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Recent upgrades to the AC-130W have eliminated all guns except for the 30 mm GAU-23/A Bushmaster autocannon. Adding air-to-ground delivery systems supplements the lack of close-range firepower with better stand-off capability.
The BRU-61 rack on the starboard wing carries four GBU-39/A small-diameter bombs (SDB). These glide bombs have extendable wings and use a GPS-aided inertial navigation system to attack fixed/stationary targets.
The Stinger II can also deploy the GBU-53/B SDB II to strike mobile targets. On the port wing is a cluster of four AGM-114 Hellfire missiles. Initially developed under the name “Heliborne, Laser, Fire and Forget Missile,” the name “Hellfire” was ultimately adopted. These missiles are used for precision strikes.
The “Gunslinger” Weapons Rack is a ramp-mounted launch device for the AGM-176 Griffin missile or the BGU-44/B Viper Strike glide bomb. This delivery system, which can carry ten missiles or bombs, is intended for low-collateral damage during irregular warfare.
All AC-130W Stinnger II were retired by July 2022 after a ten-year service life. Here is a list of the 12 AC-130W Stinger II aircraft with their serial numbers:
87-9286 Converted from MC-130W "Gunslinger"
87-9288 Converted from MC-130W
88-1301 Converted from MC-130W
88-1302 Converted from MC-130W
88-1303 Converted from MC-130W
88-1304 Converted from MC-130W
88-1305 Converted from MC-130W
88-1306 Converted from MC-130W, in storage 05 July 2022
88-1307 Converted from MC-130W, in storage 29 June 2022
88-1308 Converted from MC-130W, renamed AC-130W Stinger II
89-1051 Converted from MC-130W, in storage 06 June 2022
90-1058 Converted from MC-130W, in storage 13 July 2022
Go-Go for a wild ride with the action girls! Russ Meyer, the king of exploitation, directs this lurid thrill-ride starring Tura Satana, Haji, and Lori Williams as a trio of dancers who turn to murder and mayhem on a road trip from hell. Varla is well-endowed, beautiful, physically powerful, savvy and conniving. She lives for kicks, but she's also got a serious mad on for the world, and anyone who crosses her finds out the hard way. Her job as a go-go dancer, supplemented by a part time career in petty crime has afforded her a sleek and fast sports car, which she enjoys riding in the desert with her fellow dancers. One of them, Rosie, has a crush on Varla, which she happily encourages, even if Varla is really more interested in the control it gives her over Rosie than in Rosie herself. The other dancer, Billie, is a little harder for Varla to manage, but Billie isn't bright enough to outmaneuver Varla.
When the little gang run into a square drag racer, he winds up getting into a fight with Varla, losing of course. Varla makes sure he never talks back again, then kidnaps his girlfriend and makes a run for it. BIllie and Rosie tag along, and they soon become involved in intrigue with an old letch in the desert rumored to have a stash of cash hidden away somewhere. When Varla starts to lose control of the situation, things (again) become violent, leading to a revved-up climax! Three strippers seeking thrills encounter a young couple in the desert. After dispatching the boyfriend, they take the girl hostage and begin scheming on a crippled old man living with his two sons in the desert, reputedly hiding a tidy sum of cash. They become houseguests of the old man and try and seduce the sons in an attempt to locate the money, not realizing that the old man has a few sinister intentions of his own.
synopsis
Exploitation maven Russ Meyer created a cult classic with this turbo-charged action film. Three curvaceous go-go dancers in a cool sports car go on a desert crime spree, led by Varla (the amazing Tura Satana), a busty, nasty woman dressed entirely in black. Varla's lesbian moll, Rosie (Haji) -- who has an extremely overwrought accent -- and reluctant bimbo Billie (Lori Williams) are along for the ride. When they meet a naïve young couple, Tommy and Linda (Ray Barlow and Sue Bernard), Varla challenges the man to a race then kills him by breaking his back. They take Linda hostage and drive to a house owned by a crippled old lecher (Stuart Lancaster) and his muscular but retarded son, Vegetable (Dennis Busch). Varla discovers that the old man has money hidden on the property, so the girls try to find it. Meanwhile, Vegetable's perverted father tries to trick him into assaulting one of the girls as he watches, but his other son (Paul Trinka) finally shows up to save the day. A great deal of bloodshed, campy catfighting, and funny dialogue fills the bulk of this fast-paced comic book of a movie.
Born 1946 Quebec,Canada
Passed on 2013
Birth Name - Barbarella Catton Nickname - Haji
Haji was a Cando-American actress renowned for starring in Russ Meyer's sexploitation classic Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (1965), in which she made her theatrical film debut. Barbarella Catton was born in Quebec City, Quebec on January 24, 1946, and at the age of 14, began dancing topless. The renamed Haji caught the eye of cinema's "King Leer" while performing as an exotic dancer.
He also cast her as one of three go-go dancers who turn into avenging furies in "Pussycat", which was her theatrical film debut as it was released before Motor Psycho (1965). She also appeared in Meyer's potboiler Good Morning... and Goodbye! (1967), his big budget Hollywood sextravaganza Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970), and his cartoonish amalgamation of sex and violence, Supervixens (1975).
Haji died on August 10, 2013 at the age of 67.
Was a fervent supporter of animal rights and environmentalism. Interviewed in the book "Invasion of the B-Girls" by Jewel Shepard. Began as an exotic dancer. Moved to California at the age of fourteen and was discovered by filmmaker Russ Meyer performing in a topless bar. Her only child, a daughter she had at age 15, is named Cerlette. Haji was of British and Filipino descent, and her nickname was bestowed on her by an uncle. Was a friend and co-star of former stripper and long-time Russ Meyer paramour Kitten Natividad.
Haji, an Actress Featured in Cult Films by Russ Meyer, Dies at 67
By DANIEL E. SLOTNIK
Published: August 17, 2013
Haji, a voluptuous actress who played one of three homicidal go-go dancers in Russ Meyer’s 1965 cult film “Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!,” died on Aug. 9 in Southern California. She was 67.
Her death was confirmed by the dancer and actress Kitten Natividad, a friend, who said she did not know the cause. She said Haji had high blood pressure and heart problems in recent years and was taken to a hospital after falling ill at a restaurant in Newport Beach.Haji, a brunette of Filipino and British descent, met Meyer, the celebrated B-movie director, in the mid-1960s while she worked in a strip club in California. He cast her as the lead in his biker movie “Motorpsycho” (1965) even though she had no acting experience.Later that year Haji appeared in “Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!,” the tale of three dancers who beat a young man to death, kidnap his girlfriend and flee into the desert. She played the lesbian paramour of the lead character, Varla, played by Tura Satana. The film has acquired a devoted following and has been embraced by the filmmakers John Waters and Quentin Tarantino and even some feminists, including the film critic B. Ruby Rich, who praised it in The Village Voice as a “female fantasy.”“You just didn’t see women taking over and beating up men in those days,” Haji said in an interview posted on Russ Meyer’s Ultravixens, a Web site devoted to Meyer, who died in 2004, and his films. “Russ did something no one else had the imagination to do. And he was smart to use three bodied-up women, so whether the picture’s good or not, you still sort of stare at it.”Haji played a scantily clad bartender in Meyer’s “Supervixens” in 1975 and appeared in “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls,” the story of an all-woman rock band’s descent into debauchery. It was the first of Meyer’s films produced by a mainstream studio. She also acted in John Cassavetes’s gritty drama “The Killing of a Chinese Bookie” in 1976.
Haji was born in Quebec on Jan. 24, 1946. Ms. Natividad said that Haji’s last name at birth was Catton, and that she thought her given name was Cerlette. (The name Haji, she said, was a nickname given to her by an uncle.) Haji left school before finishing the sixth grade and began stripping at 14. She had a daughter, also named Cerlette, at 15. She lived in Oxnard, Calif. Her survivors include her daughter and a granddaughter. Haji’s last screen role was in the 2003 comedy “Killer Drag Queens on Dope.”
www.nytimes.com/2013/08/18/arts/haji-an-actress-featured-...;
ARRIVA Buses Wales VDL Commander 2509 - CX05 AAE sets off from Rhyl on a Sunday journey on route 51 to Denbigh.
The "Supplements" sign is really the only one in focus in this photo, but this also provides a nice view of the nearby overhead new restrooms sign. The sign down in the blurry distance is for "Multivitamins", while the overhead sign further down is the one over the member services desk (which I still refuse to refer to as "Membership")!
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Sam's Club, 2000-01 built, Goodman Rd. at Elmore Rd., Southaven MS
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 visiting the home of Edith’s, Lettice’s maid, beloved parents. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden as a Line Manager, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s Mayfair flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith and her younger brother Bert all their young lives. Since her father’s promotion in 1922, Edith’s mother is only laundering a few days a week now. The money she makes from this endeavour she uses for housekeeping to make she and George’s life a little more comfortable, but she is able to hold back a little back as pin money* to indulge in one of her joys, collecting pretty china ornaments to decorate their home with.
We are in Ada’s front parlour, which is where most of her decorative porcelain finds from different shops, fairs and flea markets around London are proudly displayed. With busy stylised floral wallpaper and every surface cluttered with ornaments, it can only be described as highly Victorian in style, and it is an example of conscious consumption, rather than qualitative consumption, to demonstrate how prosperous the Watsford family is, especially now that George holds the management position that he does. Like many others of its kind in Harlesden and elsewhere in London, it is the room least used in the house, reserved for when special guests like the parish minister or wealthy old widow and the Watsford’s landlady, Mrs. Hounslow, pay a call. However today’s special guest is not either the minister, nor Mrs. Hounslow. It is Frank Leadbetter, Edith’s beau, who has arranged to visit Edith’s parents on his own, as he has a very important question to ask of them both.
Dressed in his Sunday best suit, Frank sits awkwardly in one of two Victorian high backed barley twist chairs. The combination of the formality of his suit and the hard and uncomfortable horsehair upholstery of the chair encourage Frank to sit with a ramrod stiff back in his seat. He looks awkwardly around the room, allowing his gaze to flit in a desultory fashion around the unfamiliar surrounds of the Watsford’s formal front parlour. Cluttering the surface of an old Victorian sideboard and an ornate whatnot, the cold stares of Queen Victoria, Edward VII, Queen Alexandra and the current King George V and Queen Mary stare out from the glazed surfaces of plates and other objects celebrating coronations and jubilees, whilst on the mantle, flanked by pretty statues of castles and churches, younger versions of George and Ada in sepia pose formally with Edith as a little girl and Bert as a baby, gazing out from brass frames with blank stares. Frank coughs awkwardly and nervously tugs at his stiff collar, feeling hot even though there is no fire going in the small grate of the fireplace.
“Now, now, young Frank!” George booms good naturedly from the one comfortable seat in the room, an old armchair with thick red velvet button back** upholstery. “No need to be nervous, me lad!”
“Oh, you don’t know why I’m here, Mr. Watsford.” Frank replies, running his right index finger nervously around the inside of his collar.
George chuckles. “I think I can guess, Frank.”
Frank gazes down at Ada’s dainty best blue floral china tea set on the lace draped octagonal table set between the cluster of chairs. A selection of McVitie’s*** biscuits brought home by George from the nearby factory sit in a fluted glass dish.
