I have kept the white ceiling, and white linens for the bed, but as you can see I’ve included some elements of red to bring that exotic oriental feel to the room you so wanted.”
“Delicious darling girl!” Miss Ward enthuses. “I have to admit, you were right when you said that white wouldn’t be boring if you used it. It helps balance the intensity of the black, red and gold.”
“I’m pleased you approve, Miss Ward.”
“Oh I do!” She hands the drawing back to Lettice. “What else?”
Lettice shows her a few more sketches showing her designs for the dressing room and the vestibule until she finally reaches the two for the drawing room and dining room. She places them on top of her folio, the pools of garish colour standing out against the white linen of the tablecloth and the buff of her folio.
“I remembered you telling me how much you like yellow, Miss Ward, but try as I might, I remain unconvinced that yellow walls are a suitable choice.” The American glances first at the drawings and then at Lettice but says nothing. “The colour is bold, and I know you wanted boldness,” Lettice continues. “But since we are being truthful, this strikes me as showy and déclassé.”
“Déclassé, Miss Chetwynd?”
“Inferior and lacking in the class and elegance of the other rooms’ schemes.”
Miss Ward leans forward and picks up the drawing room painting, scrutinising it through narrowed eyes. Dropping it back down, she picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip before asking with a shrug, “Alright, so what do you suggest then?”
“Well, it’s funny you should be holding your cup while you ask, Miss Ward.” Lettice observes astutely.
“My coffee cup?” Miss Ward holds the cup in front of her and screws up her nose in bewilderment. “You want to paint the walls coffee coloured?”
“Oh no, Miss Ward,” Lettice cannot help but allow a small chuckle of relief escape her lips. “No, I was referring more to the outside, which is blue with a gold trim. Here, let me show you what I mean.” She reaches inside her folio and withdraws a piece of wallpaper featuring a geometric fan design in rich navy blue with gold detailing. “I thought we might paper the walls instead, with this.” She holds it out to her client. “It’s very luxurious, and it makes a bold statement, but with elegance. I thought with a suitable array of yellow venetian glass and some pale yellow oriental ceramics, this would both compliment any yellow you add to the room, and give you that glamour and sophistication you desire.”
Lettice doesn’t realise it, but she holds her breath as the American picks up the piece of wallpaper and moves it around so that the gold outlines of the fans are caught in the light of the chandeliers above. The pair sit in silence - Lettice in anxiety and Miss Ward in contemplation – whilst the sounds of the busy dining room wash about them.
“Pure genius!” Miss Ward declares, dropping the wallpaper dramatically atop Lettice’s sketches.
“You approve then, Miss Ward?” Lettice asks with relief.
“Approve? I love it, darling girl!” She lifts her savoury to her mouth and takes another large bite.
“I’m so pleased Miss Ward.”
“Oh it will be a sensation, darling! Cocktails surrounded by golden fans! How delicious.” She replies with her mouth half full of egg, lettuce and pastry. She rubs her fingers together, depositing the crumbs clinging to them onto her plate. “And it will compliment my yellow portrait so well, you clever girl.”
“Your, yellow portrait, Miss Ward?” Lettice queries, her head on an angle.
“Yes, didn’t I tell you?”
“Ahh, no.”
“Well, I had my portrait painted whilst I was in Shanghai, draped in beautiful yellow oriental shawls. It’s really quite striking,” she declares picking up the remnants of her savoury. “Even if I do say so myself.”
“For above the fireplace?”
“Oh no! My Italian landscape will go there.”
“Your Italian landscape?”
“Yes, I bought it off a bankrupt merchant in Shanghai trying to get back home to the States along with a few other nice paintings.”
“How many paintings do you have, Miss Ward?”
She contemplates and then silently starts counting, mouthing the numbers and counting on her fingers. “Eleven or so. My beloved brother had them packed up and sent over. They should be arriving from Shanghai in Southampton next week. I’ll get them sent directly to the flat. I’ll leave it up to you darling girl to decide as to where they hang.”
“You are full of surprises, Miss Ward.” Lettice remarks with a sigh, picking up her teacup and taking a sip from it.
