Maine Bird List
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While its black plumage identifies it as a crow, the chough (pronounced 'chuff') has a red bill and legs unlike any other member of the crow family. It is restricted to the west of the British Isles.
It readily displays its mastery of flight with wonderful aerial displays of diving and swooping. This Schedule 1 species can be found in flocks in autumn and winter.
There are two species of passerine birds commonly called chough that constitute the genus Pyrrhocorax of the Corvidae (crow) family of birds. These are the red-billed chough (Pyrrhocorax pyrrhocorax), and the Alpine chough (or yellow-billed chough) (Pyrrhocorax graculus). The white-winged chough of Australia, despite its name, is not a true chough but rather a member of the family Corcoracidae and only distantly related.
The choughs have black plumage and brightly coloured legs, feet, and bills, and are resident in the mountains of southern Eurasia and North Africa. They have long broad wings and perform spectacular aerobatics. Both species pair for life and display fidelity to their breeding sites, which are usually caves or crevices in a cliff face. They build a lined stick nest and lay three to five eggs. They feed, usually in flocks, on short grazed grassland, taking mainly invertebrate prey, supplemented by vegetable material or food from human habitation, especially in winter.
Population:
UK breeding:
250-350 pairs in Great Britain; 120-150 pairs on the Isle of Man
Another supplement to the photos taken from the Nagasaki lookout. This is one of the dive sites in Chichijima archipelago.
The Curious Hobby of Collecting Things (02)
The Times Weekly Issue 1920 - 21
A vast number of years ago I used to buy and sell second-hand books, mainly because I collected and it reduced the cost of collecting. However, since those far off days every once in a while I come across things I cannot resist buying. This next item entitled ‘The Times Weekly Edition with Illustrated covers starts on 12th November 1920 and finishes 28th January 1921. This only represents 11 issues but it is filled with a whole variety of subjects including News, Sports, Fashions and General Advertising. Each issue contains approx. 24 pages.
This is the first of many postings ……
The Cheviot ewe was guarding her Crystalix supplment against all comers. Pregnant ewes need all the help they can get with extra minerals. These tubs with a molasses base encourage the sheep to lick the contents and get their extra minerals and vitamins
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.
Ladybower was built between 1935 and 1943 by the Derwent Valley Water Board to supplement the other two reservoirs in supplying the water needs of the East Midlands. It took a further two years to fill (1945). The dam differs from the Howden Reservoir and Derwent Reservoir in that it is a clay-cored earth embankment, and not a solid masonry dam. Below the dam is a cut-off trench 180 feet (55 m) deep and 6 feet (1.8 m) wide filled with concrete, stretching 500 feet (150 m) into the hills each side, to stop water leaking round the dam. The dam wall was built by Richard Baillie and Sons, a Scottish company. The two viaducts, Ashopton and Ladybower, needed to carry the trunk roads over the reservoir were built by the London firm of Holloways, using a steel frame clad in concrete. The project was delayed when the Second World War broke out in 1939, making labour and raw materials scarce. But construction was continued due to the strategic importance of maintaining supplies. King George VI, accompanied by Queen Elizabeth, formally opened the reservoir on 25 September 1945.
During the 1990s the wall was raised and strengthened to reduce the risk of over-topping in a major flood. The original dam wall contains 100,000 tons of concrete, over one million tons of earth and 100,000 tons of clay for the core. The upstream face is stone faced. Materials were brought to the site on the Derwent Valley Water Board's own branch line and their sidings off the main line in the Hope Valley.
The dam's design is unusual in having two totally enclosed bellmouth overflows (locally named the "plugholes") at the side of the wall. These are stone and of 80 feet (24 m) diameter with outlets of 15 feet (4.6 m) diameter. Each discharges via its own valve house at the base of the dam. The overflows originally had walkways around them but they were dismantled many years ago. The bell mouths are often completely out of the water and are only rarely submerged, often after heavy rainfall or flooding.
“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
Artist Chalermchai Kositpipat financed the construction of the temple entirely himself, supplemented by donations.
It is still far from complete. The White Temple is not expected to reach its full splendor until 2070.
In 2014, an earthquake severely damaged Wat Rong Khun. For a short time, complete demolition was even discussed.
-------------------------
Künstler Chalermchai Kositpipat hat den Bau des Tempels komplett selbst finanziert, ergänzt mit Spenden.
Er ist noch lange nicht fertig. Seine komplette Pracht soll der Weiße Tempel wohl erst 2070 erreichen.
2014 hatte ein Erdbeben hat dem Wat Rong Khun schwer zugesetzt. Kurzzeitig stand sogar ein kompletter Abriss zur Debatte.
Red Deer Hind in Canal cooling off...
Red Deer - Cervus elaphus
Double click image....
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.
AI assisted. I've been taking some of my abstraction work and using AI to supplement the abstraction. Then I do some post-processing myself. It's an enjoyable process and so far I'm pleased with the outcome.
Nutritional supplements are not a substitute
for a nutritionally balanced diet.
(Deepak Chopra)
Looking close... on Friday! - REFLECTION on BLACK BACKGROUND
(photo by Freya, edit by me)
Thanks for views, faves and comments!
Excerpt from Wikipedia:
Karlstor in Munich (called Neuhauser Tor until 1791) is one of what used to be Munich's famed city wall from the medieval ages till late into the 18th century. It served as a major defensive fortification and checkpoint.
It is located at the western end of Neuhauser Straße.
The building is the westernmost of three remaining gothic town gates out of originally five. The other two are Isartor in the east (the only one that is still complete in its basic structure) and Sendlinger Tor in the south-west. Missing nowadays, after the whole fortification system had to be laid down on prince-electoral order at the turn from the 18th to the 19th century, are Angertor in the south and Schwabinger Tor in the north, as well as all "minor" or side gates and the entire double walls.
Between 1285 and 1347 the existing first town walls were supplemented with a new, second, double-ring fortification for and around fast-growing Munich, significantly extending the populated and protected area.
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.
Robin - Erithacus rubecula
Our ever reliable Little Robin...
The European robin (Erithacus rubecula), known simply as the robin or robin redbreast in the British Isles, is a small insectivorous passerine bird, specifically a chat, that was formerly classified as a member of the thrush family (Turdidae) but is now considered to be an Old World flycatcher.
The robin occurs in Eurasia east to Western Siberia, south to Algeria and on the Atlantic islands as far west as the Azores and Madeira. It is a vagrant in Iceland. In the south-east, it reaches the Caucasus range. Irish and British robins are largely resident but a small minority, usually female, migrate to southern Europe during winter, a few as far as Spain. Scandinavian and Russian robins migrate to Britain and western Europe to escape the harsher winters. These migrants can be recognised by the greyer tone of the upper parts of their bodies and duller orange breast. The European robin prefers spruce woods in northern Europe, contrasting with its preference for parks and gardens in Ireland and Britain.
Attempts to introduce the European robin into Australia and New Zealand in the latter part of the 19th century were unsuccessful. Birds were released around Melbourne, Auckland, Christchurch, Wellington and Dunedin by various local acclimatisation societies, with none becoming established. There was a similar outcome in North America as birds failed to establish after being released in Long Island, New York in 1852, Oregon in 1889–1892, and the Saanich Peninsula in British Columbia in 1908–1910.
The robin is diurnal, although has been reported to be active hunting insects on moonlit nights or near artificial light at night. Well known to British and Irish gardeners, it is relatively unafraid of people and drawn to human activities involving the digging of soil, in order to look out for earthworms and other food freshly turned up. Indeed, the robin is considered to be a gardener's friend and for various folklore reasons the robin would never be harmed. In continental Europe on the other hand, robins were hunted and killed as with most other small birds, and are more wary.
Robins also approach large wild animals, such as wild boar and other animals which disturb the ground, to look for any food that might be brought to the surface. In autumn and winter, robins will supplement their usual diet of terrestrial invertebrates, such as spiders, worms and insects, with berries and fruit. They will also eat seed mixtures placed on bird-tables.
The robin features prominently in British folklore, and that of northwestern France, but much less so in other parts of Europe. It was held to be a storm-cloud bird and sacred to Thor, the god of thunder, in Norse mythology. Robins feature in the traditional children's tale, Babes in the Wood; the birds cover the dead bodies of the children.
More recently, the robin has become strongly associated with Christmas, taking a starring role on many Christmas cards since the mid 19th century. The robin has appeared on many Christmas postage stamps. An old British folk tale seeks to explain the robin's distinctive breast. Legend has it that when Jesus was dying on the cross, the robin, then simply brown in colour, flew to his side and sang into his ear in order to comfort him in his pain. The blood from his wounds stained the robin's breast, and thereafter all robins got the mark of Christ's blood upon them.
An alternative legend has it that its breast was scorched fetching water for souls in Purgatory.
The association with Christmas more probably arises from the fact that postmen in Victorian Britain wore red jackets and were nicknamed "Robins"; the robin featured on the Christmas card is an emblem of the postman delivering the card.
In the 1960s, in a vote publicised by The Times, the robin was adopted as the unofficial national bird of the UK.
In 2015, the robin was again voted Britain's national bird in a poll organised by birdwatcher David Lindo, taking 34% of the final vote.
Hummingbirds love nectar from flowers, but will come to the feeders as long as the sugar water is clean and fresh.
These RAW photos were taken while lying on my back, looking up with my camera, under the hummingbird feeder hanging from the corner of the screened-in porch. I only cropped them.
For more information about Ruby-throated hummingbirds that visit my garden, please click here:
I went for a nice ride on the e-trike today and saw this little scene. We have many little herds of cattle around us, but this one got a special treat. We have a local business here in Mount Gambier that makes delicious sweet and savoury scrolls, but when they don't sell on the day when they are at their freshest, they sometimes get donated to the cows who thoroughly enjoy their occasional sweet treat! Although the "delivery guy" had just dropped these scrolls over the fence, the cows would not come closer while I was there, possibly due to my day-glo safety jacket, but as soon as I left, the scrolls were quickly devoured and enjoyed!
It was finally a nice day for a ride after all the gale force winds we have had, but it also brought out the magpies. I had my first series of swoops for the season!
First trip out with the new 16mm ultra wide lens on the full frame RP body. A nice and very light weight lens to use!
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.
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:
Am 21.04.2023 in Hanau am alten Bahnbetriebswerk mit einem Bauzug von Spitzke. Die Lok hat einen sehr interessanten Lebenslauf, nachzulesen bei Wikipedia:
de.wikipedia.org/wiki/DB-Baureihe_V_169
The one and only: 219 001, former V169 001, seen at Hanau, Germany. This loco originally had a supplemental gas turbine to support the diesel engine when necessary. The gas turbine was removed later, the loco sold to Italy, brought back to Germany, employed by various railroad companies and is today - after complete restoration - owned and operated by a former DB locomotive driver.
Hanau
21.04.2023
The castle's story dates back to a fortress, Krogen (lit. "the Hook"), built in the 1420s by the Danish king, Eric of Pomerania. The king insisted on the payment of sound dues by all ships wishing to enter or leave the Baltic Sea passing through the Sound; to help enforce his demands, he built a powerful fortress at the narrowest point in the Sound. At the time, the Kingdom of Denmark extended across both sides of the Sound, and on the eastern shore the Helsingborg Castle had been in existence since the Middle Ages. With the two castles and guard ships it was possible to control all navigation through the Sound.
The castle was built on Ørekrog, a sandy tongue of land stretching into the sea from the coast of Zealand towards the coast of Scania. The castle consisted of a square curtain wall with a number of stone buildings inside. The stone building in the northeastern corner contained the king's residence. The building in the southwestern corner contained a large arched banquet hall. The building in the southeastern corner possibly served as the chapel. Large portions of the walls of Krogen are contained within the present-day Kronborg Castle.
King Christian III had the corners of the curtain wall supplemented with bastions in 1558-59.
Hummingbirds love nectar from flowers, but will come to the feeders as long as the sugar water is clean and fresh.
These RAW photos were taken while lying on my back, looking up with my camera, under the hummingbird feeder hanging from the corner of the screened-in porch. I only cropped them.
“The construction of beams
brings the fruition of dreams.
The casting of steel
makes your fantasy real…”
Read this post on a little virtual keyhole ☂
Love and sparkles,
Dea
Drinking Riga Black Balsam Currant - Riga's pharmacist Kunze created the basic recipe for this drink in 18th century. Today its magic composition is supplemented with natural black currant juice. The blend of two traditional Latvian flavors - Riga Black Balsam and black currants - along with ginger aroma forms the unique bouquet of this drink.
This is a top-to-bottom pano, inspired by MJ Northern's bikini stitching technique. With a rented 24mm PC-E I was able to try out MJ's technique on a subject that needed it. This is an exposure fusion of 2 images, with a SB-800 thru Gary Fong lightsphere CR to spotlight the drawers. Cropped to 4:5 aspect ratio.
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:
Greater flamingo (Phoenicopterus roseus), male and female
These famous pink birds can be found in warm, watery regions on many continents, from West Africa eastward throughout the Mediterranean to South West and South Asia, and throughout sub-Saharan Africa.. They favor environments like estuaries and saline or alkaline lakes. Considering their appearance, flamingos are surprisingly fluid swimmers, but really thrive on the extensive mud flats where they breed and feed.
Greater flamingos are likely to be the only tall, pink bird in any given locale. They also have long, lean, curved necks and black-tipped bills with a distinctive downward bend.
Their bent bills allow them to feed on small organisms—plankton, tiny fish, fly larvae, and the like. In muddy flats or shallow water, they use their long legs and webbed feet to stir up the bottom. They then bury their bills, or even their entire heads, and suck up both mud and water to access the tasty morsels within. A flamingo's beak has a filter-like structure to remove food from the water before the liquid is expelled.