“Will Mrs. Watsford be long, do you think, Mr. Watsford?”
“I shouldn’t think so, Frank. She’s only gone to boil the kettle and fill the pot.”
As if knowing that she was being spoken about, Ada sweeps through the door of the parlour, holding aloft the glazed teapot in the shape of a cottage with a thatched roof with the chimney as the lid that Edith bought for her as a gift from the Caledonian Markets****. “Here we are then,” she says with a heightened level of exuberance. “Tea for three!” She carefully places the teapot in the centre of the tea table.
“Perfect timing, Ada love.” George replies, and without waiting, reaches across the void between him and the tea table and snatches up a biscuit.
“George!” she chides. “Where are your manners?” She looks askance at her husband, who settles back in his seat, quite unperturbed by his wife’s scolding. “Guests first.” She sweeps her hand across the table towards the biscuits as she lowers herself precariously onto the edge of the other high backed barley twist chair. “Frank?”
“Err… umm…” Frank stutters. “Ahh, no… no thank you, Mrs. Watsford. I… I’m not hungry.”
“Oh well, more for us then, Ada love.” George says cheerfully through a biscuit filled mouth, stretching out his hand to the glass dish again.
“George!” Ada cries, slapping her husband’s hand sharply, the sound echoing around the cluttered parlour.
George retreats in his seat, recoiling and rubbing his chastised hand rather like a dog nurses a limp paw.
“Shall I be mother then*****?” Ada asks rhetorically as she automatically picks up the milk jug. “You take milk, don’t you Frank?”
“Err… yes, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank replies as she slops some milk into his cup before adding a dash to her husband’s and her own.
“And sugar?”
“Err.. two please, Mrs. Watsford.”
“Ahh, a sweet tooth after my own heart.” Ada replies with an indulgent smile, putting two heaped teaspoons of sugar into Frank’s cup before adding one to George’s and two to her own. “Now!” she sighs, taking up the cottage ware teapot pouring tea into the cups. “You wanted to talk to us, Frank?”
“Well…” Frank begins.
“You know it feels jolly funny having you here Frank, but not Edith.” Ada interrupts the young man even as he begins. “I’m quite used to you coming with Edith now.”
“Well, you know… I… I really wanted this to be a conversation that I had alone with you and Mr. Watsford,” Frank indicates to George, still licking his wounds. “Mrs. Watsford. So, I asked Hilda to take Edith out shopping today.”
“And she isn’t missing you, Frank?” Ada queries, as she replaces the pot in the middle of the tea table.
“Err…” Frank blushers, heaving and puffing his cheeks out. “Well, I told Edith a bit of a tall tale. I said that I had to help Giuseppe, my chum with his restaurant in the Islington****** today.”
“Oh yes,” Ada remarks with a tone of distaste as she hands George his cup of tea. “Giuseppe. He was your Italian friend who gave you the wine that we shared that first time we met, wasn’t he?”
Frank blushes red at the painful memory of that first rather awkward Sunday luncheon he had at the Watsfords’ when he and Ada had had a disagreement about some of his beliefs about life. “Yes.”
“My, my.” Ada takes up her own cup of tea and cradles it in her lap as she smiles to herself. “Such subterfuge to be alone with us.”
“You might not enjoy poor Frank’s discomfort quite so readily, Ada.” George pipes up from his seat as he sips his tea, tempering his wife.
“I was merely asking a question, George love.” Ada replies with a smug smile.
“No you weren’t, and you know it.” George retorts. “You were bringing up difficult memories of that awkward first tea we all had together, when you know perfectly well that we have all come a long way from there.” He gives his wife a doleful look. “Stop raking over old coals that don’t need to be raked over.”
“I agree, George.” Ada replies calmly. “We have come a long way; however, I was merely reminding Frank that in spite of that, we still have some concerns about his philosophies about life.”
“You have concerns, Ada love. I don’t.”
“Well one of us has to, if Frank has come here asking for Edith’s hand.” Ada turns her attentions to their young guest. “That is why you are here, isn’t it, Frank?”
“Well… I…” Frank stammers.
“Of course it is, Ada love. Frank?” George asks, sitting up in his seat.
“Well yes, Mr. Watsford. That’s what I came for. I came to formally ask for Edith’s hand in marriage.”
George leaps from his seat, dropping his half drunk cup of tea into the tea table noisily, sloshing tea into the saucer in his haste, before he bustles around the small black japanned cane table on which a vase of flowers stands before patting Frank on the back. “Of course! Of course! We’d be delighted, wouldn’t we Ada?” He turns and beams at his wife before turning quickly back to Frank without waiting for a reply. “What took you so long, Frank my boy?”
“Well Mr. Watsford, I know Edith and I have been stepping out for a while now,” Frank explains, sighing with relief and smiling at George’s exuberant acceptance of his request for Edith’s hand. “But I wanted to have a few things in place before I asked you.”
“Jolly good! Jolly good!” George chuckles delightedly. “Have you got a ring yet?”
“I’m not quite there yet, Mr. Watsford, but I’m getting there. I… I also wanted to assure you that my intentions are genuine. I… I love Edith and I don’t want anyone else.”
“Well, of course you don’t, lad!” George puffs, rubbing the young man’s right shoulder comfortingly. “We knew the moment we saw you together, that you two were made for each other, didn’t we Ada?”
Ada doesn’t reply immediately.
“Oh, this is wonderful, Frank!” George shakes Frank’s hands, barely able to contain his joy. “Welcome to the family!”
“Now just hang on for a moment.” Ada’s voice cuts in, slicing the joy with its sharp edge. “Let’s not rush into this without a few clarifying things first.”
“What?” George asks. He snorts preposterously. “Whatever do mean, Ada love? Frank’s just said his intentions are good. I don’t need anything more than that.”
“Well I do.” Ada replies calmly.
“What… what is… is it, Mrs. Watsford?” Frank asks, his voice quavering with nerves.
“Now, if you’d both just sit down for a moment,” Ada says, replacing her cup on the table, indicating for the two men to resume their seats.
Deflated, both Frank and George return to their respective seats.
“Now, Frank,” Ada starts, leaning forward in her seat. “I would just like to say that in principle, I am as pleased as my husband is that you’re asking for Edith’s hand in marriage.”
“Then Ada…?” George begins, but his wife silences him by holding up the palm of her hand to him.
She goes on. “I’d already had words with Edith about the two of you eloping.”
“Oh I’d never do that to you, Mr. Watsford or my Gran, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank assures her, looking earnestly into her unreadable face.
“Yes, I’m glad to hear it, as it confirms what Edith said, which was the same as you.” Ada turns to her husband. “Prospects?”
George looks quizzically at his wife. “Prospects?”
“Yes, prospects!” Ada’s eyes grow wide as she looks knowingly at him. She lowers her voice and whispers, “Remember, we discussed this?” When he looks uncomprehendingly at her again, she adds in a hiss, “When I said you’d go all doolally******* over Frank’s proposal, which you have?”
“Oh!” George pipes up. “Oh yes!” He sits up in his seat and turns to Frank. “Now young man, Both you and Edith have told us that you’re trying to improve your lot in life.” Ada scoffs from her seat. Ignoring her, he asks, “What are your prospects for Edith, once you’re married?”
“Well, it is true that I am trying to improve my circumstances. It’s one of the reasons why I have held off asking for Ediths hand until now. Like I said, I wanted to get a few things in place before I did.”
“Such as?” George’s bushy eyebrow arches over his right eye as he asks.
“Well, as you both know, I’ve been doing extra duties at Mr. Willison’s to build up my skills. I don’t want to be a delivery boy all my life.”
“No of course not, lad!” George pipes up.
“George!” Ada exclaims. “Let the boy finish. I want to hear what he has to say, not you.”
“Err… no, of course not.” George blusters. “Go on, Frank.”
“Well, I’ve been doing a bit of window dressing and arranging of products for Mr. Willison. I’ve also been taking a correspondence course on bookkeeping, which Edith doesn’t know about.”
“Why not?” Ada snaps.
“Because I wanted to complete it first and show that I’ve applied the skills before I told her: rather like a surprise, Mrs. Watsford.”
“Alright Frank.” Ada softens. “And have you?”
“Well, it’s a bit hard to get Mrs. Willison to relinquish anything about the shop’s books, but I did manage to do a bit of bookkeeping earlier this month when she was poorly and in bed. Technically she gave the task to her daughter, Miss Henrietta, but she wanted to do other things in her spare time, so it was reasonably easy to convince her to give it over to me to do, and Mrs. Willison did admit that I did a good job of it.”
“Well that’s something, isn’t it Ada?”
Ada nods in agreement with her husband, but keeps looking at Frank with an observant stare.
Frank continues. “And I’ve been tapped on the shoulder by friends of mine who are part of a trades union.” An uncomfortable look begins to cloud Ada’s features at the mention of unions. “And they tell me that soon there might be an opening or two in one of the suburban grocers for an assistant manager position, which would lead eventually to a position where I’d be running my own corner grocer.”
“In Metroland********?” George splutters. “My daughter all the way out there?”
“It’s not so bad, Mr. Watsford. The Chalk Hill, Grange and Cedars Estates are all built along the railway line not too far from Wembley Park, so Edith would be able to visit you easily, and you’d be able to come and visit us too. We’d live in a nice little flat above the shop with indoor plumbing and all electrified.” Ada tuts at the mention of electricity, but Frank continues to paint a vision of his and Edith’s rosy future. “The children we have, your grandchildren can grow up attending local schools and getting lots of fresh air.”
“Well, since you put it like that, I guess it’s not so bad, is it Ada?”
“Well,” Ada purses her lips. “I’m sure that Edith has told you that I hold no faith in that newfangled electricity, but living in Cavendish Mews she seems to have become a convert.”
“And a lovely new estate is far healthier for any children that we have, Mrs. Watsford. It’s far better than living in a house in Clapham Junction.”
“And how much will this flat of yours cost?” Ada asks seriously.
“Around five shillings a week for a two-up two down******** semi********* in the Chalk Hill Estate, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank says, gaining strength in his convictions, filling his voice with a new boldness and surety. “And, if we were to live in a flat above the grocers’ shop, it would be even less, and we’d still have all the modern conveniences like hot and cold running water and an inside privy.”
“Nothing wrong with an outdoor privy.” remarks George.
“Nothing wrong with an indoor one, either, Mr. Watsford. I only the best for Edith and our children.”
“Alright, young Frank.” George backs down.
“Now, going back to what I had eluded to before, Frank,” Ada continues. “You’re a good lad, Frank Leadbetter, and I can see that by your thoughtfulness and your manners. I know you love our Edith, and you obviously treat her very well…”
“As she deserves, Mrs. Watsford.” Frank assures her.
“I know, Frank.” Ada tempers him. “However, the vehemence with which you spurn your new ideas around is still a bit frightening to me.”
“Oh, there’s nothing to be frightened of Mrs. Watsford.”
“But these labour unions of yours…” Ada’s voice trails off.