“Evidently, so are you,” the American replies, indicating with her eyes to the wallpaper. “I wasn’t expecting anything as modern and glamourous as that in London!”
Smiling, Lettice says, “We aim to please, Miss Ward.”
*Now known as the Corinthia Hotel, the Metropole Hotel is located at the corner of Northumberland Avenue and Whitehall Place in central London on a triangular site between the Thames Embankment and Trafalgar Square. Built in 1883 it functioned as an hotel between 1885 until World War I when, located so close to the Palace of Westminster and Whitehall, it was requisitioned by the government. It reopened after the war with a luxurious new interior and continued to operate until 1936 when the government requisitioned it again whilst they redeveloped buildings at Whitehall Gardens. They kept using it in the lead up to the Second World War. After the war it continued to be used by government departments until 2004. In 2007 it reopened as the luxurious Corinthia Hotel.
**The phrase “stuffed shirt” refers to a person who is pompous, inflexible or conservative.
***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.
An afternoon tea like this would be enough to please anyone, but I suspect that even if you ate each sweet or savoury petit four on the cake plate, you would still come away hungry. This is because they, like everything in this scene are 1:12 size miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau:
The savoury petite fours on the lower tier of the cake stand and the sweet ones on the upper tier have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Each petit four is only five millimetres in diameter and between five and eight millimetres in height! The selection includes egg and lettuce, ham and tomato, Beluga caviar, salmon and cucumber and egg, tomato and cucumber savouries and iced cupcakes for the sweet petit fours.
The blue banded hotel crockery has been made exclusively for Doll House Suppliers in England. Each piece is fashioned by hand and painted by hand. Made to the highest quality standards each piece of porcelain is very thin and fine. If you look closely, you might even notice the facets cut into the milk jug. Several pieces of the same service appear on the table in the background and the tiered sideboard to the left of the table.
The fluted glass cake stand, the glass vase on Lettice and Miss Ward’s table and the red roses in it were all made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The cake stand and the vase have been hand blown and in the case of the stand, hand tinted. The teapot is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The coffee pot with its ornate handle and engraved body is one of three antique Colonial Craftsman pots I acquired from a seller on E-Bay. The two matching pots are on the sideboard in the background. Lettice’s folio was made by British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Lettice’s interior design paintings are 1920s designs. They are sourced from reference material particular to Art Deco interior design in Britain in the 1920s.
The Chippendale dining room chairs are very special pieces. They came from the Petite Elite Miniature Museum, later rededicated as the Carol and Barry Kaye Museum of Miniatures, which ran between 1992 and 2012 on Los Angeles’ bustling Wiltshire Boulevard. One of the chairs still has a sticker under its cushion identifying which room of which dollhouse it came. The Petite Elite Miniature Museum specialised in exquisite and high end 1:12 miniatures. The furnishings are taken from a real Chippendale design.
On the table in the background luncheons of fish and salad and spaghetti bolognaise are waiting to be eaten. The fish and salad plates are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures and the plates of spaghetti bolognaise are made by Frances Knight. The vases of flowers on the table and on the stands are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The three plant stands are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, whilst the sideboard is made by high-end miniature furniture maker JBM.
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.
Lettice is sitting at her Hepplewhite desk next to the fire in her drawing room. On her desk sit two brightly coloured interior designs she has created for her new client, American film actress Wanetta Ward, using her watercolours and pencils. Whilst she works away, her old childhood chum, Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, is sitting in one of her Art Deco tub arm chairs contentedly sewing beads onto his and Lettice’s friend, Margot de Virre’s, wedding dress bodice. Both have cups of tea from the pot Lettice’s maid, Edith, keeps replenishing.
“You sound displeased, Lettuce Leaf,” Gerald responds to a disgruntled huff from Lettice, drawing out his thread as he speaks. “What’s the matter?”
“Calling me that name doesn’t help, Gerald,” she mutters crossly. “I keep telling you, we aren’t children anymore. I hated it then, so imagine how much I detest it now?”