Shrimp-like crustaceans are responsible for the flamingo's pink color. The birds pale in captivity unless their diet is supplemented.
Greater flamingos live and feed in groups called flocks or colonies. They find safety in numbers, which helps to protect individual birds from predators while their heads are down in the mud. Greater flamingos also breed while gathered in groups. Once mating is complete, a pair takes turns incubating their single egg. Young flamingos are born gray and white and do not turn pink for two years. In years when wetlands and pools are dry and food scarce, flamingos may not breed.
The colony works together to protect each other from predators and to take care of the young. It is believed that flamingos are monogamous, according to Sea World. Once they mate, they tend to stay with that mate. A group of flamingos will all mate at the same time so that all of the chicks will hatch at the same time.
For more information, please visit www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/birds/g/greater-flamingo/
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however, we are south of the Thames in the middle-class London suburb of Putney in the front room of a red brick Edwardian villa in Hazelwood Road, where Gerald has brought Lettice to visit his friend, Harriet Milford. The orphaned daughter of a solicitor with little formal education, Harriet has taken in lodgers to earn a living, but more importantly for Lettice, has taken up millinery semi-professionally to give her some pin money*. As Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, has forbidden Lettice to wear a shop bought hat to Leslie, Lettice’s brother’s, wedding in November and Lettice has quarrelled with her own milliner, Madame Gwendolyn, Gerald thought that Harriet might benefit as much from Lettice’s patronage as Lettice will by purchasing one of Harriet’s hats to resolve her fashion conundrum.
Lettice glances around the front parlour of the Putney villa, which doubles as Harriet’s sewing room and show room for her hats, with the critical eye of an interior designer, all the while listening to the notes of the oboe being played upstairs. The room’s middle-class chintzy décor immediately appals her as she takes in the floral covers of the flouncy Edwardian sofa on which she perches gingerly, and its matching roomy armchair by the fire, a hand embroidered pouffe and the busy Edwardian floral wallpaper. A bookcase stands in the corner, full of mystery novels covered in dust which Lettice suspects might have belonged to Harriet’s father, the deceased Mr. Milford. The bookcase’s top and the fireplace mantle are cluttered with family portraits taken in the possibly happier days of the idyllic summers before the Great War. The walls are hung with a mixture of cheap botanical prints and quaint English country scenes, all in gaudy gilded plaster frames. “How ghastly,” Lettice utters quietly with a sigh.
“I know: you hate the floral chintz,” Gerald says in reply to Lettice’s laconic observation. “You don’t need to tell me. The look of distaste on your face says it all. But you aren’t here to redecorate Lettuce Leaf, so be a darling and remember to mind your manners. You are a viscount’s daughter, after all, and Hattie is just a solicitor’s daughter. However, in spite of her low birth in comparison to your own, she is a good person, and she is my friend. Show some of your good breeding and be gracious.”
Lettice shoots Gerald an annoyed look at his use of her abhorred nickname yet again. “I’m beginning to question your choice of new friends – not that I even knew she existed prior to today.”
“Oh, there is a lot about me you don’t know, Lettice darling.” Gerald says with an air of mystery.
She glances around her again. “It’s awfully untidy in here.” she remarks not unjustly as she takes in the sight of a concertina sewing box on casters which stands cascaded open next to the armchair, threads, embroidery silks, buttons and ribbons pouring from its compartments like entrails. Hats in different stages of being made up and decorated lie about on the arm of the chair and the settee or on the floor in a haphazard way. The brightly patterned rug is littered with spools of cotton, scissors, ribbon, artificial flowers and dogeared copies of Weldon’s** magazines.
“Yes, well, Hattie hasn’t learnt the finer points of presentation yet,” Gerald admits. “But I’m working on that. However, suspend your judgement until you see what she can create for you.” Pointing to the three hats Lettice inspected a few minutes before sitting atop what must have formerly been a tea table, he adds, “You’ve already seen that her work really is every bit as good as Madame Gwendolyn’s.”
“Well, we shall see.” Lettice pronounces, withholding her judgement on Harriet’s work.
Just at that moment, Harriet’s scurrying footsteps across the tiled vestibule floor outside the door announce her arrival and she hurries through the door bearing a tray loaded with tea making implements and a plate of biscuits. “Be a lamb and bring over father’s chess table, will you Gerry darling.” she instructs Gerald.
Obediently Gerald gets up from his seat on the floral sofa next to Lettice, and with the familiarity of a regular houseguest, picks up a tilt table nestled on the far side of the fireplace. Tilting its surface into an upright position, Lettice momentarily sees the chess board set in marquetry on its surface before it is quickly obscured by an old fashioned Edwardian gilt banded tea set and the plate of biscuits as Gerald takes everything off Harriet’s tray.
“Thanks ever so!” Harriet sighs with relief before depositing the tray on the floor by the door, walking back across the room and around the table and then collapsing into the armchair with another deeper sigh.
“As an interior designer, Lettice has just been commenting on your décor, Hattie darling,” Gerald says to their hostess as he resumes his own seat.
“Gerald!” gasps Lettice, her face flushing at her friend’s frank admission.
“Oh I’m sorry it’s so untidy, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet apologises as she snatches a rather tattered copy of Weldon’s* off the arm of her chair, shoving in behind her floral cushion, and tries to bundle her sewing bits back into the tray of her sewing box on casters. “Gerry has told me I need to improve the presentation of my premises, but having no domestic staff to speak of other than me, and trying to run a boarding house at the same time as make hats means I just don’t seem to have the time to tidy up in here.”
“Nor do I, Hattie darling,” Gerald scolds. “But that’s no excuse.”
Harriet blushes at her friend’s gentle rebuke.
“Shall I be mother then***?” Lettice asks. When Harriet nods in agreement, Lettice perches herself on the edge of the chintz sofa and sets out the tea things. “So,” she asks, pouring hot brackish tea into the first china cup. “You run a lodging house too?”
“Yes, for theatrical artistes.” Harriet explains proudly with a smile. “That’s Cyril playing his oboe upstairs,” She rolls her eyes up to the white plaster ceiling decorated with floral boiseries. “Although he is a professional actor as well as a musician in the West End.”
“Indeed,” muses Lettice.
“Although I do wish he’d play something other than Schumann or Mozart when we have guests.” mutters Harriet.
“Oh why, Miss Milford?” Lettice asks.
“Well, it’s not exactly the jolliest of music, is it?” Getting up again, Harriet walks over to the open doorway leading to the vestibule. Standing astride the threshold she calls up the stairs, “Do you think you could play something a bit jollier on the oboe, Cyril? We have guests. Gerry’s brought a friend. How about a nice bit of jazz?”
The music stops abruptly followed by a rather feminine sounding man’s fey voice opining from upstairs, “How can you, Hattie? I’m an artiste!” The last word is uttered dripping with melodrama. “Jazz music does not make one money.”
“Really? Then explain to me how the Savoy Havana Band**** make a living, Cyril? Please? Do it for Gerry, if not for me!”
“Oh, alright,” the fey voice bemoans. “But only because Gerry brought a chum.” The music recommences, only this time the opening bars to ‘The Sheik of Araby’***** fill the air.
“Hattie had a rather awkward situation with a retired colonel when she first started letting rooms.” Gerald says in a lowered tone as Harriet smiles at the change in music.
“Yes, the old chap couldn’t keep his hands to himself.” Harriet replies with a curt nod as she walks across the room and takes her place again. “Dirty old lecher was old enough to be my grandfather!”
“How awful, Miss Milford!” Lettice exclaims.
“I don’t find I have the same problem with men who are theatrical types, especially those from the chorus, those who paint the sets or work in the wardrobe department,” She smiles at Gerald, who smiles back. “If you understand my meaning, Miss Chetwynd” Harriet says with a wink, returning her attention to Lettice “I feel much safer around the likes of Cyril and his chums.”
“Indeed yes.” agrees Lettice, glancing between Gerald and Harriet, the pang of jealousy curdling her stomach as it did when she first saw Gerald and Harriet embrace in the way she thought only she and Gerald did.
“My father sent me to domestic science classes, so I’m quite a dab hand at plain cooking and keeping house when I get the chance, so my lodgers are happy.”
“Do try one of Harriet’s jam fancies, Lettice,” Gerald encourages, picking up one for himself from the blue and gilt banded sandwich plate, placing it on the edge of his saucer as he picks up his cup of tea. “They really are rather good.”
Lettice picks one up and takes a small bite, the biscuit dough melting in her mouth. “Very good, Miss Milford.” she enthuses. “Every bit as delicious as my maid’s baking.”
“Thank you, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet replies with a proud smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Considering that Lettice doesn’t know how to make a cup of tea, never mind bake a biscuit, I would.” Gerald remarks cheekily.
Ignoring his remark, Lettice asks, “So how is it that you came to make hats, Miss Milford? I was just admiring those hats on the table over there before you came in. They are beautifully made.”
Turning her head, Harriet gazes pleasingly at the three hats sitting on the table next to her sewing machine in the bay window. “Thank you, Miss Chetwynd. Well, my mother before she passed on taught me how to sew and embroider. She embroidered that.” Harriet indicates to the pouffe at Lettice’s feet with its green flounces and a rose stitched on its top. “I always enjoyed sewing and working with fabrics, so I thought I’d try my hand at making hats.”
“Harriet had to turn over her sewing room to Cyril when he came to board with her.” Gerald adds.
“How do you know where Cyril sleeps?” Lettice asks with mild shock, her face flushing with colour when Gerald clears his throat awkwardly and blushes bright red as a silent form of reply. “Oh… oh, I see.”
“The light is much better in here anyway,” Harriet quickly pipes up brightly in a chivalrous effort to prevent her friend any further embarrassment, a gesture that does not go unnoticed by both Gerald and Lettice who both admire her action. “The bay windows downstairs are much bigger than the oriel windows up under the roof. Besides it’s much easier for customers to step in here than trudge up three flights of stairs to the attic.”
“And your little enterprise has taken off, I believe Miss Milford.”
“I’ve been moderately successful, Miss Chetwynd.”
“You’ve been very successful, Hattie darling.” Gerald corrects her encouragingly.
“And what are you going to call your cottage industry, Miss Milford?” Lettice asks. “Not Hattie’s Hats, I hope.”
“Oh how drole you are, Miss Chetwynd,” laughs Harriet. “No. Well, I hadn’t actually thought what I should call my ‘little enterprise’, as you call it, Miss Chetwynd. Maybe you and Gerry can help me find the perfect name.” Clearing her throat, she carries on. “Which brings me to the reason why you are here. I believe that you are in need of a new hat, Miss Chetwynd.”
“So, Gerald has told you about me then, Miss Milford?”
“Well, yes, Gerry did tell me that you are both to attend your brother’s wedding at the end of November – a country wedding in Wiltshire I’ve been told – and he did tell me that you have fallen out with your former milliner, Madame Gwendolyn of Oxford Street. He also gave me some background to your family,” She leans forward in her seat, her demeanour suddenly going from a relaxed stance to a more professional and formal one. “However, I am also perfectly capable of doing my own research, Miss Chetwynd. I’ve often seen your picture in the society pages in the company of Gerry, Minnie and Charles Palmerston, Celia Bamford, Willie Chelmsford, Priscilla Kitson-Fahey and more recently, American department store heir Georgie Carter: your ‘Embassy Club Coterie’ I believe you call it. You are also acquainted with Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon****** who has been linked romantically with the Duke of York in the last year. I also saw you in Vogue twice this year: once at the wedding of Dickie and Margot Channon in January - Margot Channon née de Virre your best friend – and then again at the marriage of the Princess Royal******* in February.”
“My, you are well informed, Miss Milford!” remarks Lettice, unable to disguise how impressed she is at Harriet’s research.
“I also noticed, without Gerry needing to tell me,” Harriet glances momentarily at Gerald slyly scoffing another of her jam fancies before returning her attention quickly to Lettice. “That the rather fetching straw hat with silk and feather trim you wore to the Royal Wedding was a model bought from Selfridges.”
“Gerald!” Lettice exclaims, slapping him hard on the knee.
Sitting up and spluttering out bits of biscuit onto the floor in front of him he manages to utter between coughs, “I… I didn’t… tell… her.”
“It’s true,“ Harried elucidates. “Gerry didn’t need to. I make it my business to study fashion, and anyone with a keen eye who reads Selfridges advertisements would know that it is a French mode Mr. Selfridge paid to import from Paris. Pretty yes, but not unique. No doubt, after your falling out with Madame Gwendolyn you found yourself in a tight spot Miss Chetwynd, needing a new hat, but not one from her. Being one of hundreds of guests at the wedding, you could get away with a shop bought hat. As a significant event on the Wiltshire social calendar, I imagine that you need something a little more discerning to wear to your brother’s wedding, considering that there will be far fewer guests in attendance than there were at Westminster Abbey, and therefore more attention paid to you.”
“Please forgive me, Miss Milford,” Lettice smiles across at Harriet, suddenly sitting up straight and looking her hostess directly in the eye. “I must confess that I underestimated you. When Gerald brought me here, and when I first met you outside, I didn’t detect an ounce of your shrewdness.”
“My father may not have valued my further education, but I did learn a few tricks and traits from him before he died.”
“Bravo, Miss Milford.” Lettice’s eyes glisten with interest. “You have my full and undivided attention. What are you proposing?”
“I believe you are wearing lemon yellow to the wedding, with russet accents. Is that right, Gerry darling?” Still recovering his breath after choking on biscuit crumbs he can only nod in reply before coughing again. “Then considering the shape of your face and the colour and style of your hair, I would suggest a yellow dyed straw, small brimmed picture hat with lemon yellow muslin and perhaps some russet flowers or autumnal shaded imitation fruit.”