“I can assure you, Mrs. Watsford, the unions aren’t bad, and I am not a Communist.” Frank defends himself. “As I said just before, I only want the best for Edith and for the family I hope we will have together. I just want a better world for all of us, and the unions will help with that. However, I swear that I’m not associated with any of those militant factions that popped up after the Russian Revolution. I believe in peaceable actions, discussion and compromise.” Frank looks earnestly at Ada. “I would never put Edith in any danger. I’m a hard working man who just wants a good future. Some of the finer details of it may be different to yours and Mr. Watsford’s, Mrs. Watsford, but at the end of the day, our ideals are the same, and whatever I do, Edith and her wellbeing is central in everything I do, and everything I have planned.”
Ada sighs and smiles. “Alright Frank. So long as she is, I can only give you my blessing too.”
“Oh thank you, Mrs. Watsford!” Frank exclaims, standing up and walking over to Ada who rises from her seat and embraces Frank kindly.
“Good lad!” George says, standing up as well and beaming over his wife’s shoulder, winking at Frank.
He reaches down and snatches up two more biscuits from the fluted glass bowl on the tea table.
“George!” Ada scolds, not quick enough to catch him this time.
He smiles back at her gormlessly.
“At this rate I’m going to have to let out that vest of yours, George Wastford!” Ada remarks.
George turns to Frank. “Are you sure you want the joy of these moments of wedded bliss, Frank my boy?” he asks jokingly.
*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.
**Button back upholstered furniture contains buttons embedded in the back of the sofa or chair, which are pulled tightly against the leather creating a shallow dimple effect. This is sometimes known as button tufting.
***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.
****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 meaning of the very British term “shall I be mother” is “shall I pour the tea?”
******The Italian quarter of London, known commonly today as “Little Italy” is an Italian ethnic enclave in London. Little Italy’s core historical borders are usually placed at Clerkenwell Road, Farringdon Road and Rosebery Avenue - the Saffron Hill area of Clerkenwell. Clerkenwell spans Camden Borough and Islington Borough. Saffron Hill and St. Peter’s Italian Catholic Church fall within the Camden side. However, even though this was the traditional enclave for Italians, immigrants moved elsewhere in London, bleeding into areas like Islington and Soho where they established bars, cafes and restaurants which sold Italian cuisine and wines.
*******Doolally is British and Irish slang for a person who is eccentric or has gone mad. It originated in the military.
*******Metroland is a name given to the suburban areas that were built to the north-west of London in the counties of Buckinghamshire, Hertfordshire and Middlesex in the early part of the Twentieth Century that were served by the Metropolitan Railway. The railway company was in the privileged position of being allowed to retain surplus land; from 1919 this was developed for housing by the nominally independent Metropolitan Railway Country Estates Limited (MRCE). The term "Metroland" was coined by the Met's marketing department in 1915 when the Guide to the Extension Line became the Metro-land guide. It promoted a dream of a modern home in beautiful countryside with a fast railway service to central London until the Met was absorbed into the London Passenger Transport Board in 1933.
********Two-up two-down is a type of small house with two rooms on the ground floor and two bedrooms upstairs. There are many types of terraced houses in the United Kingdom, and these are among the most modest. The first two-up two-down terraces were built in the 1870s, but the concept of them made up the backbone of the Metroland suburban expansions of the 1920s with streets lined with rows of two-up two-down semi-detached houses in Mock Tudor, Jacobethan, Arts and Crafts and inter-war Art Deco styles bastardised from the aesthetic styles created by the likes of English Arts and Crafts Movement designers like William Morris and Charles Voysey.
*********A semi-detached house (known more commonly simply as a semi) is a house joined to another house on one side only by a common wall.
This cluttered and old fashioned, yet cosy front parlour may look realistic to you, however it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.
You may think that by 1926 when this story is set, that homes would have been more modern and less Victorian, and many were. However, there were a lot of people during this era who grew up and established their homes during the reign of Queen Victoria and did not want to update their homes, or could not afford to do so, so an interior like this would not have been uncommon in the 1920s and even in the lead up to and during the Second World War.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The old fashioned high backed Victorian chairs with their barley twist detailing and brass casters were made by Town Hall Miniatures
Ada’s collection of commemorative plates of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee in 1897, the Coronation of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra in 1902 and the Coronation of King George V and Queen Mary in 1911 on the sideboard and the whatnot are all made by the British miniature artist Rachel Munday. The plate of Edward VIII on the far left is a piece of souvenir ware from around 1905 and is made of very finely pressed tin.
The bust of Queen Victoria was made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. It has been hand painted by me.
The Victorian Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII) vase in the centre of the fireplace has been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys.
The Watsford family photos on the mantlepiece are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal.
The church and castle statues at either end of the fireplace are made of resin and are hand painted. They came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.
Sitting on the central pedestal table is the cottage ware teapot Edith gave her mother as a gift a few years ago. Made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson, it has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched rood and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.
Also on the table, the glass dish of biscuits is an artisan piece. The bowl is made from real glass with the biscuits attached and hand painted. It came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The teacups, milk jug and sugar bowl also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.
Ada’s wicker sewing basket, sitting closed to show off its pretty florally decorated top, has knitting needles sticking out of it. The basket was hand made by Mrs. Denton of Muffin Lodge in the United Kingdom.
The fireplace, the whatnot, the central pedestal table, the embroidered footstool by the fireplace, the brass fire irons and the ornate black japanned cane table on which Ada’s sewing box stand also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.
The sideboard is a piece I bought as part of a larger drawing room suite of dolls house furniture from a department store when I was a teenager.
The collection of floral vases on the bottom two tiers of the whatnot came from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay.
The vase of flowers are all beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium and inserted into a real, hand blown glass vase.
The little white vase in the forefront of the photo is mid Victorian and would once have been part of a tiny doll’s tea service. It is Parian Ware. Parian Ware is a type of biscuit porcelain imitating marble. It was developed around 1845 by the Staffordshire pottery manufacturer Mintons, and named after Paros, the Greek island renowned for its fine-textured, white Parian marble, used since antiquity for sculpture. I have had it since I was about ten years old.
The ‘home sweet home’ embroidery and the painting on the wall come from online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures, as does the Art Nouveau vase on the left hand side of the picture.
The Flickr Lounge-Finding Circles
I needed a new pill box so got a round one with nice big compartments.
Not quite enough home grown strawberries for breakfast (small ones in center) so supplementing with store bought / factory farmed giants.
Incorporating herbal supplements into your diet can unlock a world of health benefits! 🌱 Boost your immune system, reduce inflammation, improve digestion, manage stress, and sleep better with these natural wonders. 🌙💪 CLICK LINK IN BIO to discover the power of herbal supplements.
ARRIVA Buses Wales Optare Solo 696 - CX09 BGZ sets off from Rhyl on a Sunday journey on route 36 Circular via Rhuddlan, Dyserth & Prestatyn.
Osprey with prey (bird)? We were on Wolf Rd. south of 159th st when we saw a bird sitting in the corn field. Not sure what it was I did a U turn & realized it was an Osprey. At 1st we thought it might be injured. I grabbed the camera & crossed the street to avoid traffic. All of a sudden it took off with what I think is a bird in it's talon. Believing Osprey only ate fish I went on line & found out that 99% of their diet is fish but sometimes they will eat frogs,small animals & birds .
IMG_3657-1
Some fresh produce initially to supplement my sandwich meal; however, when I opened the kitchen cupboard, to my surprise, the onion have managed to find its way out into this world.
I found it looking nice; and so before I slice them in thinly pieces, I used it first as my models which, ended up here at my lighting test setup.
After several flashing here and there, I was able to nail down this one. A hand-made recycled paper was placed on tabletop to further observe the light's direction.
For larger view, click here: www.flickr.com/photo_zoom.gne?id=1972555798&size=o
Nikon DSLR D200 / Nikkor Lens VR 70-300mm F/4.5-5.6G • Strobe: Built in, commander mode / one SB-800 camera right remote, Group A Mx1/4, on soft-box / one SB-800 camera left remote, Group A Mx1/4, on soft-box / one SB-800 camera above snoot hand-held pointing at the center of tomato, Group B Mx1/4, with diffuser • ISO 100 • November 2007.
Seen in Explore, 13 November 2007 – Highest Position #345.
June 2, 2014 - The FDA is advising consumers not to purchase or use Full Throttle On Demand, a product promoted and sold for sexual enhancement. The product was found to contain undeclared propoxyphenyl sildenafil. For more information, go to
www.fda.gov/Drugs/ResourcesForYou/Consumers/BuyingUsingMe...
And read these FDA Consumer Updates:
Beware of Fraudulent ‘Dietary Supplements’
"All Natural" Alternatives for Erectile Dysfunction: A Risky Proposition
Built to supplement the RoninLUG & Friends microfleet at Brickcon 2012. I had built this one specifically to be destroyed. The side panels are modular and can be replaced with damaged versions. There's also all kinds of little escape pods that were jettisoned during the last half of the con.
Severe flooding in South Carolina and a call for help has brought about a U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) Food and Nutrition Service (FNS) Disaster Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (D-SNAP) and several other partner organizations to setup a processing center in the North Charleston Coliseum, where Charleston County residents can apply for assistance in North Charleston, South Carolina, on Tuesday, Nov. 17, 2015. Prior to opening, rows of seats await applicants who will fillout a single form and then be interviewed to determine eligibility. If approved a SNAP card is issued and they are provided information about its use.
In times of emergency, FNS coordinates with state and federal partners, as well as local volunteer organizations, such as the American Red Cross and Salvation Army, to provide USDA Foods to shelters and other mass feeding sites and, in limited cases, distribute food packages directly to households in need. USDA Foods are 100% domestically produced, processed and procured agricultural commodities that are made available to schools, tribes, and low-income individuals through FNS Nutrition Assistance Programs. Once retail food stores reopen, if survivors still need nutrition assistance and the area has received a ‘Presidential Disaster Declaration with Individual Assistance,’ State agencies may request to operate D-SNAP. People who may not normally qualify for nutrition assistance benefits may be eligible for D-SNAP if they had disaster-related expenses, such as loss of income, damage to property, relocation expenses, and, in some cases, loss of food due to power outages. Those already participating in the SNAP may be eligible for supplemental benefits under D-SNAP. For more information please visit this web site: www.fns.usda.gov/disaster. USDA photos by Lance Cheung.
+++ DISCLAIMER +++
Nothing you see here is real, even though the conversion or the presented background story might be based on historical facts. BEWARE!
Some background:
The CAC Sabre, sometimes known as the Avon Sabre or CA-27, was an Australian variant of the North American Aviation F-86F Sabre fighter aircraft. In 1951, Commonwealth Aircraft Corporation obtained a license agreement to build the F-86F Sabre. In a major departure from the North American blueprint, it was decided that the CA-27 would be powered by a license-built version of the Rolls-Royce Avon R.A.7, rather than the General Electric J47. In theory, the Avon was capable of more than double the maximum thrust and double the thrust-to-weight ratio of the US engine. This necessitated a re-design of the fuselage, as the Avon was shorter, wider and lighter than the J47.
To accommodate the Avon, over 60 percent of the fuselage was altered and there was a 25 percent increase in the size of the air intake. Another major revision was in replacing the F-86F's six machine guns with two 30mm ADEN cannon, while other changes were also made to the cockpit and to provide an increased fuel capacity.