“Oh! We are techy tonight!” Gerald remarks without looking up as he pushes his needle back into the centre of a crystal bead. He pauses and looks up. “I’m sorry.” He pouts dramatically. “Friends again?”
Lettice looks over at him disgruntledly, but at the sight of her friend’s rather comical expression of remorse, she sighs, smiles and then laughs tiredly. “Yes Gerald.”
“So,” he looks over at the desktop littered with Lettice’s paints and jugs of murky water with brushes sticking out of them. “What’s wrong then?”
“It’s these designs!” She flicks her hands irritably at the offending pieces of paper and gives them a contemptuous look. “I’m not happy with them. Miss Ward says yellow is her favourite colour, yet I can’t quite manage yellow walls with blue furnishings.” She holds up a design of a music room with grand piano in yellow with blue accents.
“Oh,” Gerald’s eyes open widely as he nods. “Yes, I do begin to see what you mean. Well, it’s dramatic, I’ll say that.”
“It’s vulgar, is what it is.” She picks up her paint brush again, although is dumbfounded as to what to do to improve the image, other than to screw it up and start again, as she stares at the yellow wash spread across the page like a huge bruise.
“Well, she is an actress, darling.” Gerald remarks, going back to his sewing. “And part of the American mi…”
“Oh, don’t you start on the mediocre middle-classes again!” she interrupts, wagging her brush at him threateningly. “I scolded Margot when we were shopping at Selfridges last week. She sounded just like you.”
“Oh, bully for Margot!” Gerald smiles contentedly, taking up another bead, casting in onto his thread and plunging it into the fabric of the bodice. “I really must congratulate her next time I see her.”
“You’re a bad influence on her, with your overt snobbery.”
“It is true,” Gerald sighs. “But I can’t help it. It’s just part of my charm.” He bats his eyelashes across at his friend and smiles. “Anyway, you are the one who called Miss Ward gauche, so shouldn’t her home reflect a little of that gaudy, showy moving picture actress personality of hers?”
“Not if I’m designing it, Gerald. I have a reputation of exceptionally good taste to uphold.” She looks at her second design of a dining room, also with yellow walls. “Miss Ward be damned! Anyway Gerald, you of all people shouldn’t complain about the middle classes.”
Gerald sighs and drops the beaded bodice into his lap, whilst still keeping a firm hold of his needle. “That too is true, my darling. If it were not for Mrs. Hatchett and her coterie, well...”
“See,” Lettice smiles. “Did I not say that she would be the making of your couture house?”
“Hardly!” he retorts, giving her a shocked look.
“What? Aren’t she and her friends putting in countless orders for day dresses, tea gowns and evening frocks?”
“Oh they are!” he remarks. “But,” He exhales disappointedly. “Up-and-coming middle-class mediocrity Mrs Hatchett and her friends’ outfits are hardly going to make the pages of the Tattler or Vogue, are they? And even their money can’t make Grosvenor Street pay for itself. A day dress suitable for a Surrey village fête is hardly going to cost what a stunning piece of couture,” He holds up the exquisitely embroidered fabric. “For the London Season will. Why else do you suppose I’m sitting here embroidering Margot’s bodice in your Mayfair drawing room and not at home in Soho?”
“I assume because you enjoy my company.” Lettice teases with a smile.
“Oh I do darling,” Gerald says in earnest. “But I also love the fact that here I don’t have to pay the electricity bill.” He glances up at the glittering chandelier above them casting prisms across the white painted ceiling with its Art Deco cornicing.
“Nor the grocer’s bill,” Lettice smirks with a friendly chuckle, indicating to the plates on the black japanned coffee table containing the remnants of one of Edith’s chocolate cakes.
“Nor the wine merchant’s bill. The largesse of one’s friends is always welcome.”
Lettice looks back sadly at her friend. “Have you asked your father about an increase to your allowance, or perhaps an advance?” she asks hopefully.
“It isn’t as easy as that. I’m not you, Lettice.”
“I’ll have you know Gerald, that I get constant lectures from Pater about designing for my own class if I must insist on designing anything, and Mater just wants me to throw it all away and marry some dull member of the peerage, live in the country and have a dozen children.”