“Hmmm….” Lettice ponders Harriet’s suggestions with a downwards gaze, envisaging what the hat might look like, before looking up again. “Very well Miss Milford. Consider yourself engaged to make my hat for Leslie’s wedding.”
“Oh hoorah!” exclaims Harriet, clapping her hands in delight. “We can settle terms later.”
Just as Lettice is about to agree, a tall, slender and handsome young man with pale patrician skin and a mop of blonde curls walks through the parlour door, dressed in a set of tails with a square instrument box in his right hand. Unnoticed by the party sitting in the parlour, the oboe music had ceased a short while ago, and the player now stood before them.
“Well, I’m off up the West End, Hattie.” Cyril’s voice, still containing that fey quality, was instantly recognisable. Placing a kiss on Harriet’s proffered right cheek, Cyril turns and snatches up a biscuit off the tray on the table before leaning over to Gerald and placing a kiss squarely on his lips, causing Gerald and Lettice to both blush at the brazen expression of affection bestowed upon Gerald so openly by the young men. As if nothing could be more natural, the young musician spins on his heel and elegantly walks to the door. Pausing on the threshold he turns back to the trio and says dramatically, “Don’t wait up.” Then he looks intently at blushing Gerald and adds, “I’ll see you after the show, Gerry darling. Ta-ta!” And he disappears from view, his exit from the villa being heralded moments later by the opening and then slamming of the front door.
The room is suddenly plunged into quiet, broken only by the ticking of the floral china clock on the mantle and the chirp of birdsong in the bushes outside the parlour window, the silence even more evident by the lack of Cyril’s playing drifting from upstairs.
“Well, you were right, Gerald,” Lettice says breathily after a few moments.
“About Harriet?” he asks gingerly.
“Well yes,” she agrees. “But also, about the fact that there is so much about you I don’t know.” She smiles cheekily, breaking the nervous feeling in the room. “So, is Cyril the reason you have come to know Miss Milford, or did you come to know Cyril through Miss Milford?”
*Originating in Seventeenth Century England, the term pin money first meant “an allowance of money given by a husband to his wife for her personal expenditures. Married women, who typically lacked other sources of spending money, tended to view an allowance as something quite desirable. By the Twentieth Century, the term had come to mean a small sum of money, whether an allowance or earned, for spending on inessentials, separate and in addition to the housekeeping money a wife might have to spend.
**Created by British industrial chemist and journalist Walter Weldon Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was the first ‘home weeklies’ magazine which supplied dressmaking patterns. Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was first published in 1875 and continued until 1954 when it ceased publication.
***The meaning of the very British term “shall I be mother” is “shall I pour the tea?”
****The Savoy Havana Band was a British dance band of the 1920s. It was resident at the Savoy Hotel, London, between 1921 and 1927. Players in the band included future American crooner Rudy Vallée and British pianist and composer Billy Mayerl.
*****“The Sheik of Araby” is a song that was written in 1921 by Harry B. Smith and Francis Wheeler, with music by Ted Snyder. It was composed in response to the popularity of the Rudolph Valentino feature film The Sheik. "The Sheik of Araby" was a Tin Pan Alley hit, and was also adopted by early jazz bands, especially in New Orleans, making it a jazz standard.
******Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon as she was known in 1922 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" She was one of Princess Mary’s eight bridesmaids at her 1922 wedding.
*******Mary, Princess Royal and Countess of Harewood (1897 – 1965), was the only daughter of King George V and Queen Mary. She was the sister of Kings Edward VIII and George VI, and aunt of Queen Elizabeth II. She married Viscount Lascelles on the 28th of February 1922 in a ceremony held at Westminster Abbey. The bride was only 24 years old, whilst the groom was 39. There is much conjecture that the marriage was an unhappy one, but their children dispute this and say it was a very happy marriage based upon mutual respect. The wedding was filmed by Pathé News and was the first royal wedding to be featured in fashion magazines, including Vogue.
This rather cluttered and chaotic scene of a drawing room cum workroom may look real to you, but believe it or not, it is made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. The natural yellow straw hat with white ribbon trim on the arm of the settee was made by an unknown artisan in the United Kingdom and was sold through Doreen Jeffrey’s Small Wonders miniatures shop. The red velvet hat covered with roses on the arm of the chair was made by an unknown British artisan. The two hats on the carpet were both acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom.
The copies of Weldon’s Dressmaker and the Lady’s World Fancy Work Book scattered about the room are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. The books on the bookshelf in the background are also made by Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, the magazines are non-opening, however what might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The concertina sewing box on casters which you can see spilling forth its contents is an artisan miniature made by an unknown artist in England. It comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the in the United Kingdom. All the box’s contents including spools of ribbons, threads scissors and buttons on cards came with the work box. The box can completely expand or contract, just like its life-sized equivalent.
The hand embroidered and home made cream and green pouffe, the black japanned fire screen, the black metal fire tools and the plant in the corner all also come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop.
Harriet’s family photos seen cluttering the mantlepiece and the bookshelf in the background are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are almost all from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each.
The porcelain clock on the mantlepiece is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. The pot of yellow and blue petunias on the mantlepiece has been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton. The castle shaped cottage orneé (pastille burner) on the bookshelf has been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. The bowl decorated with fruit on the bookshelf was hand decorated by British artisan Rachael Maundy.
The spools of threads, the tape measure, the silver sewing scissors in the shape of a stork and the box of embroidery threads I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House in the United Kingdom.
The tilt chess table in the middle of the room I bought from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The Edwardian tea set and cake plate on its surface come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom, whilst the biscuits on the plate come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The sewing basket that you can see just behind the straw hat sitting on the arm of the sofa I bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings. It is an artisan miniature and contains pieces of embroidery and embroidery threads.
The floral chintz settee and chair and the Art Nouveau china cabinet are made by J.B.M. miniatures who specialise in well made pieces of miniature furniture made to exacting standards.
The sewing machine to the left of the photo, I bought from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom. It is made with extreme attention to detail, complete with a painted black metal body, authentic sewing mechanisms and a worksurface “inlaid” with mother-of-pearl.
The Chinese carpet beneath the furniture is hand made by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia.
The Edwardian mantlepiece is made of moulded plaster and was acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House in the United Kingdom.
The bookshelf in the background comes from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late eighteenth century.
The paintings and prints on the walls all come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House in the United Kingdom.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
With a loud buzz, the electric doorbell announces the unexpected arrival of someone at the front door. Putting down the piece of table silver she is polishing, Edith, Lettice’s maid, goes to answer the front door, all the while wondering who is calling. Lettice usually advises Edith of any clients, existing or potential, who may be visiting, particularly because Edith needs to make sure that there are cakes and biscuits in the pantry to offer to them. Walking across the thick Chinese silk rug in the flat’s hallway, she can hear her mistress speaking animatedly on the telephone to a representative of Jeffrey and Company* from whom she is ordering papers for the dining room of her friend Minnie Palmerston. Lettice agreed to redecorate it before Christmas after Minnie asked her to, and work is now underway.
Edith opens the door to the dashing figure of Selwyn Spencely, the only son of the Duke of Walmsford, whom Lettice has been stepping out with, when their busy social diaries allow, since meeting him at her parent’s Hunt Ball last year. In his hands he holds a thick bunch of roses, a usual accessory every time he crosses the Cavendish Mews threshold.
“Good day, Edith. Is Miss Chetwynd home?”
“Mr. Spencely!” she gasps in surprise. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Yes, do come in.” She closes the front door and shuts out the cold January in the process. “It’s freezing out there. She’s just speaking with someone on the telephone in the drawing room, Sir, but I’ll announce you’re here.”
Shrugging out of his thick and expertly cut navy blue barathea coat, damp around the shoulders and down the back due the downpour outside, he lets it fall into Edith’s waiting arms. “Oh, don’t bother, Edith. I know my way. But if you could put these in some water for Miss Chetwynd.” He hands her the deep red roses which release a sweet fragrance as he does.
“Of course, Sir.” Edith replies, dropping a curtsey to her mistress’ guest.
As she turns to go, Selwyn calls after her, “Oh Edith! There will be a man with a large package knocking at the servants’ entrance shortly. When he does, just show him into the drawing room, will you?”
“Well yes, Sir.” Edith answers, her brow furrowing slightly. “But I…”
“It’s a surprise for Miss Chetwynd,” Selwyn interrupts her, giving her a winning smile and ending the conversation.
“Now just to confirm, it is the red dioxide metallic you are ordering, not the gold. Is that right?” Lettice asks in clearly enunciated tones down the telephone receiver as she sits at her Hepplewhite desk. “I don’t want the gold. It is rather expensive paper, and I’d hate for you to make a costly error.” She listens to the representative of Jeffrey and Company at the other end as he assures her that he has the correct details for her order. “Very well. And you’ll let me know when it arrives?” She listens again. “Very good. Good afternoon then.”
Lettice hangs up the receiver of the telephone with a half frustrated and half relieved sigh. In response the telephone utters a muffled ting of its bell as she hangs up. She begins scribbling notes in her black leather notebook with her silver fountain pen and with a rasp of nib against paper, she crosses off several things from her list for Minnie Palmerston’s dining room redecoration.
“I do like to see my favourite society interior designer, hard at work.” Selwyn pronounces, announcing his presence.
“Selwyn!” Lettice spins around in her chair, her eyes wide with shock as she sees him comfortably settled in one of her round white upholstered ebonised wood tub chairs. “What on earth are you doing here?” She self consciously pats the side of her elegantly marcelled** blonde hair and brushes her manicured fingers across the Peter Pan collar*** of her navy blue frock. “I wasn’t expecting you. What a delightful surprise!”
“Yes, your charming little maid was saying just the same thing not a moment ago when she answered the door to me.” Selwyn says, rising to his feet as Lettice rises to hers. “I just happened to be in the neighbourhood, and I thought I’d pop in, just on the off chance that you were here, to see how you are, my Angel. After all, I haven’t seen you since before Christmas.” He smiles warmly at his sweetheart who blushes prettily under his observant eye. “So I wanted to wish you all the very best for the season.”
“Oh yes!” Lettice breathes. “Happy 1923, Selwyn darling!” She stands up. “Are you stopping for long?”
“For a little while, my Angel.” he replies with an amused smile.
“Shall I ring for tea then?”
“Tea would be capital, my Angel. Thank you.”
Lettice depresses the servant’s call bell by the fireplace which she can hear echoing distantly in the kitchen. Edith appears moments later carrying a bulbous white vase containing the red roses Selwyn brough for Lettice as a gift.
“Oh Selwyn!” Lettice gasps. “Are these from you?” When he nods in acknowledgement, she adds. “They’re gorgeous!”
“Where would you like them, Miss?” she asks.
“Oh, on the telephone table, I think, Edith.” Lettice pronounces, as she picks up the telephone from her desk and walks it across the room, dragging the flex behind her, back to where it belongs.
“Very good, Miss.” Edith busily removes the vase of slightly withered yellow lilies and roses that were sitting on the table and replaces them with the roses. Picking up the other vase from where she placed it in the polished parquet floor she remarks, “There’s plenty of life left in these. I’ll pick through them and rearrange them in a smaller vase for you.”
“Oh no, you keep them, Edith. It will help brighten the kitchen up.” Lettice replies.
“That’s very kind of you, Miss. Thank you.”
“Oh, and could you please bring us some tea.”
“Yes Miss,” Edith answers with a bob curtsey. “Oh, and Mr. Spencely, that gentleman you mentioned is here. He’s in the kitchen at present. Shall I send him through?”
“Man? What man?” Lettice asks, glancing first at Edith and then at Selwyn.
“Yes, if you would, Edith. Thank you.”
“What man, Selwyn?” Lettice repeats to her beau as Edith retreats through the dining room and disappears through the green baize door into the service part of the flat.
Selwyn’s smile grows broader. “All will be revealed shortly, my Angel.” he assures her calmly.
The door Edith walked through opens and a workman carrying a large cardboard box steps across its threshold. Dressed in a flat cap damp from the rain outside and taupe coloured apron over a thick dark woollen jumper and black trousers, his face is florid with exertion as he breathes heavily and walks slowly.
“Ahh, put it down over here,” Selwyn commands as the deliveryman nears them, pointing with an indicating finger to the floor next to the table where Edith put the roses.
“You might ‘ave warned me I was goin’ ta have ta climb four flights of stairs with this, Guv!” the man huffs as he lowers the box onto the floor. He groans as he returns to an upright position and removes his cap. Withdrawing a grubby white kerchief from his pocket he wipes his brow before returning his cap to his head. He dabs his face with his kerchief as he inhales and exhales with laboured, rasping breaths.
“Good heavens!” Lettice gasps. “What on earth is in that box that’s so heavy?”
“Oh it’s not that ‘eavy, Mum,” the deliveryman pants. “If youse only takin’ it from room ta room.” He wipes the back of his neck with his kerchief. “Only if youse ‘oistin’ it up four flights of stairs!”
Selwyn ignores the deliveryman’s protestations as his focuses his attentions solely on Lettice. “I promised you when I had to withdraw from accompanying you to Priscilla’s wedding, that I was going to make it up to you, and this,” He taps the top of the box. “Is it!”
“What on earth is it?” Lettice asks with excitement and intrigue.
The red faced workman opens the box lid and delves into its interior. Newspaper scrunches noisily as he withdraws a shining lump of burnished brass with three fine finials which he places with a heavy laboured huff onto the telephone console.
“It’s a wireless, my Angel!” Selwyn says with a sweeping gesture towards the apparatus gleaming under the light of the chandelier overhead. “Merry Christmas, happy New Year,” He pauses. “And I’m sorry, all in one!”