The prototype aircraft first flew on 3 August 1953. The production aircrafts' first deliveries to the Royal Australian Air Force began in 1954. The first batch of aircraft were powered by the Avon 20 engine and were designated the Sabre Mk 30. Between 1957 and 1958 this batch had the wing slats removed and were re-designated Sabre Mk 31. These Sabres were supplemented by 20 new-built aircraft. The last batch of aircraft were designated Sabre Mk 32 and used the Avon 26 engine, of which 69 were built up to 1961.
Beyond these land-based versions, an indigenous version for carrier operations had been developed and built in small numbers, too, the Sea Sabre Mk 40 and 41. The roots of this aircraft, which was rather a prestigious idea than a sensible project, could be traced back to the immediate post WWII era. A review by the Australian Government's Defence Committee recommended that the post-war forces of the RAN be structured around a Task Force incorporating multiple aircraft carriers. Initial plans were for three carriers, with two active and a third in reserve, although funding cuts led to the purchase of only two carriers in June 1947: Majestic and sister ship HMS Terrible, for the combined cost of AU£2.75 million, plus stores, fuel, and ammunition. As Terrible was the closer of the two ships to completion, she was finished without modification, and was commissioned into the RAN on 16 December 1948 as HMAS Sydney. Work progressed on Majestic at a slower rate, as she was upgraded with the latest technology and equipment. To cover Majestic's absence, the Colossus-class carrier HMS Vengeance was loaned to the RAN from 13 November 1952 until 12 August 1955.
Labour difficulties, late delivery of equipment, additional requirements for Australian operations, and the prioritization of merchant ships over naval construction delayed the completion of Majestic. Incorporation of new systems and enhancements caused the cost of the RAN carrier acquisition program to increase to AU£8.3 million. Construction and fitting out did not finish until October 1955. As the carrier neared completion, a commissioning crew was formed in Australia and first used to return Vengeance to the United Kingdom.
The completed carrier was commissioned into the RAN as HMAS Majestic on 26 October 1955, but only two days later, the ship was renamed Melbourne and recommissioned.
In the meantime, the rather political decision had been made to equip Melbourne with an indigenous jet-powered aircraft, replacing the piston-driven Hawker Fury that had been successfully operated from HMAS Sydney and HMAS Vengeance, so that the "new jet age" was even more recognizable. The choice fell on the CAC Sabre, certainly inspired by North American's successful contemporary development of the navalized FJ-2 Fury from the land-based F-86 Sabre. The CAC 27 was already a proven design, and with its more powerful Avon engine it even offered a better suitability for carrier operations than the FJ-2 with its rather weak J47 engine.
Work on this project, which was initially simply designated Sabre Mk 40, started in 1954, just when the first CAC 27's were delivered to operative RAAF units. While the navalized Avon Sabre differed outwardly only little from its land-based brethren, many details were changed and locally developed. Therefore, there was also, beyond the general outlines, little in common with the North American FJ-2 an -3 Fury.
Externally, a completely new wing with a folding mechanism was fitted. It was based on the F-86's so-called "6-3" wing, with a leading edge that was extended 6 inches at the root and 3 inches at the tip. This modification enhanced maneuverability at the expense of a small increase in landing speed due to deletion of the leading edge slats, a detail that was later introduced on the Sabre Mk 31, too. As a side benefit, the new wing leading edges without the slat mechanisms held extra fuel. However, the Mk 40's wing was different as camber was applied to the underside of the leading edge to improve low-speed handling for carrier operations. The wings were provided with four stations outboard of the landing gear wells for up to 1000 lb external loads on the inboard stations and 500 lb on the outboard stations.
Slightly larger stabilizers were fitted and the landing gear was strengthened, including a longer front wheel strut. The latter necessitated an enlarged front wheel well, so that the front leg’s attachment point had to be moved forward. A ventral launch cable hook was added under the wing roots and an external massive arrester hook under the rear fuselage.
Internally, systems were protected against salt and humidity and a Rolls-Royce Avon 211 turbojet was fitted, a downrated variant of the already navalized Avon 208 from the British DH Sea Vixen, but adapted to the different CAC 27 airframe and delivering 8.000 lbf (35.5 kN) thrust – slightly more than the engines of the land-based CAC Sabres, but also without an afterburner.
A single Mk 40 prototype was built from a new CAC 27 airframe taken directly from the production line in early 1955 and made its maiden flight on August 20th of the same year. In order to reflect its naval nature and its ancestry, this new CAC 27 variant was officially christened “Sea Sabre”.
Even though the modified machine handled well, and the new, cambered wing proved to be effective, many minor technical flaws were discovered and delayed the aircraft's development until 1957. These included the wing folding mechanism and the respective fuel plumbing connections, the landing gear, which had to be beefed up even more for hard carrier landings and the airframe’s structural strength for catapult launches, esp. around the ventral launch hook.
In the meantime, work on the land-based CAC 27 progressed in parallel, too, and innovations that led to the Mk 31 and 32 were also incorporated into the naval Mk 40, leading to the Sea Sabre Mk 41, which became the effective production aircraft. These updates included, among others, a detachable (but fixed) refueling probe under the starboard wing, two more pylons for light loads located under the wing roots and the capability to carry and deploy IR-guided AIM-9 Sidewinder air-to-air missiles, what significantly increased the Mk 41's efficiency as day fighter. With all these constant changes it took until April 1958 that the Sabre Mk 41, after a second prototype had been directly built to the new standard, was finally approved and cleared for production. Upon delivery, the RAN Sea Sabres carried a standard NATO paint scheme with Extra Dark Sea Grey upper surfaces and Sky undersides.
In the meantime, the political enthusiasm concerning the Australian carrier fleet had waned, so that only twenty-two aircraft were ordered. The reason behind this decision was that Australia’s carrier fleet and its capacity had become severely reduced: Following the first decommissioning of HMAS Sydney in 1958, Melbourne became the only aircraft carrier in Australian service, and she was unavailable to provide air cover for the RAN for up to four months in every year; this time was required for refits, refueling, personnel leave, and non-carrier duties, such as the transportation of troops or aircraft. Although one of the largest ships to serve in the RAN, Melbourne was one of the smallest carriers to operate in the post-World War II period, so that its contribution to military actions was rather limited. To make matters worse, a decision was made in 1959 to restrict Melbourne's role to helicopter operations only, rendering any carrier-based aircraft in Australian service obsolete. However, this decision was reversed shortly before its planned 1963 implementation, but Australia’s fleet of carrier-borne fixed-wing aircraft would not grow to proportions envisioned 10 years ago.
Nevertheless, on 10 November 1964, an AU£212 million increase in defense spending included the purchase of new aircraft for Melbourne. The RAN planned to acquire 14 Grumman S-2E Tracker anti-submarine aircraft and to modernize Melbourne to operate these. The acquisition of 18 new fighter-bombers was suggested (either Sea Sabre Mk 41s or the American Douglas A-4 Skyhawk), too, but these were dropped from the initial plan. A separate proposal to order 10 A-4G Skyhawks, a variant of the Skyhawk designed specifically for the RAN and optimized for air defense, was approved in 1965, but the new aircraft did not fly from Melbourne until the conclusion of her refit in 1969. This move, however, precluded the production of any new and further Sea Sabre.
At that time, the RAN Sea Sabres received a new livery in US Navy style, with upper surfaces in Light Gull Gray with white undersides. The CAC Sea Sabres remained the main day fighter and attack aircraft for the RAN, after the vintage Sea Furies had been retired in 1962. The other contemporary RAN fighter type in service, the Sea Venom FAW.53 all-weather fighter that had replaced the Furies, already showed its obsolescence.
In 1969, the RAN purchased another ten A-4G Skyhawks, primarily in order to replace the Sea Venoms on the carriers, instead of the proposed seventh and eighth Oberon-class submarines. These were operated together with the Sea Sabres in mixed units on board of Melbourne and from land bases, e.g. from NAS Nowra in New South Wales, where a number of Sea Sabres were also allocated to 724 Squadron for operational training.
Around 1970, Melbourne operated a standard air group of four jet aircraft, six Trackers, and ten Wessex helicopters until 1972, when the Wessexes were replaced with ten Westland Sea King anti-submarine warfare helicopters and the number of jet fighters doubled. Even though the A-4G’s more and more took over the operational duties on board of Melbourne, the Sea Sabres were still frequently deployed on the carrier, too, until the early Eighties, when both the Skyhawks and the Sea Sabres received once more a new camouflage, this time a wraparound scheme in two shades of grey, reflecting their primary airspace defense mission.
The CAC 27 Mk 41s’ last carrier operations took place in 1981 in the course of Melbourne’s involvements in two major exercises, Sea Hawk and Kangaroo 81, the ship’s final missions at sea. After Melbourne was decommissioned in 1984, the Fleet Air Arm ceased fixed-wing combat aircraft operation. This was the operational end of the Sabre Mk 41, which had reached the end of their airframe lifetime, and the Sea Sabre fleet had, during its career, severely suffered from accidents and losses: upon retirement, only eight of the original twenty-two aircraft still existed in flightworthy condition, so that the aircraft were all scrapped. The younger RAN A-4Gs were eventually sold to New Zealand, where they were kept in service until 2002.
General characteristics:
Crew: 1
Length: 37 ft 6 in (11.43 m)
Wingspan: 37 ft 1 in (11.3 m)
Height: 14 ft 5 in (4.39 m)
Wing area: 302.3 sq ft (28.1 m²)
Empty weight: 12,000 lb (5,443 kg)
Loaded weight: 16,000 lb (7,256 kg)
Max. takeoff weight: 21,210 lb (9,621 kg)
Powerplant:
1× Rolls-Royce Avon 208A turbojet engine with 8,200 lbf (36.44 kN)
Performance:
Maximum speed: 700 mph (1,100 km/h) (605 knots)
Range: 1,153 mi, (1,000 NM, 1,850 km)
Service ceiling: 52,000 ft (15,850 m)
Rate of climb: 12,000 ft/min at sea level (61 m/s)
Armament:
2× 30 mm ADEN cannons with 150 rounds per gun
5,300 lb (2,400 kg) of payload on six external hardpoints;
Bombs were usually mounted on outer two pylons as the mid pair were wet-plumbed pylons for
2× 200 gallons drop tanks, while the inner pair was usually occupied by a pair of AIM-9 Sidewinder
AAMs
A wide variety of bombs could be carried with maximum standard loadout being 2x 1,000 lb bombs
or 2x Matra pods with unguided SURA missiles plus 2 drop tanks for ground attacks, or 2x AIM-9 plus
two drop tanks as day fighter
The kit and its assembly:
This project was initially inspired by a set of decals from an ESCI A-4G which I had bought in a lot – I wondered if I could use it for a submission to the “In the navy” group build at whatifmodelers.com in early 2020. I considered an FJ-3M in Australian colors on this basis and had stashed away a Sword kit of that aircraft for this purpose. However, I had already built an FJ variant for the GB (a kitbashed mix of an F-86D and an FJ-4B in USMC colors), and was reluctant to add another Fury.