“A dozen?”
“Well at least three, like Lally.”
“Your sister is expecting again?”
“Yes, due in February, and Mummy is always comparing me to my propagating older sister, lording it over me that ‘Lally is married’, unlike me, and ‘Lally has children’, unlike me! She’s convinced my life is unfulfilled. I’m a girl, and I’m the youngest child and…”
“And you have your father wrapped around your little finger.” Gerald counters with a knowing look.
“Well,” Lettice blushes. “I can’t deny that I do seem to have some influence over the Pater.”
“Whereas I am just the second son: the spare.”
“Well thankfully you aren’t the heir, Gerald.” Lettice gives him a knowing look. “Otherwise, you would have to fulfil your duty to carry on the family line with some poor little debutante who must never know that her husband…”
“Is sexually inverted.” Gerald finishes Lettice’s sentence discreetly, stabbing the fabric with his needle. “Yes, I know that doesn’t help my cause in father’s eyes, any more than my wish to sew frocks for ladies.”
“At least you don’t wear them, revel in that fact and have photographic proof, unlike dear Cecil* does.”
“Nonetheless, being the second son, a fashion designer and a deviant,” Gerald blushes, looking towards the dining room, making sure that Lettice’s maid, Edith, isn’t listening at the green baize door. “I’m a disappointment, through and through. And my obvious shortfalls do not endear me to Father.”
“You asked him then?” Lettice asks with defeat. When Gerald nods in assent she adds, “Not even an advance?”
“Not a bean.”
“That’s so unfair.”
“My father isn’t your father, Lettice.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we might be neighbours, but your father owns most of the neighbourhood. Your father is the Viscount of Wrexham with a fine estate, which Leslie has helped to modernise, thank goodness.” He raises his eyes to the ceiling. “Whilst my father is just Sir Bruton, a baron – an obstinate and old fashioned one, and an impecunious one at that – with a leaky roofed manor house on a plot of land that is getting smaller as he slowly sells it off. The golden pre-war days are gone, yet Father won’t face up to facts.”
“Poor Gerald,” Lettice says, standing up and putting a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. Looking down at the beautifully beaded bodice in Gerald’s lap she continues, “Well, let’s hope that Margot’s wedding dress heralds better times for you as well as her and Dickie. At least this gown will appear in the Tattler, if nowhere else, and that means good business for you. That’s a beautiful pattern you are embroidering.”
“Thank you darling.” Gerald smiles as he looks down at his own work. Suddenly he sits up in his seat. “That’s it!”
“What’s it, Gerald?” Lettice looks up from her paintings in concern.
“Patterns!” He looks at her excitedly. “Did you not say Miss Ward was also interested in bold patterns?”
“Yes Gerald. What of it?”
“And did I not see you when I was here last week, flicking through some wallpaper samples?” He clambers up from his seat, carefully putting the beaded bodice aside.
“You did Gerald.” Lettice looks at him questioningly.
“The combination of blue and yellow is jarring when yellow is the main colour.” He gesticulates around him dramatically. “What if you swap it around? I’m sure there was a strong Prussian blue wallpaper amongst the samples: one that had a bold pattern highlighted in gold.”
“You’re right Gerald!” Lettice agrees excitedly. “It was a fan pattern! Of course! I’ve been looking at this the wrong way around! Paper the walls rather than paint them! What a dullard I am!” She grabs up her brush and dunks it into the jug of murky water.
“No! No! Don’t change your pictures!” Gerald gasps, anxiously hurrying around to Lettice’s desk and staying her elegant hand. “Use them. Show Miss Ward how jarring yellow is, and then pull out the paper. Show her how luxurious it is, and you’ll easily be able to convince her that it’s the right choice.”
“It is a bold pattern…”
“Yet an elegant one.”
“And it’s certainly glamorous.”
“And fans are very oriental, darling.” Gerald bats his eyelashes coquettishly as he pretends to hide behind an imaginary fan.”
“Oh Gerald!” Lettice giggles. “What would I do without you?”