“A wireless!” Lettice gasps. “Oh Selwyn, darling!” She jumps up from her seat next to the wireless and runs around the black japanned coffee table, throwing her arms around his neck. She looks over at the gleaming piece of new machinery with three knobs on the front below an ornamental piece of fretwork protecting some mesh fabric behind it. “How generous! I love it, darling!” She breaks away from Selwyn, her face suddenly clouding. “Oh, don’t you need a licence to have a radio?”
“The gent’s already paid fur it, Mum.” the workman says, reaching into the front pocket of his apron and withdrawing a slightly crumpled envelope. “Ten shillin’s, paid for through the General Post Office****.” He hands her the envelope.
“Ten shillings!” Lettice looks at Selwyn aghast. “On top of the apparatus itself. It must have cost a fortune!”
“Oh, it does, Mum!” the workman begins before being silenced by a sweeping gesture and a steely look from Selwyn. “Sorry, Guv.” He falls silent.
Turning back to Lettice, Selwyn continues, “It’s worth it to provide some pleasure to you, my Angel.”
“Oh Selwyn darling! You are a brick!” Lettice exhales in delight as she feels his hands pull her closer to him and kisses the top of her head tenderly. “But how does it operate?”
“Our good man here can tell you that better than I can, my darling.” Selwyn replies.
“Oh its really quite easy, Mum.” the workman assures Lettice. “It runs on a battery, oh, but just be careful! It’s an acid battery,” He points to his apron where his knees are. “So just watch yerself when youse moves it. Better youse ‘n yer maid move it togevva, side by side like, than youse on yer own, Mum.” He adds. “Turn it on ‘n off wiv this knob.” He points to the button on the left-hand side. “Turn the volume up or down wiv this knob.” He turns the button left and right. “And use the middle one to tune the wireless in.”
“Tune it in?” Lettice asks.
“Yes, Mum. ‘Ere I’ll show yer.” He leans down and turns the left knob to the right and it releases a satisfyingly crisp click. “We’ll just wait for the valves to warm up.” Slowly a quiet crackle begins behind the mesh. “This ‘ere’s the speaker, Mum.” He points to the fretwork covered mesh at the top of the wireless. “Sound‘ll come outta ‘ere.” he continues, feeling the need to clarify.
Just as Edith walks into the drawing room with a silver tray laden with tea things, the wireless releases a strangulated roar, making a juddering cacophony of discordant racket.
“Good heavens what’s that awful noise?” the young maid gasps, her eyes wide in horror as she allows the tray to clatter roughly onto the surface of the coffee table.
“It’s just the wireless warming up, Edith.” Selwyn assures her in a calm voice. “Do stay and watch this marvel of the modern age.”
“Marvel of the modern age!” Edith scoffs. “That infernal contraption is more than enough,” She glares at the shiny silver and black Bakelite***** telephone. “Without us having more gadgets around here.”
“Oh, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud, Edith.” Lettice chides her maid mildly over the sound of the wireless static.
“This, my dear Edith,” Selwyn pronounces with a satisfied sigh. “Is the sign of the new age! Soon everyone will have one of these.”
“Heaven help us all then!” Edith rolls her eyes.
“And like I says, yer tune it wiv this knob, Mum.”
The workman starts to slowly turn the knob to the right, and as he does, the static sounds change, growing momentarily louder and then softer, and then slowly the discordant cacophony of harsh sounds starts to dissipate as music begins to be heard in its place. Very quickly the static is gone and the strains of violins and piano stream through the wireless speaker as ‘Londonderry Air’****** plays.
“Well, I never!” gasps Edith. “Its like having your own private band to play for you in that little box!”
“That it is, Miss.” agrees the workman.
“Oh, it’s wonderful, Selwyn darling!” Lettice exclaims, throwing her arms around his neck before kissing him with delight on the cheek.
And just for a little while, Lettice, Selwyn, Edith and the workman all stand and look at the shiny new wireless, enjoying the beautiful music drifting from its speaker.
The introduction of a radio, or a wireless as it was then known as, is the first real change we have seen to Lettice’s drawing room since we first met her two years ago, and in many ways it represents the spirit of change that the 1920s have become synonymous with. The British Broadcasting Company, as the BBC was originally called, was formed on the 18th of October 1922 by a group of leading wireless manufacturers including Marconi. Daily broadcasting by the BBC began in Marconi's London studio, 2LO, in the Strand, on November the 14th, 1922. John Reith, a thirty-three-year-old Scottish engineer, was appointed General Manager of the BBC at the end of 1922. Following the closure of numerous amateur stations, the BBC started its first daily radio service in London – 2LO. After much argument, news was supplied by an agency, and music drama and “talks” filled the airwaves for only a few hours a day. It wasn't long before radio could be heard across the nation, especially when radio stations were set up outside of London, like on the 6th of March when the BBC first broadcast from Glasgow via station 5SC.
*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.
**Marcelling is a hair styling technique in which hot curling tongs are used to induce a curl into the hair. Its appearance was similar to that of a finger wave but it is created using a different method. Marcelled hair was a popular style for women's hair in the 1920s, often in conjunction with a bob cut. For those women who had longer hair, it was common to tie the hair at the nape of the neck and pin it above the ear with a stylish hair pin or flower. One famous wearer was American entertainer, Josephine Baker.
***A Peter Pan collar is a style of clothing collar, flat in design with rounded corners. It is named after the collar of Maude Adams's costume in her 1905 role as Peter Pan, although similar styles had been worn before this date. Peter Pan collars were particularly fashionable during the 1920s and 1930s.
****With the advent of radio, as of the 18th of January, 1923, the Postmaster General granted the BBC a licence to broadcast. A licence fee of ten shillings was charged per wireless set sold, purchased through the General Post Office. Amateur wireless enthusiasts avoided paying the licence by making their own receivers and listeners bought rival unlicensed sets.
*****Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.
******The "Londonderry Air" is an Irish air that originated in County Londonderry. It is popular among the North American Irish diaspora and is well known throughout the world. The tune is played as the victory sporting anthem of Northern Ireland at the Commonwealth Games. The song "Danny Boy" uses the tune, with a set of lyrics written in the early Twentieth Century.
This 1920s upper-class drawing room is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures, including items from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Central to our story, the brass wireless, which is remarkably heavy for its size, comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Supplies in the United Kingdom.
Lettice’s tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The green tinted glass comport on the coffee table , spun from real glass, is also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
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.
In front of the telephone sits a paperback novel from the late 1920s created by miniature British artisan, Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. What might amaze you 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 these books miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The vase of red roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.
Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden chair is a Chippendale design and has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric. The mirror backed back japanned china cabinet is Chippendale too. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child.
To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.
The geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
Passing a well known rail photo location at the Bluff Road overlook, two of Watco / Kaw River Railroad's newest acquisitions lead a northbound transfer along Kansas City Terminal's serpentine route at Old Union Depot Interlocking in Kansas City, Missouri's West Bottoms. July 14, 2023.
The two former Union Pacific SD60M's, the first six axle Watco road power to work in the Kansas City area are a welcome sight supplementing the group of four axle geeps and switchers that have dominated the roster since taking over switching and transfer duties along Kansas City Terminal Railroad trackage.
Watco / Kaw River Railroad 6033 was originally Union Pacific 6223 built in September, 1990 while trailing locomotive 6032 was originally UP 6218 also built in September, 1990. The SD60M's have been spotted operating in pairs as shown or just one coupled to a four axle geep while even occasionally handling transfers running solo.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not at Cavendish Mews, although we are still in Mayfair, moving a few streets away to Hill Street, where Edith, Lettice’s maid, and her beau, grocery boy Frank Leadbetter, are visiting Edith’s friend and fellow maid Hilda. It is a beautiful, sunny Sunday and Sundays all three have as days off from their jobs as domestic servants and delivery boy. Taking advantage of this, all three are going to spend the afternoon at Hammersmith Palias de Danse*. As usual, Frank collects Edith from Cavendish Mews and the pair then go to the home of Lettice’s married friends Margot and Dickie Channon, where Hilda works as a live-in maid.
Being Hilda’s day off, her employers usually decamp for the day, and today they are visiting their friend Priscilla who recently married American dry goods heir Georgie Carter. The pair have just returned to London from their honeymoon which took in much of Europe before visiting Georgie’s family in Philadelphia. The quartet will dine at the Café Royal**, doubtless at the expense of Georgie since the Channons seem perpetually to have financial difficulties, but as a result, the Channons have invited the Carters back to their Hill Street flat for after supper coffee, which means that Hilda must do one of her most hated jobs: grind coffee beans to make real coffee for Georgie Carter, who is particular about his American style coffee. We find the trio in the kitchen of the Hill Street flat, the ladies’ dancing frocks and Frank’s suit at odds with their surrounds as Hilda grinds the coffee beans sitting in a white china bowl in the large wooden and brass coffee grinder. By preparing the coffee, ready to make before she goes out, it will be easy to serve when her employers and their guests return after dinner, and the beans will still be fresh enough for Georgie’s liking.
“You know,” Frank remarks as he stands at Edith’s elbow and watches Hilda turn the handle of the coffee grinder with gusto. “I don’t see why they can’t just drink Camp Coffee*** like the rest of us.”
“Oh Frank!” gasps Edith, looking up at her beau and patting his hand with her own as he squeezes her left shoulder lovingly. “You know perfectly well why not, Frank. Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s friend, Mr. Carter is an American gentleman, and just like Miss Wanetta Ward the American moving picture star, he doesn’t like British coffee.”
“What rot!” Frank scoffs at the suggestion. “There’s nothing wrong with British coffee! If British coffee isn’t to Mr. Carter’s taste, let him have tea then, and save poor Hilda the effort of having to grind up coffee beans for his lordship.” He slips off the jacket of his smart Sunday blue suit, revealing his crisp white shirt, red tie and smart navy blue vest. He drapes it over the back of the Windsor chair Edith sits in. “Come on old girl,” he says to Hilda as he moves around the deal pine kitchen table. “Give me a go then. Give your arms a chance to recuperate before we go dancing.”
“You’re such a Socialist, Frank Leadbetter.” pipes up Hilda as with a grunt, she pushes the handle of the grinder mechanism over a particularly recalcitrant coffee bean.
“What?” gasps Frank as he takes over grinding from the grateful maid. “I thought you’d come to my defence, Hilda, especially as I’m being so chivalrous as to grind coffee beans for you.”
“Oh I am grateful, Frank, ever so.” Hilda replies, rubbing her aching forearms with her fat, sausage like fingers. “But just because you are being gallant, doesn’t mean I can’t call you a Socialist.”
“Because a hard working man like me thinks I’m every bit as good as this friend of your Mr. and Mrs. Channon, I’m now a Socialist?” Frank asks in an appalled voice. “You’re as bad as Edith’s mum.” He nods in his sweetheart’s direction.
“Mum thinks Frank might be a Communist.” Edith explains. “Even though we’ve both told her that he isn’t.”
“Handsome is as handsome does.” remarks Hilda with a cheeky smile as she glances at Frank winding the red knob topped brass handle of the grinder.
“I’m neither, I’ll have you know, Hilda Clerkenwell!” Frank retorts. “I’d prefer to think of myself as more of a progressive thinker when it comes to the rights and privileges of the working man,” He looks poignantly at Hilda. “And woman.”
“Same thing.” Hilda retorts matter-of-factly as she starts to straighten the russet grosgrain bandeau**** embellished with gold sequins which has slipped askew whilst she has been grinding coffee beans.
“Pardon my ignorance,” Edith begins gingerly. “But what exactly is a Socialist?”
“Socialism is a political movement that wants to reform various economic and social systems, transferring them to social ownership as opposed to private ownership.” remarks Hilda as she runs her hands down the back of her hair.
“Well done, Hilda!” Frank congratulates her.
“You sound surprised, Frank.” Hilda says with a cheeky smile. “Don’t they have smart girls where you come from, present company excluded, Edith!” Hilda adds hurriedly so as not to offend her best friend.”
“Oh, you know I’m not very political,” Edith assures Hilda, yet at the same time self consciously toys with her blonde waves as she speaks.
“I must confess, Hilda, I am a little surprised.” Frank admits. “I don’t know many girls who are interested in social rights and can give explanations so eloquently.”
“I’m so sorry Frank!” Edith defends herself. “I know you’ve tried to teach me, but I can’t help it. I get confused between this ist and the other ist. They all seem the same to me.” She blushes with mild embarrassment at her own ignorance.
“No, no, Edith!” Frank assures her as he stops grinding the coffee beans and reaches out his left hand, clasping her right one as it rests on the tabletop and squeezes it reassuringly. “This isn’t a criticism of you! It was a compliment to Hilda. You’re wonderful, and there are things that you understand and are far better at than me.”
“Than both of us, Edith.” adds Hilda quickly, the look of concern about her friend taking umbrage clear on her round face.
“Yes, inconsequential things.” Edith mumbles in a deflated tone.
“No, not at all.” Frank reassures her soothingly as he takes up grinding coffee again. “What good am I to myself if I can’t cook a meal to feed myself.”
“And for all my love of reading, Edith, you know I can’t sew a stitch.” Hilda appends. “I could never have made this beautiful frock.” She grasps the edge of the strap of her russet coloured art satin***** dress as she speaks. “Not in a million years. We’re all good at different things, and no-one could say you weren’t smart, Edith.”
“That’s right.” Frank concurs, smiling at his sweetheart. “One of the reasons why I’ve always admired you is because you aren’t some silly giggling Gertie****** like some of the housemaids I’ve known. You aren’t turned by just a handsome face, and your head isn’t filled with moving picture stars and nothing else.”
“Well, I do like moving picture stars, Frank.” Edith confesses.
“Oh I know, Edith, and I love you for that too.” Frank reassures her. “But it’s not all that is in there. You have a good head on your shoulders.”