This spontaneously changed after (thanks to Corona virus quarantine…) I cleaned up one of my kit hoards and found a conversion set for a 1:72 CAC 27 from JAYS Model Kits which I had bought eons ago without a concrete plan. That was the eventual trigger to spin the RAN Fury idea further – why not a navalized version of the Avon Sabre for HMAS Melbourne?
The result is either another kitbash or a highly modified FJ-3M from Sword. The JAYS Model Kits set comes with a THICK sprue that carries two fuselage halves and an air intake, and it also offers a vacu canopy as a thin fallback option because the set is actually intended to be used together with a Hobby Craft F-86F.
While the parts, molded in a somewhat waxy and brittle styrene, look crude on the massive sprue, the fuselage halves come with very fine recessed engravings. And once you have cleaned the parts (NOTHING for people faint at heart, a mini drill with a saw blade is highly recommended), their fit is surprisingly good. The air intake was so exact that no putty was needed to blend it with the rest of the fuselage.
The rest came from the Sword kit and integrating the parts into the CAC 27 fuselage went more smoothly than expected. For instance, the FJ-3M comes with a nice cockpit tub that also holds a full air intake duct. Thanks to the slightly wider fuselage of the CAC 27, it could be mounted into the new fuselage halves without problems and the intake duct almost perfectly matches the intake frame from the conversion set. The tailpipe could be easily integrated without any mods, too. The fins had to be glued directly to the fuselage – but this is the way how the Sword kit is actually constructed! Even the FJ-3M’s wings match the different fuselage perfectly. The only modifications I had to make is a slight enlargement of the ventral wing opening at the front and at the read in order to take the deeper wing element from the Sword kit, but that was an easy task. Once in place, the parts blend almost perfectly into each other, just minor PSR was necessary to hide the seams!
Other mods include an extended front wheel well for the longer leg from the FJ-3M and a scratched arrester hook installation, made from wire, which is on purpose different from the Y-shaped hook of the Furies.
For the canopy I relied on the vacu piece that came with the JAYS set. Fitting it was not easy, though, it took some PSR to blend the windscreen into the rest of the fuselage. Not perfect, but O.K. for such a solution from a conversion set.
The underwing pylons were taken from the Sword kit, including the early Sidewinders. I just replaced the drop tanks – the OOB tanks are very wide, and even though they might be authentic for the FJ-3, I was skeptical if they fit at all under the wings with the landing gear extended? In order to avoid trouble and for a more modern look, I replaced them outright with more slender tanks, which were to mimic A-4 tanks (USN FJ-4s frequently carried Skyhawk tanks). They actually come from a Revell F-16 kit, with modified fins. The refueling probe comes from the Sword kit.
A last word about the Sword kit: much light, but also much shadow. While I appreciate the fine surface engravings, the recognizably cambered wings, a detailed cockpit with a two-piece resin seat and a pretty landing gear as well as the long air intake, I wonder why the creators totally failed to provide ANY detail of the arrester hook (there is literally nothing, as if this was a land-based Sabre variant!?) or went for doubtful solutions like a front landing gear that consists of five(!) single, tiny parts? Sadism? The resin seat was also broken (despite being packed in a seperate bag), and it did not fit into the cockpit tub at all. Meh!
Painting and markings:
From the start I planned to give the model the late RAN A-4Gs’ unique air superiority paint scheme, which was AFAIK introduced in the late Seventies: a two-tone wraparound scheme consisting of “Light Admiralty Grey” (BS381C 697) and “Aircraft Grey” (BS 381C 693). Quite simple, but finding suitable paints was not an easy task, and I based my choice on pictures of the real aircraft (esp. from "buzz" number 880 at the Fleet Air Arm Museum, you find pics of it with very good light condition) rather than rely on (pretty doubtful if not contradictive) recommendations in various painting instructions from models or decal sets.
I wanted to keep things simple and settled upon Dark Gull Grey (FS 36231) and Light Blue (FS 35414), both enamel colors from Modelmaster, since both are rather dull interpretations of these tones. Esp. the Light Blue comes quite close to Light Admiralty Grey, even though it should be lighter for more contrast to the darker grey tone. But it has that subtle greenish touch of the original BS tone, and I did not want to mix the colors.
The pattern was adapted from the late A-4Gs’ scheme, and the colors were dulled down even more through a light black ink wash. Some post-shading with lighter tones emphasized the contrast between the two colors again. And while it is not an exact representation of the unique RAN air superiority scheme, I think that the overall impression is there.
The cockpit interior was painted in very dark grey, while the landing gear, its wells and the inside of the air intake became white. A red rim was painted around the front opening, and the landing gear covers received a red outline, too. The white drop tanks are a detail I took from real world RAN A-4Gs - in the early days of the air superiority scheme, the tanks were frequently still finished in the old USN style livery, hence the white body but fins and tail section already in the updated colors.
The decals became a fight, though. As mentioned above, the came from an ESCI kit – and, as expected, the were brittle. All decals with a clear carrier film disintegrated while soaking in water, only those with a fully printed carrier film were more or less usable. One roundel broke and had to be repaired, and the checkered fin flash was a very delicate affair that broke several times, even though I tried to save and repair it with paint. But you can unfortunately see the damage.
Most stencils and some replacements (e. g. the “Navy” tag) come from the Sword FJ-3. While these decals are crisply printed, their carrier film is utterly thin, so thin that applying esp. the larger decals turned out to be hazardous and complicated. Another point that did not really convince me about the Sword kit.
Finally, the kit was sealed with matt acrylic varnish (Italeri) and some soot stains were added around the exhaust and the gun ports with graphite.
In the end, this build looks, despite the troubles and the rather exotic ingredients like a relatively simple Sabre with Australian markings, just with a different Navy livery. You neither immediately recognize the FJ-3 behind it, nor the Avon Sabre’s bigger fuselage, unless you take a close and probably educated look. Very subtle, though.
The RAN air superiority scheme from the late Skyhawks suits the Sabre/Fury-thing well – I like the fact that it is a modern fighter scheme, but, thanks to the tones and the colorful other markings, not as dull and boring like many others, e. g. the contemporary USN "Ghost" scheme. Made me wonder about an early RAAF F-18 in this livery - should look very pretty, too?
Once upon a time, a visit to London's Gatwick airport would produce a number of aircraft operated by the US supplemental carriers, in other words, those aimed at the charter market.
Examples included Overseas National, World, Capitol and to a lesser extent Saturn and American Flyers. However, Trans Interntional were a major operator in this market and later went on to introduce DC-10s. They ceased operations in September 1986, as their parent company, Transamerica, wanted to get out of the airline industry.
My photo shows -63CF N4867T slowing down on Gatwick's runway, complete with vignetting, such a feature of that Soligor 200mm !
The aircraft was later re-engined whilst with the airline and after TIA's demise found work as a freighter with both FedEx and UPS.
London Gatwick
14th July 1973
Praktica LTL, Kodachrome II
19730714 N05 N4867T adj clean std
I have supplemented my heavy Canon 80D DSLR with its 420 mm lens system (300mm L/4 with 1.4x extender) with a mirrorless Olympus OM-D E-M10 Mark II with an Olympic M.ZUIKO MSC ED-M 75-300mm II (f/ 4.8-6.7) zoom lens. It weighs less than 2 pounds compared to 5 pounds to carry with my big rig.Yesterday I took it out of the box and tried it out after charging the battery and simply shooting AUTO with all the default settings. It was a disaster, so I skimmed the setup guide and this morning set the camera for 1/400 as my poor results at full magnification were almost entirely due to slow shutter action.
Here are some comparison shots of a Dickcissel at Nelson Lake. I alternated between both cameras so the conditions, while not identical, were similar. I was a delightfully cool overcast day with no shadows and this helped with both cameras. All the mirrorless camera images were shot at 300MM at 1/400. Still a bit slow for any action shots and I will experiment with maybe 1/600. In the meantime I plan to fire up the online manual and maybe find a good eBook tutorial to help me understand the very intricate menu system.
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There’s also homemade bacon-infused butter, lobster butter, truffle aioli, and cocktail sauce can be added for $4 supplement each.
Lbs
100 Yonge St.
Toronto, ON
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Introducing for TorontoLife: torontolife.com/food/restaurants/lbs-pounds-lobster-burge...
Photographic supplement to the medical superintendent's annual report
1935
Countess of Chester Hospital records
Cheshire Archives and Local Studies ZHW/516
By Della Monroe
The shape of a woman is one that is cherished as the body has many functions and undergoes many changes with age. However, there is hope for any female that desires a healthy body and mind. This is why it helps to investigate the best weight loss supplements for women.
It is hard to say how many new diet trends and fads are on the market today. Since women are the most scrutinized by society about their physique, the majority of the ads target them first. One thing that has changed over the years is that more research is performed to ensure that consumers are using a product that is safe.
These days more scientists are looking into plant derived ingredients as opposed to chemicals that may help a person lose weight but are also harmful when taken over a period of time. In the past, artificial stimulants have been associated with organ damage and users normally regain the weight. By recognizing womanly needs, a safer diet aid is more likely to bring long term results.
Things like the menstrual cycle and hormones can have a profound effect on the energy levels of a woman. More is needed than a cup of extra strong coffee or energy drink as a meal replacement. Incorporating vitamin B help to energize and boost metabolism without side effects or organ damage.
Garcinia cambogia, raspberry ketones and green tea are just some of the ingredients gaining popularity with those trying to lose weight and keep it off. Some of these also contain antioxidants and natural stimulants for more energy. As of recent, no major recalls have been made of any product that contains these ingredients.
However, it is up to the consumer to know what ingredients to steer clear of, as many are claiming to have these ingredients or nutrients that can help women diet safely. Many cheap knockoffs contain filler ingredients that, while harmless, do not help one in the weight loss journey. Taking the time to gather data from reliable sources is the best investment in self.
Anyone who is serious about maintaining a healthy weight knows that it is a two way street. Eating the right foods and exercising on a regular basis can help curb cravings and add to energy levels. While cutting calories and fat are also helpful, a dieter has to make sure that those are empty calories and not proteins or complex carbohydrates.
Shops that sell health products or organic food are better than drugs stores when it comes to choosing a diet plan that is safe. Some stores have nutritional experts who can make dietary recommendations and handle inquiries without bias. These types of places have a reputation to uphold so they work in the interest of the customer.
Getting serious about losing weight is a great effort that can have lifelong effects. Looking for quality products and becoming educated is the key to better health both inside and outward. While the process itself is tough and it is common to get discouraged, it can pay off over time.
About the Author:
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An advertising supplement produced by the long-established paper, envelope and manufactured stationery makers John Dickinson & Co Ltd that is tipped into a copy of The British Printer in 1934. The supplement's centre fold shows the four main paper mills of Dickinson's, all in Hertfordshire north of London, and at the time included Apsley Mills and Nash Mills at Hemel Hempstead, Croxley Mills at Watford and Home Park Mills at Kings Langley. There was also what I suspect was the envelope and stationery works at Tottenham, north London. The centrefold photomontage also shows the numerous branch offices and depots both here in the UK and overseas.