“You’d never be able to decorate Miss Ward’s flat, that’s certain!” he smiles at his friend’s glittering eyes and gentle grin as she contemplates the possibilities he has helped instil in her mind.
*Cecil Beaton was a British fashion, portrait and war photographer, diarist, painter, and interior designer, as well as an Oscar winning stage and costume designer for films and the theatre. Although he had relationships with women including actress Greta Garbo, he was a well-known homosexual.
For anyone who follows my photostream, you will know that I collect and photograph 1:12 size miniatures, so although it may not necessarily look like it, but this cluttered desk is actually covered in 1:12 size artisan miniatures and the desk itself is too. All are from my collection of miniatures.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Lettice’s Hepplewhite drop-drawer bureau and chair are beautifully and artfully made by J.B.M. miniatures. Both the bureau and chair are made of black japanned wood which have been hand painted with chinoiserie designs, even down the arms of the chair and inside the bureau. The chair set has a rattan seat, which has also been hand woven.
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 latter comes from Doreen Jenkins’ Small Wonders Miniatures in England, whilst the other two come from Melody Jane Dolls’ House, also in England. The photos themselves are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
The watercolour paint set, brushes, and Limoges style jugs (two of a set of three) also come from Melody Jane Dolls’ House. So too do the pencils, which are one millimetre wide and two centimetres long.
Also on the desk, are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles, a roller, a blotter, a letter opener and letter rack, all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The ink blotter, sitting behind the paint box and next to the jug’s handle is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame. The letter opener and roller are also sterling silver. The letter rack which contains some 1:12 size correspondence, is brass. Like the other pieces, it is also made by the Little Green Workshop.
Lettice’s two interior design paintings are 1920s designs. They are sourced from reference material particular to Art Deco interior design in Britain in the 1920s.
The fireplace appearing just to the right of the photograph is a 1:12 miniature resin Art Deco fireplace on which stands an Art Deco metal clock hand painted with wonderful detail by British miniature artisan Victoria Fasken.
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 is Tuesday and we are in the kitchen of Lettice’s flat: Edith her maid’s preserve, except on Tuesdays, every third Thursday of the month and occasionally after a big party. That is when Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s charwoman*, comes from her home in Poplar to do all the hard jobs and Edith shares the space with her. Although this can be a bit of challenge, especially as Mrs. Boothby likes to smoke indoors, Edith is grateful that unlike her previous positions, she does not have to scrub the black and quite chequered kitchen linoleum, nor polish the parquetry floors, not do her most hated job, black lead the stovetop. Mrs. Boothby does them all without complaint, with reliability and to a very high standard. She is also very handy on cleaning and washing up duty with Edith after one of Lettice’s extravagant cocktail parties. Edith also has to admit that after her original reluctance, Mrs. Boothby has turned out to be rather pleasant company and the two have had many fine chats over time.
“Oh Mrs. Boothby, after you’ve finished polishing the floors in the drawing room this morning, would you mind laying down this sheet on the space behind Miss Lettice’s chair and the Chinese screen?” Edith pushes a neatly folded white sheet across the kitchen table to the old char.
“Why ‘ave I got to put dahn an old sheet for?” She looks perplexed at the pile of fabric before her. “Don’t Miss Chetwynd ‘ave enough rugs?”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith trys somewhat unsuccessfully to cover her amused smile. “It isn’t for that.”
“Then what’s it for, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
“It’s a drop sheet, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith elucidates.
“Oh. She getting’ painters in then? I bet I could find her cheaper ‘ouse painters than ooever she got. My Bruvver does a bit a ‘ouse paintin’, an I reckon ‘e does a very fine job ‘n all.”
“Oh no, Mrs. Boothby. Miss Lettice is going to paint a table today.”
“Paint a table?” The old woman looks queryingly at her younger counterpart. “Why? Ain’t it any good as is?”
“Apparently not, Mrs. Boothby. However, it isn’t for her. It’s for Miss de Virre, I mean, Mrs. Channon. It’s a table from her house in Cornwall.”