“And a wise one too.” Hilda interjects. “How often do I ask you for advice? I’ve always asked you for your opinion on things for as long as we’ve been friends.”
“You are clever, and insightful, and you want a better life for yourself too, and that’s why I really love you. We want the same things from life.” Frank says in a soft and soothing tone full of love as he gazes at Edith. “You are very pretty, and no-one can deny that – not even you,” He holds out an admonishing finger as Edith goes to refute his remark. “But beauty, however glorious will fade. Just look at our Dowager Queen Mother*******. When beauty fades, wit and intelligence remain, and you have both of those qualities in spades, Edith.”
“Oh Frank.” Edith breathes softly. “You aren’t ashamed of me then?”
“Of course I’m not Edith! How could I ever be ashamed of you? I’m as proud as punch******** to step out with you! You’re my best girl.”
Frank winds the gleaming brass coffee grinder handle a few more times before stopping. He pulls out the drawer at the bottom and as he does, the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans fills the air around them, wafting up his, Edith and Hilda’s nostrils. He sighs with satisfaction at a job well done.
“Good enough for his American lordship?” Frank asks Hilda.
She peers into the drawer. “Good enough.” she acknowledges with another of her cheeky smirks, nodding affirmatively.
“I still think he could jolly well grind his own, you know, Hilda!” Frank opines.
“Socialist.” she laughs in reply as she walks around Frank, withdraws the drawer of ground coffee and knocks the contents into the small, worn Delftware coffee cannister with careful taps, so as not to spill and waste any of the hard-won grinds.
“I bet you, your Wanetta Ward doesn’t grind her own coffee, Edith.” Frank goes on as he walks back around to Edith and slips his jacket on again.
“I bet you she does, Frank!” Edith counters.
“What? A moving picture star grinding her own coffee? I don’t believe it!”
“Miss Ward is a very unorthodox person, Frank, even for an American.” she assures him. “I think she might surprise you if you ever get the pleasure of meeting her one day.”
“Maybe.” Frank says doubtfully. “Well now that coffee is ground, we should really get going.” He runs his hands around the back of his jacket collar to make sure it is sitting straight. “The Hammersmith Palais waits for no-one, not even those who slave for undeserving Americans.” He laughs good heartedly. “Shall we go?”
“Oh yes!” enthuses Edith as Frank chivalrously pulls out her chair for her as she stands up. “I’ll fetch our coats.”
With her pretty blue floral sprigged frock swirling about her figure, Edith hurries over to the pegs by the door where Frank’s, Hilda’s and her own coat and hats hang. She moves lightly across the floor, practicing her dance steps as she goes, silently moving to the music she hears the band playing in her head.
“I really wonder why I bother sometimes.” Hilda says despondently as she pulls her brown coat on over the top of the luxurious man-made silk frock that Edith made for her and decorated with lace trimming and small bursts of sequins.
“Like I said,” Frank mutters. “He should settle for Camp Coffee like the rest of us, or have tea.”
“Not grinding coffee, Frank!” Hilda scoffs in reply. “I mean go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais week after week. What’s the point?”
“What do you mean, Hilda?” Edith asks gently, slipping her arms into her own black three-quarter length coat as Frank holds to open for her.
“I mean why do I bother going dancing when no man at the Palais ever looks at me, even in this beautiful new frock you made me, Edith.” She picks up the lace trimmed hem of her dance dress and lifts it despondently.
Edith and Frank both glance anxiously at one another for a moment. Both know they are thinking exactly the same thing. What Hilda says is true. Whenever the three of them go to the Hammersmith Palais de Danse there are always far more women in attendance than men. The Great War decimated the male population, and almost drove an entire generation of young men into extinction. Sadly, this means that more and more women are finding themselves without a gentleman to step out with, and are deemed surplus to needs by society. In spite of any of his faults, Edith knows how lucky she is to have a young man like Frank. Even the attentions of pretty girls are less in demand with fewer men in circulation desiring their company. Unlike Edith, Hilda is a little on the plump side, enjoying the indulgence of sticky buns from the bakers and an extra serving of Victoria Sponge at the Lyons Corner Shop********* at the top of Tottenham Court Road. Her face is friendly, with soft brown eyes and a warm smile, but she isn’t pretty. Even with the judicious application of a little powder and rouge acquired from the make-up counter of Selfridges********** her skin lacks the fresh gleam that Edith has, and for as long as she has known her, Edith has always found Hilda to have a very pale complexion. When the three of them do go dancing, Frank is often the only man she dances with when he partners her around the dancefloor, and more often than not, Hilda ends up taking the part of the man, dancing with any number of other neglected wallflowers, just to ward of the tedium of waiting for someone to ask her to dance. The plight, for plight it was, of women like Hilda was all too common, in the post-war world of the 1920s.
“Perhaps you’re looking in the wrong place, Hilda.” Frank says.
“What do mean, Frank?”
“Well, a girl with brains like you needs a man who will stimulate her mentally. Perhaps you might find the man of your dreams at a library.”
“A library!” Hilda’s mind conjures up images of pale bookish young men in glasses with phlegmatic characters who would much rather shake her hand limply and discuss the benefits of Socialism, rather than sweep her off her feet romantically.
“Not at all helpful, Frank!” hisses Edith as she watches her best friend’s face fall.
“I was only joking.” Frank shrugs apologetically, unsure what to say.
Edith hurries over and wraps her arm around Hilda’s slumping shoulders consolingly. “A faint heart never won a fair lady, Hilda.” She pulls Hilda to her lovingly. Hilda looks up at her friend sadly, yet thoughtfully. “And I think it works the same in reverse.”
Seeing a way to make amends for his ill-timed joke, Frank pipes up, “That’s exactly right, Hilda. Edith wouldn’t have been anywhere near as attractive to me if she hadn’t had a bit of pluck.”
“And you look splendid in the dance frock I made for you, Hilda,” Edith adds. “Really you do.”
“Do you really think so, Edith?” Hilda asks, looking at her friend.
“Of course I do! I’m a professional seamstress, and you are my best friend. I wouldn’t make something that didn’t suit you!”
“No, no of course not.” Hilda replies.
“And didn’t Mrs. Minkin say that russet satin would suit your colourings?”
“She did.”
“Well then,” Edith replies matter-of-factly. “There is nothing more to be said.”
“That’s right.” agrees Frank, and without further ado, he sweeps Hilda into his arms.
With the ease of a natural dancer, Frank begins to waltz his partner carefully across the black and white chequered linoleum floor of the Channon’s kitchen, guiding her around the kitchen table and the chairs gathered around it, past the black and white stove and the dresser cluttered with crockery and provisions.
“Oh Frank!” Hilda says, laughing joyously as she allows herself to be swept away. “You really are a one!”
Edith smiles as she sees a light return to her best friend’s eyes, and a smile appear upon her pert lips. She considers herself so fortunate not just because she has a chap to step out with, but because Frank is so kind and considerate. Not just any man would understand or appreciate Edith’s wish to include Hilda in their excursions to the Hammersmith Palais de Danse, and not every man would be as willing to take a turn with her on the dancefloor, as has been proven. Then again, Frank is no ordinary man, and as time goes on and she gets to know him better, the more she is becoming aware that her sweetheart is a very special man indeed. She laughs as Frank dips Hilda, making her squeal in delight, before raising her up again and restoring her to her feet.
“There!” Frank says with a huff as he catches his breath. “Now that your feet are suitably warmed up, you’re ready to go, Miss Clerkenwell. We’ll have no more talk of you not wanting to come dancing with us.”
“Today might be the day you meet someone, Hilda. Don’t give up on the chance.” Edith enthuses.
“Oh alright you two!” Hilda acquiesces. “I give up. Let’s go then.”
“That’s the spirit, Hilda!” Frank says. “That pluck will win you a fine and handsome gentleman with a brain that you deserve.”
“I can hardly battle both of you, can I?” Hilda laughs as she carefully places her floppy brimmed brown velvet and copper faille poke-style bonnet decorated with a beige rose and leaves atop her head.
The three friends walk out of the kitchen door that leads out onto the flat’s back stairs and begin to descend to the street. Hilda locks the door behind her and the coffee grinder and the as of yet to be ground coffee beans sit on the table, ready for when she returns later that day to serve to Margot, Dickie and their friends Priscilla and Georgie Carter.
*The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.
**The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.
***Camp Coffee is a concentrated syrup which is flavoured with coffee and chicory, first produced in 1876 by Paterson & Sons Ltd, in Glasgow. In 1974, Dennis Jenks merged his business with Paterson to form Paterson Jenks plc. In 1984, Paterson Jenks plc was bought by McCormick & Company. Legend has it (mainly due to the picture on the label) that Camp Coffee was originally developed as an instant coffee for military use. The label is classical in tone, drawing on the romance of the British Raj. It includes a drawing of a seated Gordon Highlander (supposedly Major General Sir Hector MacDonald) being served by a Sikh soldier holding a tray with a bottle of essence and jug of hot water. They are in front of a tent, at the apex of which flies a flag bearing the drink's slogan, "Ready Aye Ready". A later version of the label, introduced in the mid-20th century, removed the tray from the picture, thus removing the infinite bottles element and was seen as an attempt to avoid the connotation that the Sikh was a servant, although he was still shown waiting while the kilted Scottish soldier sipped his coffee. The current version, introduced in 2006, depicts the Sikh as a soldier, now sitting beside the Scottish soldier, and with a cup and saucer of his own. Camp Coffee is an item of British nostalgia, because many remember it from their childhood. It is still a popular ingredient for home bakers making coffee-flavoured cake and coffee-flavoured buttercream. In late 1975, Camp Coffee temporarily became a popular alternative to instant coffee in the UK, after the price of coffee doubled due to shortages caused by heavy frosts in Brazil.
****A bandeau is a narrow band of fabric worn round the head to hold the hair in position. Although bandeaus existed long before the 1920s, there was a resurgence in popularity for embroidered grosgrain ribbons to be worn around the head across the forehead in the 1920s, and they are synonymous with 1920s flapper fashion.
*****The first successful artificial silks were developed in the 1890s of cellulose fibre and marketed as art silk or viscose, a trade name for a specific manufacturer. In 1924, the name of the fibre was officially changed in the U.S. to rayon, although the term viscose continued to be used in Europe.
******Although obscure as to its origin, the term “giggling Gertie” is of English derivation and was often used in a derisive way to describe silly children and young people, usually girls, who were deemed as being flippant and foolish.
*******Queen Alexandra was Queen of the United Kingdom and the British Dominions, and Empress of India, from the twenty-second of January 1901 to the sixth of May 1910 as the wife of King-Emperor Edward VII. Daughter of King Christian IX of Denmark, at the age of sixteen Alexandra was chosen as the future wife of Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, the son and heir apparent of Queen Victoria. When she arrived in England she was famed for her beauty and her style of dress and bearing were copied by fashion-conscious women. From Edward's death, Alexandra was queen mother, being a dowager queen and the mother of the reigning monarch. Alexandra retained a youthful appearance into her senior years, but during the Great War her age caught up with her. She took to wearing elaborate veils and heavy makeup, which was described by gossips as having her face "enamelled".
********Although today we tend to say as “pleased as punch”, the Victorian term actually began as “proud as punch”. This expression refers to the Punch and Judy puppet character. Punch's name comes from Punchinello, an Italian puppet with similar characteristics. In Punch and Judy shows, the grotesque Punch is portrayed as self-satisfied and pleased with his evil actions.
*********J. Lyons and Co. was a British restaurant chain, food manufacturing, and hotel conglomerate founded in 1884 by Joseph Lyons and his brothers in law, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein. Lyons’ first teashop opened in Piccadilly in 1894, and from 1909 they developed into a chain of teashops, with the firm becoming a staple of the High Street in the United Kingdom. At its peak the chain numbered around two hundred cafes. The teashops provided for tea and coffee, with food choices consisting of hot dishes and sweets, cold dishes and sweets, and buns, cakes and rolls. Lyons' Corner Houses, which first appeared in 1909 and remained until 1977, were noted for their Art Deco style. Situated on or near the corners of Coventry Street, Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and other products. In addition, they possessed hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time, the Corner Houses were open twenty-four hours a day, and at their peak each branch employed around four hundred staff including their famous waitresses, commonly known as Nippies for the way they nipped in and out between the tables taking orders and serving meals. The tea houses featured window displays, and, in the post-war period, the Corner Houses were smarter and grander than the local tea shops. Between 1896 and 1965 Lyons owned the Trocadero, which was similar in size and style to the Corner Houses.
********** Selfridges, also known as Selfridges & Co., is a chain of upscale department stores in the United Kingdom that is operated by Selfridges Retail Limited, part of the Selfridges Group of department stores. It was founded by Harry Gordon Selfridge in 1908. Harry Gordon Selfridge, Sr. was an American-British retail magnate who founded the London-based department store. His twenty year leadership of Selfridge’s led to his becoming one of the most respected and wealthy retail magnates in the United Kingdom. He was known as the 'Earl of Oxford Street'.
***********Faille is a type of cloth with flat ribs, often made in silk. It has a softer texture than grosgrain, with heavier and wider cords or ribs. Weft yarns are heavier than warp, and it is manufactured in plain weaving. It was especially popular in the Nineteenth Century, and its popularity, although somewhat dwindling, did carry through into the early decades of the Twentieth Century.
This cosy domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:
On Hilda’s deal table stands her coffee grinder with its brass handle, wooden base and drawer, and red knobs. It comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The little Delftware canister and the white china bowl also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. The coffee beans in the bowl are really black carraway seeds. The vase of flowers comes from an online shop on E-Bay.
Hilda’s Windsor chair is a hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniature which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat, but it is definitely an unmarked artisan piece.