John Dickinson was a London stationer who took to paper manufacturing and introduced a number of important mechanical develoments to the process of paper manufacturing. The company also developed processes to mechanise the manufacturing of stationery items such as gummed and window envelopes. The principle retail brands they are most recalled for are 'Lion Brand' (1910) and 'Basildon Bond' (1911) that they acquired when they bought out Millington's, the originators, in 1918. Sadly Dickinson's, who had merged with fellow stationers Robinson's of Bristol in 1966, was asset-stripped in the late 1980s, the company's various mills, works and brands sold on and all have now vanished.
The advert is, of course, printed on Dickinson's paper - "Snow White Art Paper" manufactured at Home Park Mills.
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.
For nearly a year Lettice has been patiently awaiting the return of her beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, after being sent to Durban by his mother, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wanted to end so that she could marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Now Lettice has been made aware by Lady Zinnia that during the course of the year, whilst Lettice has been biding her time, waiting for Selwyn’s eventual return, he has become engaged to the daughter of a Kenyan diamond mine owner whilst in Durban. Fleeing Lady Zinnia’s Park Lane mansion, Lettice returned to Cavendish mews and milled over her options over a week as she reeled from the news. Then, after that week, she knew exactly what to do to resolve the issues raised by Lady Zinnia’s unwelcome news about her son. Taking extra care in her dress, she took herself off to the neighbouring upper-class London suburb of Belgravia and paid a call upon Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.
Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John is still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intends to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Selwyn rescued Lettice from the horror of having to entertain him, and Sir John left the ball early in a disgruntled mood with a much younger partygoer. Lettice recently reacquainted herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, a baronial Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show where she found him yet again to be a pleasant and attentive companion for much of the evening.
Sir John also made a proposition to her that night: he offered her his hand in marriage should she ever need it. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them. Turning up unannounced on his doorstep, she agreed to his proposal after explaining that the understanding between she and Selwyn was concluded. However, in an effort to be discreet, at Lettice’s insistence, they are not making their engagement public until the new year: after the dust about Selwyn’s break of his and Lettice’s engagement settles. So, Lettice and Sir John have gone on about their separate lives, but in the lead up to Christmas they invariably ended up running into one another at the last mad rush of parties before everyone who hadn’t already, decamped to the country to celebrate Christmas.
Today we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife Arabella. Lettice is visiting her family home for Christmas. She motored down to Wiltshire with her old childhood chum, Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. His family, the Brutons, are neighbours to the Cheywynds with their properties sharing boundaries. That is how Gerald and Lettice came to be such good friends. However, whilst both families are landed gentry with lineage going back centuries, unlike Lettice’s family, Gerald’s live in a much smaller baronial manor house and are in much more straitened circumstances.
It is Christmas morning 1924, and we find ourselves in the very grand and elegant drawing room of Glynes with its gilt Louis and Palladian style furnishings where the extended Chetwynd family is gathered around the splendidly decked out Christmas tree. Present are the Viscount and his wife, Lady Sadie, Leslie and Arabella, Lettice’s elder sister Lalage (known to everyone in the family by the diminutive Lally), her children, Lettice’s nephews and niece, Harrold, Annabelle and Piers, the children’s rather crisply starched nanny, and this year, Arabella’s mother, Lady Isobel and her brother, Nigel, Lord Tyrwhitt who have come the short distance from the neighbouring property adjoining the Glynes estate to the south, Garstanton Park, the grand Gothic Victorian home of the Tyrwhitts. The only members of the family not present are lally’s husband Charles and the Viscount’s sister, Eglantyne (known affectionately by the Viscount’s children as Aunt Egg) who have gone to enjoy the elicit pleasure of a cigarette together. Lady Sadie does not approve of men smoking indoors, much less her emancipated sister-in-law, so she will not counternance either of them smoking in her drawing room, even on Christmas Day. None of the family’s faithful retainers are present, as the tradition is that servants are given Christmas Day off after breakfast until the late afternoon, when they return and prepare to serve the family’s Christmas dinner in the Glynes dining room.
“Oh I am glad that Pater invited Nigel and Aunt Isobel over here for Christmas.” Lettice says with a smile as she watches Nigel help clear space on the Chinese silk drawing room carpet for he and Lettice’s nephew Harrold to play.
Last year Lord Sherbourne Tyrwhitt died suddenly, thrusting his wife, Lady Isobel into the role of widowed dowager and catapulting his unprepared eldest son, Nigel, into the title of Lord Tyrwhitt, and the position as a lord of the manor, one that Nigel felt quite ready for.
“Well, with just the two of them rolling around that big, empty and cold mausoleum over the knoll,” Leslie replies, referring to Garstanton Park as he waves his hands in the house’s general direction. “And Bella here with me, it only stood to reason. Bella can be with her mother,” He looks lovingly over at his wife who sits at the feet of her mother, Lady Isobel, resting her head on her knee like a child and smiling contentedly as the pair of them watch Nigel play with Lally’s children, Lady Isobel unconsciously stroking Bella’s raven waves. “And besides, Garstanton Park is too full of sadness for them to actually enjoy Christmas there this year. Better they be here with us where there is plenty of cheer and the sound of children’s laughter to distract them.”
“Agreed, Leslie. And we do have fun every year, don’t we?”
“I always look forward to you and Lally coming home for Christmas every year.” He sips coffee from the dainty gilt demitasse in his hand.
“What, even now that you have a beautiful and captivating wife on your arm, Leslie?” Lettice asks in mild disbelief.
“Of course I do! I mean, Bella is my wife, but you are my sisters, and that makes your homecoming pretty special, Tice.”
“Oh, don’t let Bella hear you say that too loudly, Leslie.” Lettice giggles. “She’ll get jealous.”
“I say Tice old girl,” Leslie remarks quietly with a solicitous tone as he takes a seat beside his little sister on one of the elegant gilt upholstered Louis Quinze drawing room sofas, cradling his cup of coffee. “I hope you won’t mind me saying this.”
“If you start off the conversation like that,” Lettice replies warily. “I shouldn’t wonder if I won’t.” Her pretty blue eyes widen over the edge of her own larger cup as she takes a sip of tea.
“I was only going to say that I think you’re being remarkably brave and stoic about all that rather beastly business with Selwyn Spencely.” Leslie admits, giving his sister a guilty sideways glance.
“Oh that!” Lettice replies, lowering her teacup into its saucer and waving her hand dismissively.
“Now don’t be like that, Tice.” Leslie chides. “In this case, despite whatever advice Mamma may give you as a jeune fille à marier*, false modesty doesn’t suit you. I may be a little biased,” He blushes as he speaks. “But I just want you to know that I think Spencely is a fool to let you go like that. He hardly needs the money that will accompany this diamond heiress into their marriage.”
“Kitty Avendale.” Lettice interrupts, uttering the name of the only child of Australian adventurer and thrill seeker turned Kenyan diamond mine owner, Richard Avendale, which was linked to her former fiancée.
“Whatever her name is, I wish Spencely no joy from the marriage.” Leslie spits hotly.
“Shh, shh,” Lettice hushes her brother calmly, placing a hand on his left forearm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You don’t mean that Leslie. I know you don’t.”
“Oh don’t I?” Leslie mutters.
“Of course you don’t, Leslie.” Lettice replies resolutely. “You are my kind and gallant eldest brother, and therefore far too good hearted to wish him ill like that. I certainly don’t want Selwyn to be unhappy with his choice of a wife. He has enough to deal with, what with his horrible mother, whom he doesn’t have a choice not to have.” She sighs. “Anyway Leslie, it doesn’t matter now.” she adds, unable to quite hide the sadness in her voice, or the half-hearted smile on her lips. “It is all in the past.”
“Well, all the same I think Spencely is a cad and a bounder, so there it is! I’ve said it now.”
“Then let us say no more about it, Leslie.” Lettice holds up one of her elegant hands delicately in an effort to put the matter to bed. “After all, it is Christmas, and Christmas is supposed to be about kindness and good will to all men, is it not?”
“I suppose so.” Leslie agrees begrudgingly. “Still, I do think that after your initial reactions when that harridan of a mother of his sent Spencely away, you’ve been remarkably calm and good about it all.”
Like she did with her sister a few weeks before, Lettice longs to confide in her elder brother about her recent secret engagement to Sir John Nettleford-Hughes. Of all her siblings, Leslie is the one she feels closest to, in spite of the fact that he is the eldest and she the youngest child of the Viscount and Lady Sadie. Leslie has always been her protector, especially when it came to their brother Lionel and his ceaseless teasing and tormenting of Lettice when they were children, and he is the one who understands her the best. However, she also knows that like her sister and the rest of her family, Leslie would consider her sudden engagement on the heels of Selwyn’s abandonment of her a rash reaction. Unlike Lally, Leslie doesn’t entirely dislike Sir John, but he is well aware that he is a philanderer and does have a penchant for younger women, having witnessed Sir John leave Lady Sadie’s 1922 Hunt ball with a much younger female party guest on his arm after Lettice spurned his romantic overtures. Lettice suspects that if Leslie knew about her secret engagement, he would pressure her to break it off, and at the moment she is still too emotionally fragile and raw from Lady Zinnia’s revelations that she would not be able to refuse him. She knows, deep in her broken heart, that her reasoning behind keeping her engagement a secret until after the dust settles on her break with Selwyn is wise and sound, so once again she keeps her own counsel and remains silent on the matter of her engagement.
“In fact,” Leslie goes on, not noticing his sister’s deeply ponderous look as she carefully turns her head and looks at the beautifully decorated Chetwynd family Christmas tree covered in gold baubles and tinsel. “I’d go so far as to say you have been rather sporting about all this.”
“Well,” She takes a deep breath. “As I was saying to Lally a fortnight ago when she came to stay with me in London, it was never a definite thing that Selwyn was going to come back to me after a year. And with Selwyn’s absence for that long, I didn’t feel this ending quite so acutely, as I did his departure.”
As Lettice takes another sip of her tea, she is amazed by how quickly she has become accustomed to lying about her true feelings for Selwyn and his abandonment of their engagement. Her mother, Lady Sadie, sitting across from her in her usual position in the armchair closest to the drawing room fireplace, has schooled her well.
“Now, I’d like that to be an end of the matter, Leslie.” Lettice goes on steadfastly.
“Well…”
“At least for today, Leslie.” Lettice implores. “It is Christmas Day after all, and I want it to be happy one for the children – for us all.”
“Alright, Tice old girl.”
“Good, Leslie, old chap.” Lettice replies gratefully.
Lettice turns her attention to the tumble of beautiful new toys and brightly coloured discarded Christmas wrapping that litters the floor around the gaily decorated Christmas tree. Amidst it all, Lally’s children and Nigel play with their new toys. Lettice’s eldest nephew, Harrold, guides his smart new racing motorcar over the terrain of books, boxes and gold wrapping with Nigel’s assistance, whilst Annabelle, Lettice’s niece, picks out characters to play with in her new puppet theatre. She smiles with delight as she takes up one of Little Red Riding Hood carrying a basket, frozen forever in a skipping motion. Piers, Lettice’s youngest nephew, at the age of two, is still very much more interested in the colourful and noisy Christmas paper, which he crinkles up with glee, although Lettice has noticed that he is developing an affinity for the large brown mohair plush bear with the big red bow that his mother and father gave him for Christmas.