“Tartin’ up tables!” The old cockney woman tuts as she casts her eyes to the ceiling. “What them rich fancy folk won’t fink up next. I just throw an oilcloth over my table when I got friends comin’ for tea. That covers up the marks good and proper.”
“Oh no, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith explains. “Miss Lettice is going to redecorate it as part of her re-design of Mrs. Channon’s drawing room.”
“Well,” grumbles the old woman. “Whatever she’s doin’ it for, I hope she don’t get paint on my nice clean polished floors.”
“That’s what the drop sheet is for, Mrs. Boothby.”
“Ere dearie, pop the kettle on so as we can ‘ave a nice cup of Rosie-Lee** before I get started on the floors.” Mrs. Boothby says to Edith. “Washin’ floors can be firsty work for a woman, so best I get a cuppa before I start.”
“Yes, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith replies, lighting the gas ring underneath the bright copper kettle and walking over to the pine dresser to fetch two Delftware cups, saucers a milk jug and the sugar bowl.
Mrs. Boothby groans as she bends her wiry body to the floor to check what she calls her ‘Boothby boxes’, which are two boxes kept in the corner of the kitchen next to the dresser. One contains her scrubbing brushes, dustpan, and polishing rags, whilst the other contains a plethora of cleaning products.
“Ah,” the old Cockney woman mutters as she delves through the latter, metal cans clunking against one another as she does her inventory. “Pop Vim on the shopping list, will you Edith love. This can’s all but empty nah.” She continues fossicking. “Oh, and we need some more floor polish too.”
“Do you like that Kleen-eze Mr. Willison sent me last time, Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks as she lays out the tea things on the deal kitchen table above the char’s head.
“It weren’t bad stuff, that. Yeah, ta. Get ‘him to get us some more of it if ‘e can.” The old woman affirms.
“I’ll see if Frank can get me some,” Edith says blithely, yet as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she realises her mistake as a frisson of energy electrifies the kitchen.
Edith likes Mrs. Boothby, but she knows that any news will soon be spread around Poplar and the surrounding area once Mrs. Boothby hears it. She and the other charwomen she knows run a very well informed gossip chain, and there is little Mrs. Boothby can’t tell Edith about the comings and goings on in the household of her former employer Mrs. Plaistow, thanks to her charwoman friend Jackie who does work for her and quite a few other houses in Pimlico, including that of Lettice’s former client, successful Islington Studios*** actress, Wanetta Ward. Edith, who is a little starstruck by the glamourous American, often gets tasty titbits of gossip about her from Mrs. Boothby thanks to Jackie who also cleans for her, however Edith does not fancy the shoe being on the other foot. However, as she turns back from fussing unnecessarily over the kettle, she sees it is too late. Mrs. Boothby’s pale and wrinkled face, framed by her wiry grey hair tied up in a brightly coloured scarf is paying close attention to the young maid. Her dark eyes are gleaming with delight, and she smiles like the cat who ate the cream.
“Oh!” she says with one of her bushy eyebrows arching upwards. “Frank now, is it?”
“Well I…” Edith stutters, her own pale cheeks growing warm as a blush fills them with colour.
“Yes my girl?” Mrs, Boothby asks, as with another groan she resumes her upright state. “And just when did Mr. Willison’s young delivery boy go from bein’ Mr. Leadbeater or bein’ Frank? Last I ‘eard, you weren’t interested in ‘im.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in him, Mrs. Boothby,” Edith worries the blue rimmed edge of a saucer self-consciously. “I’d just never considered him as a prospect, is all. And I hadn’t Mrs. Boothby. Not until,”
“Yes,”
“Well, not until you’d mentioned it, Mrs. Boothby.”
“Aha!” the old cockney woman crows. “Ada Boothby does it again!”
“Does what, Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks.
“Matchmakes, of course.” She smiles broadly, a glow of pride emanating from her slender figure in her grey dress and brightly printed cotton pinny. She rubs her careworn hands together with glee. “Oh I can’t wait to tell that damned Golda Friedmann dahn the end of my rookery****. She’ll be fit to be tied.”