In the background you can see a very modern and up-to-date 1920s gas stove. It would have been expensive to instal at the time, and it would have been the cook’s or maid’s pleasure to cook on and in. It would have included a thermostat for perfect cooking and without the need of coal, it was much cleaner to feed, use and easier to clean. It is not unlike those made by the Roper Stove Company in the 1920s. The Roper Stove Company previously named the Florence-Wehrle Company among other names, was founded in 1883. Located in Newark, Ohio, the company was once the largest stove producer in the world. Today, the Roper Stove Company is a brand of Whirlpool.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however, on this fine summer day, we are following Lettice as she and Gerald head south-west through the London streets in Gerald’s little Morris*. Taking the Brompton Road, they drive through Belgravia and then Chelsea as Brompton Road becomes Fulham Road. They drive past the Brompton Cemetery and through the historic centre of Walham Green before going on through Fulham, finally turning south along the Fulham High Street. Passing the Hurlingham Club along the banks of the Thames they continue to go south.
As Gerald drives his Morris over the Thames on Putney Bridge, Lettice glances around her. “I thought you were taking me to buy a new hat, Gerald.”
“I am Lettice darling.” he replies good naturedly.
“But this isn’t Bond Street. Far from it, in fact.” she counters as they reach the south side of the bridge, and she takes in a semi-circle of tall two and three storey Victorian and Edwardian brick buildings to their right and the crenelled tower of a stone church on their left. “Where are you taking me?”
“For a woman who has lived in London for nearly two years, you haven’t strayed far from Mayfair, have you Lettuce Leaf?” Gerald observes with a smirk.
“Don’t call me that Gerald! You know how I hate it! If you weren’t driving this car, “ scowls Lettice. “I’d hit you with my handbag.”
“Think of this like your own personal tour of Putney.”
“Putney?” Lettice’s eyes grow wide. “You’re taking me to a hatters in Putney?”
“Don’t be such an elitist Lettuce Leaf.”
Sulking in her seat, clutching her handbag with her arms folded across her chest she mutters, “That’s rich coming from you, the man who bemoans middle-class money paying for the acquisition of his frocks.”
“Just sit back, relax and enjoy the view, darling.” Gerald replies breezily as he turns off the Putney High Street and into a tree lined avenue which Lettice reads as being Hazlewell Road.
The pair drive in silence for a little while, Gerald concentrating on where they are going and Lettice looking at the view as Gerald suggested from her vantage point in the passenger seat alongside him.
“The houses seem awfully samey here, don’t you think?” she asks as they pass double storey Edwardian villa after double storey Edwardian villa made of red brick with bay windows, set in neat gardens behind privet hedges or low brick fences.
“No more than Pimlico,” Gerald observes. “Just newer is all.”
Gerald’s Morris finally pulls up in front of one such Edwardian villa. Lettice looks out of her door at it. The villa looks exactly the same as all the others on that side of the street: red brick with crenelled bay windows upstairs and down to either side of a porticoed door. In fact, the portico is one of the few differences that distinguish it from its neighbours either side. It has an arched portico which matches the arch in the lunette above the white painted front door, whereas its neighbours have square porticos with crenelling that matches that along the tops of the bay windows. Two banks of chimneypots at either side of the villa rise from the steeply hipped roof of shingles and a central attic balconette with French doors is flanked by oriel windows.
“Now, I want you to be good, Lettuce Leaf!” Gerald cautions his friend with a wagging finger encapsulated by his Dents driving glove**. “This is the home of Harriet Milford. Her father was a family solicitor. He died last year, leaving her an orphan. The house he left to her, but with no other real inheritance. With no income, so to speak, she has taken in lodgers.”
Lettice screws up her face in horror. “Lodgers! You’ve brought me to a lodging ho…”
“I said behave, Lettuce Leaf!” Gerald scolds her, arching his eyebrows. “I haven’t finished talking yet. Mr. Milford believed in education, but sadly only for boys. He wasn’t expecting to pass away before his daughter married, so without any employable skills, she’s turned her hand to what she can do.”
“And how did you come to meet this, Harriet Milford?” Lettice asks, her mouth a thin red lipsticked line of disapproval with turned down ends.
“She and I frequent the same haberdashers. After running into one another several times, I finally asked her what she did to buy so much ribbon and so many artificial flowers. And that was when she told me that having no real skill other than sewing, after her father died, as well as take in lodgers, she has turned her hand to millinery to make end meet.”
“I hope, my dear Gerald, that you aren’t expecting me to buy a hat from her out of pity.”
“Not at all, my dear. I’ve been here a number of times now, to take tea with Harriet, and I can assure you that her hat making skills rival that of Madame Gwendolyn. Already she has gained quite a reputation amongst the local ladies.”
Lettice snorts dismissively at the thought of the middle-class matrons of Putney and their choices of millinery.
Undeterred, Gerald continues, “Since Sadie has forbidden you to wear a hat from Selfridges to Leslie’s wedding, and I can’t say I disagree…”
“My hats from Sel…”
“I still haven’t finished!” Gerald interrupts his friend. “Since Sadie won’t let you wear a Selfridges hat to the wedding, and I won’t sit next to you at the wedding breakfast if you do, and you won’t go back to Madame Gwendolyn, I thought Harriet’s hat making skills would be the perfect solution. Now, come.” He puts his hand on the handle of his door and pushes it down, opening it slightly. He pauses just before getting out and turns back to his friend. “And remember to behave.”
“I always behave, Gerald!” Lettice defends herself as she opens her own door and steps out onto the sunny footpath.
Gerald walks around the front of the car and joins Lettice on the footpath. “Shall we?” he proffers his arm to his friend, which she accepts.
They step up to the black painted wrought iron gate flanked by two capped red brick pillars. Gerald opens the gate and together they walk in and up the garden path snaking across a well clipped lawn. Standing beneath the arched portico, Lettice can hear the notes of an oboe being played through one of the oriel windows open above. “That will be Cyril.” Gerald remarks as he depresses the doorbell next to the front door. The hollow ring that resounds through the hallway within is answered by a pair of scuttling footsteps as the front door is flung open exuberantly.
“Gerry darling!” gasps a young woman around Lettice’s age who throws her arms enthusiastically and perhaps a little overly familiarly around Gerald’s neck.
Lettice feels a momentary pang of jealousy in her stomach as she sees Gerald return Harriet’s enthusiastic embrace in a way that she thought only she and Gerald shared. With a quick flutter of her eyelashes, she dismisses the thought, but the pang in her stomach does not go away.
“Hullo Hattie darling!” He holds her at arm’s length. “My you do look well.”
“I sold another two hats yesterday, so I’m tickled pink, Gerry darling!” she gushes with a girlish giggle and a proud smile.
Lettice tries to force a cough. At the sound of Lettice gently clearing her throat, the spell between Gerald and Harriet is broken and Gerald quickly returns his attentions to Lettice. “Harriet, may I present my childhood chum, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd. Lettice, Miss Harriet Milford.”
Lettice takes in Harriet’s appearance from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. Looking more closely at her Lettice decides that she is actually possibly a year or two younger than she and Gerald are, with mousy brown hair cut into a soft bob. Her floral cotton frock with its drop waist and side flounces must surely be home made, yet it is obviously made well as it sits on her slender figure every bit as smartly as Lettice’s outfit, which has been expertly cut for her by Gerald. Her shoes show the wear of a few years and her stockings have been carefully mended. She looks across at Lettice with a pretty face, free of makeup. Her brown eyes are like deep pools, clear and bright, and they are framed by naturally long lashes.
“How do you do, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet says in a polite and well bred voice.
“How do you do, Miss Milford.” she replies, returning Harriet’s open smile with a polite one of her own.
“Tut, tut, Hattie!” Gerald says, reaching across and plucking a piece of red cotton off Harriet’s shoulder, which Lettice finds an uncomfortably intimate gesture. Holding it out in front of Harriet he continues, “You mustn’t be answering the door wearing loose threads.” He smiles cheekily.
“Oh I’m busy making a new hat to replenish my stocks.” Harriet replies, blushing as she lowers her lids, and holds out her hands to accept the trailing thread of red. “Please, come this way Miss Chetwynd,” she adds, ushering Lettice and Gerald into the house. “You know the way Gerry darling.”
“Gerry darling?” Lettice queries quietly with a cocked eyebrow and a mirthful smile as she slips past the blushing Gerald and follows her hostess across the threshold into the black and white tiled hallway stuffed with Edwardian vestibule furniture.
“Please make yourself comfortable in here, Miss Chetwynd,” Harriet says, flinging open the first door on the left side of the hallway and indicating with an extended arm for Lettice to enter. “I’ll be like Polly and pop the kettle on. Back in a jiffy*** my dears!” And with scuttling footsteps she disappears into the gloom of the house further down the hallway.
Walking into the room as she has been told, Lettice gazes around it. Noting the flouncy Edwardian settee an matching armchair by the fire she remarks, “This is obviously the parlour.” Noticing a sewing machine sitting in the bay window where it can get the best light she adds, “Or was.”
It is then, as Gerald indicates with an open gesture to what must once have been a tea table, that Lettice sees several beautifully fashioned hats propped on wooden hatstands basking in the diffused light coming through the lace scrim curtains of the bay window. She gasps at the sight of them and immediately walks up to scrutinise them more closely. Two are made of straw and one of felt. The felt hat is dyed a dramatic turquoise colour and is trimmed with fine braid, garlands of ribbons and feathers dyed to match the shade of the felt. One of the straw hats is dyed a romantic shade of soft mauve, whilst the other remains its natural colour. The mauve hat’s romance is added to by a mixture of artificial flowers and clusters of ribbons woven expertly around the brim. The other hat is plainer with less decoration, yet its restrained treatment makes it every bit as elegant as the mauve hat. None of them would look out of place at Ascot or a tea party at Buckingham Palace.
Lettice thumbs the may green ribbon of the plain straw hat thoughtfully. “These are exquisite, Gerald.”
“I knew you’d like Hattie’s work.” Gerald sighs with satisfaction.
*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.
**Dents is a British company that crafts luxury leather gloves, handbags, small leather goods. Dents is known for its hand cutting, sewing, and stitching techniques, which are still practised today on some limited top end products, most merchandise being purchased from third-party factories. Dents was established in Worcester in 1777 as a manufacturer of fine leather gloves by John Dent (1751–1811). It is possibly Britain's oldest existing fashion manufacturer. Dent's sons, John and William, helped the company expand throughout the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. In 1845, mechanical sewing was introduced to the company to assist craftspeople. The company has a modern factory in Warminster, Wiltshire, having been present in the town since 1937.
***The expression in a jiffy was in use as early as 1780. It is a colloquial English expression for “in a short amount of time.” The origins of jiffy are unknown, though there are theories. One suggestion is that it comes from British thieves’ slang for “lightning,” hence very fast. An early instance appears in 1780 edition of Town and Country Magazine: “Most of the limbs of the law do every thing in a jiffy”.
Contrary to popular belief, fashion at the beginning of the Roaring 20s did not feature the iconic cloche hat as a commonly worn head covering. Although invented by French milliner Caroline Reboux in 1908, the cloche hat did not start to gain popularity until 1922, so even though this story is set in that year, picture hats, a hangover from the pre-war years, were still de rigueur in fashionable society and whilst Lettice is fashionable, she and many other fashionable women still wore the more romantic picture hat. Although nowhere near as wide, heavy, voluminous or as ornate as the hats worn by women between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the Great War, the picture hats of the 1920s were still wide brimmed, although they were generally made of straw or some lightweight fabric and were decorated with a more restrained touch.
This rather cluttered and chaotic scene of a drawing room cum workroom may look real to you, but believe it or not, it is made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. The natural yellow straw hat with green trim and the mauve dyed straw hat with mauve and green trim were both made by the same unknown artisan in America. The aqua hat behind the two straw hats was made by an unknown British artisan. All three hats were acquired through auctions on E-Bay. The hat stands the hats rest on are all part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The multi coloured feathers in the earthenware vase on the table behind the hats also belonged to Marilyn Bickel.
The copies of Weldon’s Dressmaker and the Lady’s World Fancy Work Book are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, the magazines are non-opening, however what might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The spools of ribbon, the tape measure, the silver sewing scissors in the shape of a stork and the box of embroidery threads I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House in the United Kingdom.
The table on which all these items stand is a Queen Anne lamp table which I was given for my seventh birthday. It is one of the very first miniature pieces of furniture I was ever given as a child.
The sewing machine to the left of the photo, I bought from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom. It is made with extreme attention to detail, complete with a painted black metal body, authentic sewing mechanisms and a worksurface “inlaid” with mother-of-pearl.
The round white metal sewing tin on the sewing machine’s surface is another artisan piece I have had since I was a young teenager. If you look closely you will see it contains a black velvet pin cushion, a pair of sewing scissors, needles, threads and two thimbles. Considering this is a 1:12 artisan miniature, imagine how minute the thimbles are! This I bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings. It does have a lid which features artificial flowers and is trimmed with braid, but I wanted to show off the contents of the tin in this image, so it does not feature.
The spools of red, yellow, orange and blue cottons come from various online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures.
The salon chair drawn up to the sewing machine is part of a Marie Antionette suite with pretty floral upholstery which has been made by the high-end miniatures manufacturer, Creal.
Harriet’s family photos seen cluttering the mantlepiece and the bookshelf in the background are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are almost all from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each.
The porcelain clock on the mantlepiece is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures.
The Edwardian mantlepiece is made of moulded plaster and was acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House in the United Kingdom.
The bookshelf in the background comes from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late eighteenth century.