“You win again, Tice my dear.” Lally remarks as she stalks across from the tea table where she has just poured herself a fresh cup of coffee.
“What on earth do you mean, Lally?” Lettice asks, looking up at her sister, still dressed, as they all are, in a suitably sombre outfit worn to the Glynes Church of England Christmas service a short while ago. They will all change shortly into lighter and happier outfits before luncheon in the dining room.
“That of course,” Lally nods in the direction of the puppet theatre. “Aunt Tice may not live with us, Leslie, but she knows how to win my children over in a trice.”
“Oh Lally!” Lettice says dismissively. “That’s not true! Look how much Piers loves the bear you… err Father Christmas… gave him.”
“That’s only because he is still too young and remains immune to your charming gifts.” Lally laughs. “He still prefers the boxes they come in.”
“Come now, Master Piers,” Charles and Lally’s nanny fusses as she scurries over from her place standing next to the Christmas tree, watching the children like a benevolent angel in her uniform of a black moiré dress and a white apron. She tries to take a piece of metallic pink Christmas wrapping from his tight grasp as he tears it. “Give that to me. Give that to Nanny.” she cajoles.
Lettice, Leslie and Lally all watch with concern as little Piers’ face screws up and suddenly starts to redden with anger as his nanny tugs at the paper.
“It’s alright, Nanny dear.” Lally says swiftly, quick to avoid the potential of a two year old’s tantrum in the Glynes drawing room on Christmas Day.
“But Madam!” Nanny exclaims, a disgruntled look crossing her face as she feels undermined by Lally.
“He’s not doing any harm, Nanny. Let him play with the paper if he fancies it. At least it keeps him quiet, and my father,” Lally points to the Viscount’s slumped figure nestled into the corner of another of the Louis Quinze sofas. “Is having a morning snooze. Let him do so in peace, please Nanny.”
“Oh! Very good, Madam.” Nanny replies with frustration, retreating to her place, muttering as she does so.
“Well done, Lally, old girl!” Leslie says with approval.
“Ahh, ahh.” Lally cautions her brother light heartedly. “Less of the old thank you.” She self-consciously pats her sandy blonde hair streaked with grey, still set, albeit not as smartly as it had been, in a style similar to that which the fashionable London West End hairdresser had set it a few weeks beforehand when she stayed at Lettice’s cavendish Mews flat.
“It’s all this new small talk, Lettice brings with her from London,” Leslie defends himself. “It’s ‘old boy this’ and ‘old girl that’. It’s… it’s catching to we provincial county folk!”
“I say!” Lettice pouts. “That’s jolly unfair, Leslie, blaming me for your choices of language,” She pauses and then adds for effect, “Old boy.”
Lally gives her brother a sceptical look and shakes her head slightly.
“Poor Pater.” Lettice sighs, nodding in her father’s direction. “Playing Father Christmas seems to have worn him out this year.”
“Well, he’s not getting any younger.” Lally opines. “None of us are.”
“I think Pappa’s tiredness has more to do with Reverend Arbuthnot’s dreary and long Christmas sermon this morning.” Leslie suggests. “Than his age.”
“Oh yes, he did go on rather, didn’t he!” Lettice exclaims, raising her hand to her mouth covering what started as an imitation yawn, but then turned into a real one. “I thought he would never finish.”
“Well, isn’t that what the Reverend is supposed to do, Tice?” Leslie asks. “Pontificate I mean.”
“You’re only defending him because he married you and Bella.” Lettice retorts.
“Well, pontification to excess is not a quality I greatly admire in our Reverend Arbuthnot.” Lally opines in a definite tone. “I think I might have screamed if I heard him say ‘love thy neighbour this Christmas Day’ one more time.”
“I should have liked to have seen that!” Lettice giggles. “Imagine Reverend Arbuthnot’s face!”
“It might have woken up a few of the parishioners.” Lesley laughs before sipping some more coffee from his cup.
“Including Pater.” Lettice adds.
“Well, Mamma managed to stay awake throughout the sermon this morning,” Lally remarks. “And she doesn’t usually rise before ten o’clock. Yet look at her now, bright as button.”
The three siblings look at their mother who, dressed in a smart navy blue and pink floral patterned georgette frock with a lace collar, sits and speaks earnestly with her granddaughter, twisting her long ropes of pearls cascading down her front in her hands as Annabelle discusses which characters are best to have in her puppet show cast.
“Well, to be fair, it was Pappa who did the hosting of the carol singers last night in the hall.” Leslie says.
“What rubbish!” Lally scoffs. “We all went in and hosted them. With Mrs. Maingot leading the carollers and riding high on the crest of success of her latest Christmas panto,” She rolls her eyes sarcastically. “We could hardly leave her for Pappa to manage alone.”
“She can talk for hours without taking a breath.” Lettice agrees. “In fact, I don’t think she would even notice if everyone walked out of the hall and she was on her own, she’s so self-obsessed.” She turns to her brother. “Now she’s a pontificator if ever there was one!” She gives him a knowing look and nods.
“I think Bramley enjoyed giving out the snifters of brandy to all the carollers.” Lally adds, referring to the Chetwynd’s faithful butler. “Just like he did in the old days.”
“By the way,” Leslie asks. “Do you know who decided to revive the tradition of having the second Christmas tree in the entrance hall?”
“What does it matter, Leslie?” Lettice asks.
“Well, it’s just that Pappa stopped doing it the year after the war broke out, and I didn’t authorise it.”
“Do you need to authorise it?” Lally queries, arching her expertly plucked eyebrow as she looks to her sister. “It is just a tree after all.”
“I’m just saying, it does create a bit of a mess.”
“I’m sure that Bramley, or more likely Moira as head parlour maid, sweep up the dropped needles and dried candlewax, Leslie, not you.” Lally laughs.
“And now the word has spread that its back again, all the village make a pilgrimage to see it every Christmas now, which means we’re forever hosting groups of visitors in dribs and drabs nearly every night in the last few weeks before Christmas. Even with their beastly head colds, the Miss Evanses trudged up from the village.” Leslie adds, mentioning the two genteel busybody spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house, in Glynes village. “Snuffling and coughing all over the place.”
“Well aren’t we full of Christmas cheer, dear brother?” Lally remarks sarcastically.
“Didn’t you hear Reverent Arbuthnot’s sermon this morning?” Lettice adds cheekily with a smirk. “Love thy neighbour this Christmas, brother dear.”
“Now don’t you start!” Leslie replies, wagging a finger warningly at his sister, but the happy glint in his eyes betrays the fact that he isn’t really cross with her.
“As a matter of fact, I think, I did.” Lally says.
“Did what?” Leslie asks.
“Revived the Christmas tradition of the second tree in the hall. I mentioned it to Pappa after Harrold asked me about the red glass baubles amidst the Christmas decorations.”
“No, we both did, Lally.” Lettice defends her sister. “After Harrod asked us about the decorations a few Christmases ago. What, 1922?”
“No,” Lally corrects. “It was 1921, because we were talking about the Hunt Ball Mamma threw for you in 1922.”
“That’s right! It was 1921. Anyway, regardless of when we mentioned it, I for one am not unhappy about the resurrection of that particular Christmas tradition at Glynes.” Lettice nods. “I think it looks wonderful in the hall, all sparkling with tinsel and glass baubles and lighted candles, greeting guests and family alike. It’s good to bring some joy and cheer to the villagers, even the Miss Evanses and Mrs. Maingot.”
“I agree, Tice.” Lally adds with a smile. “It seems to me like the world is finally coming out of the shadows of the war, so we should do our part to make the world bright, especially at Christmas.”
“In fact,” Lettice giggles. “You could make the world even brighter, and have no candle wax for Moira to scrub off the marble floors if you bought those electric faerie lights Lally and I saw in Selfridge’s windows a few weeks ago.”
“You can’t have Little-Bo-Peep and Little Red Riding Hood in the same play, Belle!” Harrold’s voice complains, his whining tones piercing the siblings’ conversation.
“Yes! Yes, Sadie my dear.” the Viscount mutters with a snort, awoken from his slumber by his grandson’s cries.
“Why not, Harrold?” Annabelle cries petulantly.
“Because you just can’t, Belle!” Harrold spits back.
“Harrold!” Lally exclaims.
“Says who?” asks Annabelle, folding her arms akimbo and pouting.
“It’s ‘says whom’, Annabelle dear.” Lady Sadie, always the instructress, corrects her granddaughter from her seat.
“Says whom, then?” Annabelle glowers at her elder brother.
“Harrold!” Lally says again.
“Well it’s true Mummy!” Harrold retorts. “They come from different stories. Tell her!”
“Harrold that’s not the point.” Lally says sternly. “Now apologise to your sister.”
“But I…”
“Harrold Cosmo Lanchenbury!” Lally says sternly, using her son’s middle name, given in honour of his grandfather, the Viscount. “Apologise to your sister at once.”
“Shall I take him upstairs to the school room, Madam?” Nanny pipes up with eagerness from the shadows cast by the shimmeringly beautiful Christmas tree.
“No!” Lally snaps with steely resolve, causing the older woman to shudder slightly at the sharp rebuke from her employer. Lally recovers herself immediately and continues in a softer voice. “No, thank you, Nanny. That won’t be necessary.” She looks at her son seriously. “Harrold is old enough to know when he has spoken out of turn, and gentlemanly enough,” She emphasises the last two words as she speaks. “To know when to apologise.”
“What’s this?” Aunt Egg asks she and Lally’s husband, Charles, walk back into the Glynes drawing room after finishing their cigarettes in the library.
“Lally darling?” Charles asks, taking in the scene with his son standing next to the Christmas tree amidst piles of presents, red faced next to his sister who is obviously upset, whilst Lally stands over them and the rest of the family look at him from their respective seats. There is a tenseness in the air. “What is it? What’s going on?”
“Nothing that I can’t manage Charles.” Lally replies calmly. “It’s fine.”
“It doesn’t appear fine to me, darling.” Charles replies in concern.
“Harrold and Annabelle were just having the fiercest argument, Charles dear,” Lady Sadie adds a little nervously. “Weren’t you, my lambs? And Harrold was just about to apologise to his sister.”
On cue, Piers, who until this time had been happily playing without compliant by himself releases a loud and unhappy bellow.
“Oh. Take Piers up to the nursery, Nanny.” Lally hisses in frustration.
“Yes Madam!” Nanny says smiling with satisfaction as she scuttles and fusses her way noisily through the presents and wrapping to where Piers sits. She coos as she picks him up, sweeping him into her arms and carries the snivelling child towards the drawing room door.
“Come here my lambs,” Lady Sadie says, opening her arms and encouraging the two remaining children to come over to her as she sits on the edge of her gilt chair. “That’s it.” She envelops them, winding an arm around each of them as she guides them to stand facing one another to either side of her. “Now, look at Grandmamma, both of you.” Both children lift their lolling heads and downcast eyes and gaze into their grandmother’s face. “You know that Christmas is a time of traditions, don’t you?” Both the children nod, Harrold slowly and Annabelle more animatedly. “We have a plum pudding today, which Mrs. Casterton makes for us every year on the twenty-fifth Sunday after Trinity*** with thirteen ingredients which represent Christ and the twelve apostles.”