“Wait!” Edith gasps, not understanding. “Who’s Golda Friedmann, and how she know about Frank and I? I don’t know her. She doesn’t work in the haberdashers in Poplar you sent me to.”
“Oh Lawd love you,” chortles Mrs. Boothby, the action resulting on one of her fruity hacking coughs that seem remarkably loud from such a diminutive figure. After catching her breath, she continues breathily, “She don’t know anyfink about you an’ your Frank.” She gulps again. “Nah! She’s the local matchmaker round our way, along with a few other Yids***** in Poplar. Goes around wiv ‘er nose in the air wrapped up in a fancy paisley shawl tellin’ folk she’s the one to match their son or daughter, like she was the Queen of Russia ‘erself.”
“Well she didn’t match me with Frank.” Edith says defensively.
“I know, Edith love.” Mrs. Boothby assures her with a calming wave of her hands.
“And nor did you, Mrs. Boothby,” Edith continues. “So I don’t see why you should feel so proud of yourself.”
“But you just said that if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t of considered ‘im!”
“Well,” Edith takes the kettle off the stove and pours hot water into the white teapot. “That’s true, but I’m the one that mentioned what you’d said to me about he and I on the night of Miss Lettice’s supper party for Mr. Channon and Miss de Virre.” She puts the lid on the pot with a clunk. “Err, I mean Mrs. Channon.”
Mrs. Boothby drags up a chair to the deal kitchen table and takes a seat, never taking her eyes off Edith’s face. “So ahh, when did you and Mr. Leadbeater, or should I say Frank, start, walkin’ out togevva?” She walks her index and middle finger across the clean table in front of her, as if to demonstrate her meaning.
“Only a few weeks now.” Edith admits with downcast eyes and a shy smile.
“A few weeks?” Mrs. Boothby gasps in outrage. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I guess it just slipped my mind, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith defends herself, setting out the tea cups in the saucers, pushing one across to the charwoman. “What with one thing an another. Besides,” she adds. “I didn’t want to tell you unless I was sure. I wouldn’t want to go disappointing you if it all came to aught.”
“But nah fings is workin’ out for the two of you then?” Mrs. Boothby asks as she accepts the cup and saucer and reaches for the milk jug, slopping a good glug into the bottom of her empty cup******.
“We seem to have struck a nice rhythm, and Frank and I have a lot in common.”
“Oh that’s lovely to ‘ear, dearie.” the old woman watches as Edith pours tea into her cup. “I told you, youse was pretty, didn’t I?” She takes hold of the sugar bowl and greedily spoons in several heaped teaspoons of fine white sugar into her tea before stirring it loudly. “And you never knew ‘till I told you. So where’ve you been goin’? The ‘Ammersmith Palais*******?”
“Yes, we’ve been there a few times, along with my friend Hilda.”
“She’s the parlour maid from your Mrs. Plaistow’s isn’t she?” Mrs. Boothby asks, before adding unnecessarily, “The plain one.”
“Oh I wouldn’t call her plain, Mrs. Boothby!” Edith defends her friend hotly as she pours tea into her own empty cup, before then adding a dash of milk. “That’s most uncharitable.”
“I didn’t say that, Jackie told me when I mentioned to ‘er that you was still friends wiv ‘er from when you worked there togevva.”
“Oh yes, I remember Jackie,” Edith picks up her cup and sips her tea. “Always with an ear out for gossip.”
“We chars ‘ave to take our pleasures where we can get ‘em, dearie.” Mrs. Boothby says with a slightly haughty tone as she slurps her own tea loudly. “Bein’ a char is ‘ard graft day in, day out. And you can ‘ardly take the moral ‘ighground, what wiv you askin’ me about the goings on at Miss Ward’s, nah can you?”
Edith, suitably chastened, remains silent, her lack of response serving as an affirmation of the old Cockney’s statement.
“Anyway, I might never ‘ave met your ‘Ilda, but I bet she’s not a patch on you deary, what wiv your peaches n’ cream complexion and beautiful hair. What you got natural from God, so many women I know get from lotions and potions. Nah wonder Frank was nervous ‘bout askin’ you to step out wiv ‘im. Youse a real catch Edith love.”