The paintings and prints on the walls all come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House in the United Kingdom.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not at Cavendish Mews. Instead, we are just a short distance away in London’s busy shopping precinct on Regent Street, where amidst the throng of London’s middle-class housewives and upper-class ladies shopping for amusement, two maids – Edith who is Lettice’s maid and her best friend Hilda who is the maid for Lettice’s friends Margot and Dickie Channon - are enjoying the pleasures of window shopping under the wide canvas awnings of Selfridges on their day off. The usually busy footpath outside the enormous department store with London’s biggest plate glass windows seems even busier today as the crowds are swelled by visitors who have come in from the outer suburbs of London and elsewhere around England to do a little bit of early Christmas shopping. Already Edith is noticing that the shops are busier than usual, and even though Christmas is still a good two months away, there are signs of Christmas cheer with bright and gaudy tinsel garlands and stars cut from metallic paper hanging in shop windows and gracing shop counters. Around them, the vociferous collective chatter of shoppers mixes with the sound of noisy automobiles and chugging double decker busses as they trundle along Regent Street.
“So how are things at Hill Street, Hilda?” Edith asks her best friend as the pair stand before a window display of brightly coloured umbrellas just perfect to brighten the upcoming winter days. “Have you settled in alright?”
“Oh yes, I’ve settled in just fine,” Hilda begins, but her voice belies concerns.
“I sense there is a but. Don’t tell me it’s worse than awful old Mrs, Plaistow’s?”
“Oh no!” Hilda assures her friend, raising her glove clad hands in defence. “Far from it. It’s just that, well…” She pauses. “I don’t know where Mrs. Channon learned her housekeeping skills.”
Edith laughs. “Don’t be silly, Hilda. Mrs. Channon is a lady, and a future marchioness. She isn’t meant to know how to cook and clean! That’s what you are there for.”
“No Edith. I didn’t mean that.” Hilda deflects.
Edith tuns to her friend, but is momentarily distracted by the passing parade of shoppers behind them on the pavement and passenger faces in the fogged up windows of a red and cream double decker bus as it chugs noisily past them, belching out fumes. “What do you mean then, Hilda?”
“I meant that she doesn’t have the first idea about housekeeping. She’s the one who comes to me, asking me how much the housekeeping budget for the week should be.”
“Oh dear! Doesn’t Mrs. Channon give you a set amount each week then?”
“Well, I tried that, but it fluctuates from week to week.” Hilda replies exasperatedly. “Some weeks she gives me more than I’ve asked for. Sometimes she asks me if what I’ve quoted is enough, and some weeks she just adds extra in anyway, telling me to splurge on something extravagant to cook, or worse yet to buy something special and frivolous for myself!”
“No!” Edith gasps in incredulity.
“And yet on other weeks I tell Mrs. Channon how much I need, and she tells me that she can’t quite meet that budget.”
“Well maybe that’s why Mrs. Channon gives you a bit extra sometimes, to put aside for a rainy day.”
“To be honest, I don’t think Mrs, Channon would know a rainy day if it slapped her in the face with a wet fish*.” The pair of maids titter girlishly for a moment with their hands to their mouths as they imagine Margot Channon being slapped in the face with a salmon or a kipper. “She seems to have no real concept about money, other than she either has it or she hasn’t.”
The pair move across to the next window featuring an array of pretty autumnal hats with wide and narrow brims made of straw and brightly patterned fabric decorated with a mixture of feather, fur and floral trims.
“I don’t think either Mr. or Mrs. Channon even know the meaning of the word budget.” Hilda carries on. “Take these for example,” She points to the hats. “Mrs Channon’s father, Lord de Virre gave Mr. and Mrs. Channon a motor car as a wedding gift, but it sits gathering dust in the garage at Hill Street and they seldom use it because they don’t have the money for petrol to fill it. Yet they take taxis everywhere. I’m forever having to go down to the corner to the taxi stand to fetch one for them. And then Mrs. Channon comes home from a day of shopping with three, mind you three, new hats she really doesn’t need, and she asks me if I have sixpence left over from the housekeeping for the driver waiting downstairs to be paid!”
“Oh, that does sound rather chaotic, Hilda.”
“Chaotic is right!” Hilda agrees. “Mrs. Channon is just lucky that I do know how to work on a budget, and I don’t go spending the extra money she gives me some weeks on frippery and do have enough to cover the shortfalls when they happen. And goodness knows what that Pegeen did when she was working as maid at Hill Street!”
“Oh dear! Did you find another Pegeen present the other day?”
“Did I ever! Mr. and Mrs. Channon had Lord and Lady de Virre for supper the other night, so they had Harrods cater it.”
“You had the money for that then?”
“Yes, luckily, from Mr. Channon. Anyway, they asked for lobster, so when I went to the drawer for the lobster piks** I found it stuffed not only with a jangle of odds and ends of silverware, but half a dozen empty oyster shells, no doubt left over from another dinner party!”
“You’re lucky they didn’t smell!”
“I think they’d been there for a few months.” Hilda remarks dubiously. “I mean, I know Pegeen is Irish, but surely even they have dustbins in Ireland!”
Edith giggles again. “At least you have jolly good stories to regale me with on our days off, Hilda.”
The pair meander to the next window which is crowded with clusters of small children with their noses pressed to the glass, their harried mothers or frustrated nannies trying desperately to get them to come away. Peering over the top of the children’s heads, they see it is a window full of wonderful toys: teddy bears***, tin soldiers, brightly painted wooden castles and forts, games, blocks and books.
As they look, Edith’s eyes fall upon something and she gasps, clapping her hands in delight.
“What is it, Edith?” asks Hilda.
“Come on!” Edith says, grasping Hilda’s right hand in her left. “We have to go inside! I just found the perfect Christmas present!”
The pair enter Selfridge’s grand department store by one of the three revolving doors and are immediately enveloped by the wonderful scent of dozens of perfumes from the nearby perfumery counters. Despite Hilda’s protestations at being drawn away from the perfume and beauty counters, the pair make their way upstairs to the toy department.
The pair meander between tables laden with mountains of boxed dolls, teddy bears, toy tea sets and dolls’ house furnishings, jostling for space with excited children in toy heaven escorted by their frazzled parents. The air is punctuated with laughter, squeals of delight and the occasional sharp slap and harsh words of admonishment when a child does more than just look at what is on display.
“What are we looking for?” Hilda asks in a desultory fashion as she tags along behind Edith who charges about like a woman with a purpose.
“I’ll know when I see them.” Edith says excitedly. Then she spies what she is seeking. “Ahh, how perfect! Right next to the register!”
The pair brusquely walk over to a glass topped counter on which sits a brightly polished brass cash register. In front of it is a display of wooden and plush rabbits, and there, nestled amongst them, a selection of books written by Beatrix Potter. Excitedly, Edith deposits her newly acquired from the Petticoat Lane Market**** second-hand snakeskin purse – almost an exact replica of Lettice’s – onto the glass counter. She snatches up a copy of ‘The Tale of Samuel Whiskers’ and ‘The Tale of Two Bad Mice’.
“I wonder which one he’d like?” Edith ponders as she holds the two brightly coloured books in her hands. “Then again, he does like rabbits.” she mutters aloud as she puts them back and takes up a copy of ‘The Tale of Benjamin Bunny’.
“Beatrix Potter Books?” Hilda queries, screwing up her nose as she sidles up alongside her friend, hooking her black handled brolly on the raised edge of the counter. “What do you want them for?” Then she pauses, her eyes growing wide. “Bert hasn’t got some poor stewardess in the family way has he, Edith?”
Edith’s eyes roll as she turns to her friend. “No, my brother hasn’t done any such thing, I’ll thank you very much, Hilda. No, these are for Mrs, Boothby.”
“Mrs. Boothby?” Hilda queries, thinking of the mature Cockney charwoman***** employed by both her mistress, Margot, and Edith’s mistress, Lettice, who does all the hard graft that neither she nor Edith have to do. “What on earth would Mrs. Boothby want with Beatrix Potter Books?”
Edith sighs in exasperation. “You can be so literal sometimes, Hilda! They aren’t for Mrs. Boothby. They are for…” Edith pauses mid-sentence and thinks before she speaks. Several weeks ago, Edith met Mrs. Boothby’s son, a forty-two year old man who is a simple and gentle giant with the aptitude of a six year old. The old Cockney charwoman’s words ring in her ears about how it is easier for her not to mention that she has a son, not because she is ashamed of him, but because not everyone would understand her wanting to keep and raise a child with such difficulties. She knows that Mrs. Boothby has taken her into her confidence by introducing her to her son, Ken. “For one of her grandchildren.” Edith fabricates.
“Grandchildren? I didn’t even know Mrs. Boothby had children, never mind grandchildren!”
“Well, there’s a lot about Mrs. Boothby you don’t know, Hilda.”
“And how do you know about her grandchildren, Edith?”
“Don’t you remember, Hilda? I went over to Mrs. Boothby’s in Poplar a few weeks ago and she sold me a second-hand sewing machine that she had found for me.” Altering the truth a little, Edith goes on, “Her grandson was playing next door. Mrs. Boothby’s neighbour looks after all the little local children whilst their parents work. He is quite partial to Peter Rabbit, so I thought I might buy him a new Beatrix Potter book for Christmas.”
“That’s very good of you, Edith.” Hilda acknowledges.
“Oh, it’s the least I can do Hilda, after Mrs. Boothby having sold me that sewing machine so cheaply. I’d never have been able to afford a new one. It’s made such a difference for me already.”
“May I help you, Miss?” asks a young shopgirl who has slipped up silently to the register as Edith and Hilda have been chatting.
“How much are these each?” Edith asks.
“They are three and six, Miss.” the shopgirl replies with a smile. “A lovely gift for birthday or Christmas if I may, Miss.”
“I’ll take this one, thank you.” Edith smiles, handing over ‘The Tale of Benjamin Bunny’ to the girl behind the counter and delving into her new snakeskin purse purchase to find the correct money, pleased to have found what she hopes will be a welcome Christmas present for Ken Boothby, the gentle giant of Poplar.
*These days we usually associate slapping people with a wet fish to Monty Python’s Fish Slapping Dance, but the term “to be slapped with a wet fish” goes back as far as the early Twentieth Century, if not earlier. In Marcel Proust’s novel, ‘Swann’s Way’ (1913, Dr Cottard compliments Odette by saying “I’d rather have it in my bed than a slap with a wet fish”. Two lines further on, the narrator refers to the statement as “that old joke”. The term however really came into the popular vernacular between the wars in the 1920s and 1930s.
**A lobster pick or lobster fork is a long, narrow food utensil used to extract meat from joints, legs, claws, and other small parts of a lobster.
***Developed apparently simultaneously by toymakers Morris Michtom in America and Richard Steiff under his aunt Margarete Steiff's company in Germany in the early Twentieth Century, the teddy bear, purportedly named after American President Theodore Roosevelt, became a popular children's toy very quickly, and by 1922 when this story is set, a staple of many children’s nursery toys.
****Petticoat Lane Market is a fashion and clothing market in Spitalfields, London. It consists of two adjacent street markets. Wentworth Street Market and Middlesex Street Market. Originally populated by Huguenots fleeing persecution in France, Spitalfields became a center for weaving, embroidery and dying. From 1882, a wave of Jewish immigrants fleeing persecution in eastern Europe settled in the area and Spitalfields then became the true heart of the clothing manufacturing district of London. 'The Lane' was always renowned for the 'patter' and showmanship of the market traders. It was also known for being a haven for the unsavoury characters of London’s underworld and was rife with prostitutes during the late Victorian era. Unpopular with the authorities, as it was largely unregulated and in some sense illegal, as recently as the 1930s, police cars and fire engines were driven down ‘The Lane’, with alarm bells ringing, to disrupt the market.
*****A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.
This joyful shop counter display of children’s treasures may not appear to be what they really are, for however lifelike they are, they are in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Central to this story, the copies of Beatrix Potter’s books are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! These are amongst the smaller number that do not open. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, the magazines are non-opening, however what might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The two wooden rabbits are in fact wooden Christmas ornaments from Germany which I was given when I was about six. The plush white rabbit I acquired from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay. The Benjamin Bunny box and also the Noah’s Ark you can see on the shelves in the background, come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The brightly shining cash register was supplied by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom.
Edith’s snakeskin handbag with its gold clasp and chain comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniature Shop in the United Kingdom. Hilda's umbrella comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid, is staying with her parents for Christmas. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith. What is especially exciting is that Edith's brother, Bert is home for Christmas too. He is a dining saloon steward aboard a passenger ship, so he is lucky to be on shore leave just in time of Christmas!
The kitchen has always been the heart of Edith’s family home, and today it has a particularly festive feel about it is Christmas Day and Christmas dinner is about to be served. Strings of brightly coloured paper chains have been strung around the room, draped over the old Welsh dresser, across the mantle of the kitchen range and across the room from corner to corner, hanging in jolly festoons. Ada had pulled out one of her best table cloths with an orange rose pattern on it which now adorns the round kitchen table, hiding its worn surface and the best blue and white china dinner service is being used today. Ada has even conceded to Edith’s constant reminders that she promised to use the pretty Price Washington ‘Ye Old Cottage’ teapot that Edith bought her from the Caledonian Markets* a few months ago because she and her brother Bert are both home for Christmas.
The kitchen is filled with the rich smells of Christmas: turkey and potatoes roasting and Yorkshire puddings baking in the oven, gravy warming over the grate and the faint fruity aroma of Ada’s Christmas cake as it sits waiting to be served for dessert on the dresser’s pull out extension.
“Bert love,” Ada calls to her son as she stirs the pan of gravy made with juices from the turkey mixed with Bisto Gravy Powder**. “Be a treasure and set the table would you?”
“Right-oh Mum!” Edith’s brother pipes up as he rises from his seat on a ladderback chair pulled up to the table where he has been admiring the fabric of his new cobalt blue tie, a Christmas gift from Edith. “First Class Steward Watsford of the SS Demosthenes*** is always ready to assist.”