“I never said he was nervous, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith giggles.
“But ‘e were, weren’t ‘e?” The old woman chuckles knowingly as she cradles her warm cup in both her hands. “All little boys what fink they’re big men, get nervous round a pretty girl.”
“Well,” Edith admits. “Maybe just a little.” Then she adds, “But I was nervous too.”
“Well, that’s nice, dearie. Youse just enjoy bein’ young an’ ‘appy togevva.” The old woman gazes into the distance, a far away look sodtening the sharpness of her gaze and the squareness of her jaw as her mouth hangs open slightly. She stays that way for a moment or two before she regains her steely composure and sharp look. Turning back to Edith she says, “Nah, ‘ow does this sound, Edith love? Mrs. Ada Boothby, Matchmaker and ‘Igh Class Char? That would shove it right up that uppity Golda Friedmann and ‘er matchmaker friends!”
“Oh Mrs. Boothy!” Edith giggles.
*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.
**Rosie-Lee is Cockney slang for tea, and it is one of the most well-known of all Cockney rhyming slang.
***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.
****A rookery is a dense collection of housing, especially in a slum area. The rookeries created in Victorian times in London’s East End were notorious for their cheapness, filth and for being overcrowded.
*****The word Yid is a Jewish ethnonym of Yiddish origin. It is used as an autonym within the Ashkenazi Jewish community, and also used as slang. When pronounced in such a way that it rhymes with did by non-Jews, it is commonly intended as a pejorative term. It is used as a derogatory epithet, and as an alternative to, the English word 'Jew'. It is uncertain when the word began to be used in a pejorative sense by non-Jews, but some believe it started in the late Nineteenth or early Twentieth Century when there was a large population of Jews and Yiddish speakers concentrated in East London, gaining popularity in the 1930s when Oswald Mosley developed a strong following in the East End of London.
******In the class-conscious society of Britain in the 1920s, whether you added milk to your cup of tea first or the tea was a subtle way of defining what class you came from. Upper-class people, or those who wished to ape their social betters added milk after the tea, whereas middle-class or working class people comfortable in their own skins were known to add milk before the tea.
*******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.
This busy domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
In front of Mrs. Boothby’s box is a can of Vim with stylised Art Deco packaging and some Kleeneze floor polish. Vim was a common cleaning agent, used in any Edwardian household. Vim scouring powder was created by William Hesketh Lever (1st Viscount Leverhulme) and introduced to the market in 1904. It was produced at Port Sunlight in Wirrel, Merseyside, a model village built by Lever Brothers for the workers of their factories which produced the popular soap brands Lux, Lifebuoy and Sunlight. Kleeneze is a homeware company started in Hanham, Bristol. The company's founder, Harry Crook, had emigrated to the United States with his family several years earlier, and whilst there joined Fuller Brush as a sales representative. He returned to Bristol several years later, and started a business making brushes and floor polish which were sold door-to-door by salesmen. Technically Kleeneze didn’t start until 1923, which is one years after this story is set. I couldn’t resist including it, as I doubt I will ever be able to photograph it as a main part of any other tableaux. Thus, I hope you will forgive me for this indulgence.
In the box are two containers of Zebo grate polish, a bottle of Bluebell Metal Polish and a can of Brasso. Zebo (or originally Zebra) Grate Polish was a substance launched in 1890 by Reckitts to polish the grate to a gleam using a mixture that consisted of pure black graphite finely ground, carbon black, a binding agent and a solvent to keep it fluid for application with a cloth or more commonly newspaper. Brasso Metal Polish is a British all-purpose metal cleaning product introduced to market in 1905 by Reckitt and Sons, who also produced Silvo, which was used specifically for cleaning silver, silver plate and EPNS. Bluebell metal cleaning products were a household name in the 1920s and 1930s after the business was incorporated in 1900.
The tin buckets, wooden apple box, basket, mop, brush and pan are all artisan made miniatures that I have acquired in more recent years.