“Thanks love.” Ada replies gratefully as she pushes a few stubborn strands of hair that keep falling loose into her face, back behind her right ear.
“It’s just like being at sea, isn’t it, son?” George chuckles good naturedly from his comfortable seat in his Windsor chair where he reads the newspaper and sips a cup of tea.
“Better watch out George Watsford, lest I give you a job ‘n all.” Ada warns her husband teasingly as she smiles over at him and winks.
“What? I’ve done my job by getting you the best Christmas turkey money can buy from Mr. Ludlow’s butcher’s shop.” he splutters. “Anyway, I can’t do anything dressed in my best bib and tucker****, now can I Ada? I’ll only spoil all your good washing and pressing.”
“It won’t stop me giving you one if you stir up trouble for me.” She wags her wooden spoon coated in thick brown gravy warningly at him.
“You’re in trouble now, Dad,” Edith laughs as she goes to open the small bread oven of the range. “Mum’s waving her spoon at you.”
“No Edith!” Ada gasps. “Don’t open the door yet! All the hot air will come out and the Yorkshire puds will go flat! Didn’t I teach you anything?”
“Oh you did, Mum, but I was just going to take a peek at them. Otherwise, how will we know they’re done.”
“Even a peek will make them go flat. No, I’ll know when they're ready love. I’ve been using this range,” Ada gently pats the mantle over the range like a faithful dog. “Ever since I married your Dad. It took me a while to learn its ways, but we understand each other now. Don't we old girl? Here, you want to help me, love?”
Edith nods.
“Then stir the gravy so it doesn’t burn whilst I check on the turkey.” Ada replies.
Edith dutifully takes over stirring the pan with the wooden spoon.
“Thanks again for my tie, old girl!” Bert says to his sister as he sets out the last of the blue and white dinner plates featuring a central flower on each. “It’s spiffing.”
“Oh you’re welcome, Bert.” Edith replies, turning around and smiling at her brother. “Now you’re moving up the ranks, you need to look smart when you’re off duty as well as on.”
“Don’t know how you could afford something as smart as this for me.”
“Well, Miss Lettice pays me a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work, and living so centrally in London, I have access to lots of places to find you presents.”
“Petticoat Lane*****?” Ada asks in a quiet whisper as she rises from being bent over the oven.
Edith nods.
“Oh that reminds me Bert, I’ll have to show you the present that Miss Lettice gave me for Christmas after dinner.”
“She spoils you, Edith.” Ada remarks. “Dinner,” she says in a posh voice. “Tea is what we call it, my girl.” she corrects. “All these fancy words have no place in my kitchen.”
“Oh Ada!” George counters, looking sharply at his wife over the top of his newspaper. “If Edith learns new, more refined words to describe something, there isn’t anything wrong with that.” He gives his blushing daughter a beatific smile. “Betterment is good for the girl, especially if she wants to get on in the world.”
“Well tea was always a good enough word to describe our meal as far as I’m concerned.” Ada replies huffily.
“Now, now Ada!” George folds his paper and drapes it over the arm of his chair. Heaving his portly figure out of his well worn chair he walks over to his wife and wraps his arms around her shoulders. “What’s gotten into you today? Where's your Christmas spirit? Christmas is always a jolly time for us Watsfords, not a time for bickering about words.”
“Oh I’m sorry, George,” Ada replies, sinking into the comforting embrace of her husband. “I suppose I’ve been running myself ragged getting everything nice for Christmas over the last few days.” She looks at her daughter, who quickly casts her eyes down at the pot of gravy she is stirring. “I’m sorry, Edith love,” she apologies. “I’m not really cross with you. I’m just tired and a bit snappy.”
“It’s alright Mum,” Edith replies. “I know.”
“I’m happy you’re learning new words.” Ada continues, but then adds, “I just don’t want you getting above your station. One day you’ll leave Miss Chetwynd, and I just don’t want you spoiled for your next mistress. You know not everyone’s generous like she is.”
“I know Mum, and I promise I’m not getting above my station. I’m just proud of what she gave me is all, and I want to show it to Bert.”
“Of course you do, love.” Ada puts a comforting hand on Edith’s shoulder. “And why not indeed. It’s beautiful, and you’re very lucky to have it. Show it off, love.”
“Goodness Edith,” Bert exclaims. “What did she give you?”
“It’s a dressing table set from Boots******, made of Bakelite*******.” Edith enthuses. “There’s a brush and comb and mirror and…” She stops herself quickly before she mentions the photograph frame which she has left sitting on the chest of drawers in her little bedroom at the Cavendish Mews flat with her fallen sweetheart Bert’s picture in it. “And… and I just love it!”
“That does sound fancy, Edith!” Bert says in an impressed tone. “Makes my box of Australian Fruit Biscuits look shabby in comparison.”
“Shabby?” Edith exclaims. “Don’t say that, Bert! I love my Christmas present from you!” she assures him. “I can practically feel the Australian sunshine you talked about radiating from that tin. I’ve never had anything from so far away before! They are exotic, Bert.”
“That table set, Bert?” Ada asks.
“Table set, shipshape and Bristol fashion********, Mum.” Bert replies proudly.
“Good! Then its time to serve up Christmas tea! Edith, pour that gravy into the jug and take out the potatoes. I’ll put out the turkey and the Yorkshire puds. George, you fetch the ale.”
“Now that’s a job I can do in my best bib and tucker.” George laughs.
Soon the table is covered in Ada’s splendid Christmas dinner: a tray of steaming golden roast potatoes, beautifully risen Yorkshire puddings, a pot of green brussels sprouts and a bowl of peas and carrots. However most impressive of all is the golden brown turkey, glistening in the gaslight of the kitchen, steam rising from its perfectly cooked flesh. The family take their places about the table and George fills everyone’s glass with thick, dark ale.
“Goodness Dad!” Bert gasps as he looks at all the delicious food. “How could you afford such a fine turkey? Did you cut a deal using broken biscuits with Mr. Ludlow?”
“Cheeky!” George replies with a smile, getting up from his seat and holding his tumber aloft. “I’d like you all to raise your glasses, please.”
“Who are we toasting, Dad?” Edith asks. “The King?”
“Well, we can toast good King George in a moment, but first I’d like to raise a toast to McVitie and Price’s********* newest Line Manager!”
“Oh George!” Ada gasps, jumping up from her seat and throwing her arms around her husband in delight. “You kept mum on that bit of news!”
“Congratulations Dad!” Edith says, standing and charging her glass.
“Yes! Congratulations Dad!” Bert follows, raising his own glass. “That’s spiffing news!”
“And that’s how I could afford such a fine turkey, son.” George replies proudly. “Now, let’s eat!”
“Merry Christmas everyone.” Edith says, sitting back down with a smile.
“A merry Christmas indeed!” agrees Ada as she returns to her seat. “The best Christmas the Watsford family have ever had I’d say, with you two children home and your Dad’s news!”
*The original Caledonian Market, renown for antiques, buried treasure and junk, was situated in in a wide cobblestoned area just off the Caledonian Road in Islington in 1921 when this story is set. Opened in 1855 by Prince Albert, and originally called the Metropolitan Meat Markets, it was supplementary to the Smithfield Meat Market. Arranged in a rectangle, the market was dominated by a forty six metre central clock tower. By the early Twentieth Century, with the diminishing trade in live animals, a bric-a-brac market developed and flourished there until after the Second World War when it moved to Bermondsey, south of the Thames, where it flourishes today. The Islington site was developed in 1967 into the Market Estate and an open green space called Caledonian Park. All that remains of the original Caledonian Markets is the wonderful Victorian clock tower.
**The first Bisto product, in 1908, was a meat-flavoured gravy powder, which rapidly became a bestseller in Britain. It was added to gravies to give a richer taste and aroma. Invented by Messrs Roberts and Patterson, it was named "Bisto" because it "Browns, Seasons and Thickens in One". Bisto Gravy is still a household name in Britain and Ireland today, and the brand is currently owned by Premier Foods.
***The SS Demosthenes was a British steam ocean liner and refrigerated cargo ship which ran scheduled services between London and Australia via Cape Town. It stopped at ports including those in Sydney and Melbourne. She was launched in 1911 in Ireland for the Aberdeen Line and scrapped in 1931 in England. In the First World War she was an Allied troop ship.
****The phrase “best bib and tucker”, which means one’s best clothes, emerged during the first half of the eighteenth century. It was used in New Memoires Establishing a True Knowledge of Mankind by Marquis d'Argens, published in 1747. It goes, “The Country-woman minds nothing on Sundays so much as her best Bib and Tucker.”
*****Petticoat Lane Market is a fashion and clothing market in Spitalfields, London. It consists of two adjacent street markets. Wentworth Street Market and Middlesex Street Market. Originally populated by Huguenots fleeing persecution in France, Spitalfields became a center for weaving, embroidery and dying. From 1882, a wave of Jewish immigrants fleeing persecution in eastern Europe settled in the area and Spitalfields then became the true heart of the clothing manufacturing district of London. 'The Lane' was always renowned for the 'patter' and showmanship of the market traders. It was also known for being a haven for the unsavoury characters of London’s underworld and was rife with prostitutes during the late Victorian era. Unpopular with the authorities, as it was largely unregulated and in some sense illegal, as recently as the 1930s, police cars and fire engines were driven down ‘The Lane’, with alarm bells ringing, to disrupt the market.
******Boots the chemist was established in 1849, by John Boot. After his father's death in 1860, Jesse Boot, aged 10, helped his mother run the family's herbal medicine shop in Nottingham, which was incorporated as Boot and Co. Ltd in 1883, becoming Boots Pure Drug Company Ltd in 1888. In 1920, Jesse Boot sold the company to the American United Drug Company. However, because of deteriorating economic circumstances in North America Boots was sold back into British hands in 1933. The grandson of the founder, John Boot, who inherited the title Baron Trent from his father, headed the company. The Boots Pure Drug Company name was changed to The Boots Company Limited in 1971. Between 1898 and 1966, many branches of Boots incorporated a lending library department, known as Boots Book-Lovers' Library.
*******Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.
********The saying “shipshape and Bristol fashion” means things are in good order, neat and clean.
*********McVitie's (Originally McVitie and Price) is a British snack food brand owned by United Biscuits. The name derives from the original Scottish biscuit maker, McVitie and Price, Ltd., established in 1830 on Rose Street in Edinburgh, Scotland. The company moved to various sites in the city before completing the St. Andrews Biscuit Works factory on Robertson Avenue in the Gorgie district in 1888. The company also established one in Glasgow and two large manufacturing plants south of the border, in Heaton Chapel, Stockport, and Harlesden, London (where Edith’s father works). McVitie and Price's first major biscuit was the McVitie's Digestive, created in 1892 by a new young employee at the company named Alexander Grant, who later became the managing director of the company. The biscuit was given its name because it was thought that its high baking soda content served as an aid to food digestion. The McVitie's Chocolate Homewheat Digestive was created in 1925. Although not their core operation, McVitie's were commissioned in 1893 to create a wedding cake for the royal wedding between the Duke of York and Princess Mary, who subsequently became King George V and Queen Mary. This cake was over two metres high and cost one hundred and forty guineas. It was viewed by 14,000 and was a wonderful publicity for the company. They received many commissions for royal wedding cakes and christening cakes, including the wedding cake for Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Phillip and Prince William and Catherine Middleton. Under United Biscuits McVitie's holds a Royal Warrant from Queen Elizabeth II.
This cluttered, yet cheerful Christmas scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On the table the Christmas dinner that really does look good enough to eat is made up of pieces from different suppliers and artisans. The Christmas turkey and the bowl of peas and carrots come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in Essex. The knife sticking out of the turkey comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniature Shop in the United Kingdom. The tray of potatoes in the foreground and the six Yorkshire puddings in the midground have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The gravy boat of gravy is also Frances Knight’s work. The blue and white crockery on the table I have bought as individual from several online sellers on E-Bay. I imagine that whole sets were once sold, but now I can only find them piecemeal. The cutlery and the glasses (which are made from real glass) I bought as a teenager from a high street dollhouse suppliers. The pottery ale jug comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in England. The tablecloth is actually a piece of bright cotton print that was tied around the lid of a jar of home made peach and rhubarb jam that I was given a few years ago.
The paper chains festooning Ada’s kitchen I made myself using very thinly cut paper. It was a fiddly job to do, but I think it adds festive cheer and realism to this scene, as fancy Christmas decorations would have been beyond the budget of Edith’s parents, and homemade paper chains were common in households before the advent of cheap mass manufactured Christmas decorations.
In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table, the Windsor chair and the ladderback chair to the left of the photo, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery and silver pots on them which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. There are also some rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and a bread tin in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I recently acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the Essex. There are also tins of various foods which would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. Amongst other foods on the dresser are jars of Marmite and Bovril. All these items are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans. Also on the dresser on the pull out drawer is a Christmas cake from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. Also from them is the cranberry glass cake stand, made of real glass, on which the cake sits. Next to it stands a cottage ware teapot. Made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson, it has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched roof and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.
Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.
Bovril is the trademarked name of a thick and salty meat extract paste similar to a yeast extract, developed in the 1870s by John Lawson Johnston. It is sold in a distinctive bulbous jar, and as cubes and granules. Bovril is owned and distributed by Unilever UK. Its appearance is similar to Marmite and Vegemite. Bovril can be made into a drink ("beef tea") by diluting with hot water or, less commonly, with milk. It can be used as a flavouring for soups, broth, stews or porridge, or as a spread, especially on toast in a similar fashion to Marmite and Vegemite.
The large kitchen range in the background is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water).
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
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.