“Yes Grandmamma.” Annabelle answers sweetly. “You and and Mrs. Casterton let us stir it.”
“That’s right, Annabelle.” Lady Sadie goes on. “You stir it east to west to honour the Magi****, and that is part of the tradition too.” She sighs deeply. “And you know that you receive gifts, as we all do, just as the Christ Child did when he received gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh from the Magi. That’s a tradition too.”
“Yes Grandmamma.” the children murmur, their voices the only things to break the silence of the room except for the quiet ticking of the clocks on the mantle and sideboard, the contented crackle of the fire in the grate and the distant wailing of Piers down the hall as Nanny takes him upstairs.
“And the carol singers come and join us in the hall just out there on Christmas Eve,” Lady Sadie points one of her diamond adorned gnarled fingers to the doorway which Nanny slipped out through with Piers in her arms moments ago. “And we sing beneath the Christmas tree. You restarted that tradition Harrold. Do you remember?”
Harrold nods. “Mummy says that Grandpappa stopped it when the war broke out, Grandmamma.”
“And so I did, Harrold my boy.” the Viscount concurs from his corner of the sofa. “But you restarted it, and by Jove we all enjoy it, don’t we?”
“Yes Grandpappa.” Harrold replies.
“And Mrs. Maingot delights us every year with a new Christmas pantomime.” Lady Sadie goes on, her words resulting in a smattering of stifled sniggers and quiet gasps of horror from the adults around her, all of whom witnessed the embarrassing scene of Mr. Lewis the church verger reprising his role Dame Trott***** in Christmas 1924’s performance of ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ in the Glynes village hall a few nights ago. “You enjoy them don’t you, my lambs, because they are magical?” When both children nod affirmatively, Lady Sadie beams and rubs their backs kindly. “And every year, Harrold, she mixes up all the characters to make the pantomime as magical as she can, and that includes breaking a few rules and taking characters from some stories to add to the one she and the Glynes Village Players are performing.” She pauses for a moment and then looks at her grandson. “So, young man, when your sister says that she wants to put Little Red Riding Hood and Little-Bo-Peep into the same play she is performing with her lovely new puppet theatre, she is entitled to do so. Don’t you think so?”
“I suppose so, Grandmamma.” Harrold says somewhat begrudgingly.
“Now, correct me if my observations are wrong, Harrold, but could it be that you are just a teensy bit jealous that your sister is making all these plans for her grand play and not including you too?”
“Maybe, Grandmamma.” he replies very quietly.
“More than maybe, young man!” Lady Sadie withdraws her right arm from around her grandson and squeezes his chin, which is fast losing the fat of childhood as he starts to grow older. “Grandmamma knows your heart better than you do; I think.” She chuckles. “Now, I have a proposition for the two of you children.” She claps her hands together animatedly. “Annabelle, if Harrold apologises to you, will you let him help you put together your play?”
“Oh yes Grandmamma.” Annabelle exclaims, crouching down slightly before rising up on her toes in a gesture of pride and happiness. “I’d love that!”
“And Harrold, would you like to help Annabelle put on her play for all of us?” Lady Sadie asks her grandson.
“Yes Grandmamma.” he affirms with a beaming smile.
“Then apologise to her, and you can both get on with it then!” the old woman says matter-of-factly. “It will be no time at all before we go in for Christmas luncheon, and I for one, want a show before I do.”
Harrold apologises to his sister immediately, and as if a magic spell has been cast, the two siblings hurry back to the puppet theatre and begin pulling out as many of the characters that came with it as they can find amidst the paper and other presents, giggling and chatting as if nothing had ever been awry between them.
“There!” Lady Sadie says to her startled family around her as she rises from her seat with a dignified nod. “Crisis averted! Peace is restored. Merry Christmas to all, and good will to all men.”
“Mamma!” Lally gasps as her elderly mother starts to walk proudly and purposefully across the drawing room carpet.
“What, Lalage?”
“Well, you amaze me, Mamma.” she says in surprise. “I never realised that you were such a consummate diplomat!”
“Yes, I suppose my diplomacy skills are a little wasted here.” Lady Sadie replies with a sigh a she looks around at all the awestruck faces watching her. Then with a very straight face as she goes on, “I should have married the Viceroy of India whilst I had the chance, but I married your father instead, so that’s an end to it.” She walks through the audience of her family, all with eyes agog and mouths hanging slack as she moves amongst them. “Now, after that crisis aversion, I think I might be entitled to a glass of sherry. Charles!”
“Sadie?” her son-in-law queries.
“A sherry for me, if you please.” She pauses. “But just a small one, mind you.”
“Yes Sadie.”
Lady Sadie turns back to her three children present in her house this Christmas. “Anyone would think I’d never managed a squabble between siblings at Christmas before. I’ll have you know that when you three were little, even without the eager and willing assistance of your dreaded brother, you all used to fight and argue on Christmas Day!” She points her finger at them, her diamond and sapphire ring glittering as she does. “And that was a Glynes Christmas tradition too!”
“Mamma!” Lettice gasps in surprise.
Lady Sadie accepts the proffered small glass of sherry from her son-in-law. “Now, if you would all excuse me. I’m going to take my sherry upstairs and have a little lie down before luncheon. Your father isn’t the only one who found Reverend Arbuthnot’s Christmas sermon a little tiring this morning. If one of you would kindly send Baxter up to me when the children are ready to show their play, and I’ll come back down after she helps me change for luncheon.”
And without so much as a glance back at her surprised family, Lady Sadie walks out the door of the drawing room, smiling with amusement as she does.
*A jeune fille à marier was a marriageable young woman, the French term used in fashionable circles and the upper-classes of Edwardian society before the Second World War.
**A pantomime (shortened to “panto”) is a theatrical entertainment, mainly for children, which involves music, topical jokes, and slapstick comedy and is based on a fairy tale or nursery story, usually produced around Christmas.
***Trinity Sunday is the first Sunday after Pentecost in the Western Christian liturgical calendar, and the Sunday of Pentecost in Eastern Christianity. Trinity Sunday celebrates the Christian doctrine of the Trinity, the three Persons of God: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
****The Magi are also known as the Three Wise Men or the Three Kings, who are the distinguished foreigners who visit Jesus after his birth, bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh in homage to him.
*****Dame Trott is the long suffering mother of Jack in the Christmas pantomime of Jack and the Beanstalk. She is outrageous, brash and loud, and traditionally played by a man in drag.
This fun Christmas tableau full of festive presents and wrapping may not appear to be all you think it is as first, for it is made up of pieces out of my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The books unwrapped for Christmas here are all 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. What might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. Not only did Ken Blythe create books, he also created other 1:12 miniatures with paper and that includes the wonderful puppet theatre you see here. The theatre includes scenery like cottages, hills and trees, three different backdrops and over a dozen characters including Little Red Riding Hood, the Big bad Wolf, Little-Bo-Peep, Cinderella, Prince Charming and the Faerie Godmother from Cinderella, Jemima Puddle Duck and Mother Goose. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make them all 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 beautiful teddy bear with his sweet face and red bow, the boxed doll, the toy motor car and the knights jousting all come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The lead knights have been painstakingly painted by hand with incredible detail and attention paid to their livery.
The Chetwynd Christmas tree in the background, beautifully decorated with garlands, tinsel, bows and golden baubles is a 1:12 artisan piece. It was hand made by husband and wife artistic team Margie and Mike Balough who own Serendipity Miniatures in Newcomerstown, Ohio. Margie and Mike Balough also made all the beautifully wrapped Christmas gifts gathered around its base.
The discarded pink and gold Christmas wrapping on the carpet of the drawing room are in reality foil wrappers from miniature Haigh’s Chocolate Easter Eggs.
The gilt salon chair is made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, but what is particularly special about it is that it has been covered in antique Austrian floral micro petite point by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, which makes this a one-of-a-kind piece. The artisan who made this says that as one of her hobbies, she enjoys visiting old National Trust Houses in the hope of getting some inspiration to help her create new and exciting miniatures. She saw some beautiful petit point chairs a few years ago in one of the big houses in Derbyshire and then found exquisitely detailed petit point that was fine enough for 1:12 scale projects.
The three piece Louis XV suite of settee and two armchairs was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, JBM.
The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today 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, which belongs to Lettice’s childhood chum Gerald’s friend, Harriet Milford. The orphaned daughter of a solicitor with little formal education, Harriet has taken in theatrical lodgers to earn a living, and millinery semi-professionally to give her some pin money*, but her business has taken off substantially thanks to Lettice introducing her to a couple of her friends, who have spread the word about Harriet’s skill. The front parlour of the Putney villa, which doubles as Harriet’s sewing room and show room for her hats, is even more of a jumble than usual, for not only is the room’s middle-class chintzy décor covered with Harriet’s hats and sewing paraphernalia, but today it is festooned with hand made paper chains in bright colours, and a beautifully made fruit cake with an expertly created royal icing surface dotted with cherries sits on a raised cake plate in the middle of the tea table, for today Harriet is hosting a party for Gerald’s birthday.
“Happy birthday, Dinah darling!” Cyril, Gerald’s West End oboist lover exclaimed with delight as Harriet walked into the front room carrying the wonderful cake and placed it on what was her deceased father’s tilt top chess table, which now serves as her tea table.
The party is small, attended only by those whom Gerald trusts will keep his illegal homosexual relationship** with Cyril a secret, namely Lettice, Harriet and the couple of other homosexual men who board beneath Harriet’s roof: actors Charles Dunnage, Bartholemew Harrison, Leonard Arbuthnot and Arthur Bradley, the latter of whom today is appearing in drag as his alter ego, Beatrice. Upon Gerald and Lettice’s arrival by taxi from across the Thames, Harriet cried that she did not have the champagne requisite to celebrate the occasion, only to be shushed by Gerald and Cyril, who then revealed that they had been stealthily stashing bottles for the party under Cyril’s bed every time Gerald came over to visit and spend the evening. When Harriet decried that she had no champagne flutes, her concerns were hushed again by her theatrical borders who assured her that if all of them were used to drinking wine, brandy, gin and cocktails from her teacups, then they would be equally suitable for champagne. And thus, the teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl Harriet had prepared for a more sedate party were set aside, and the champagne poured into the teacups as the party began. Lettice smiled quietly to herself at this rather unorthodox arrangement as she quietly sipped her champagne from a gilt edged Royal Doulton cup, but quietly reminded herself that very little in Harriet’s Putney household was orthodox. Well wishes and gifts were given to Gerald, and the cake cut and served by Harriet before a series of party pieces were performed by the theatrical members of the group, much to the delight of Harriet, Lettice and Gerald. As a Shakespearean actor, Charles performed a monologue from Hamlet, whilst Bartholomew quite literally pulled a bunch of flowers for Gerald out of his top hat as he performed magic tricks. Leonard and Beatrice sang bawdy music hall songs, before Cyril concluded the formal performances by playing a piece of music on his oboe he composed for Gerald, his efforts rewarded with applause from the assembled company, tears from Lettice and Harriet and kisses of love from Gerald. Then Gerald brought down his portable gramophone and selection of records, also kept hidden in Cyril’s bedroom for the party, and everyone took turns dancing across Harriet’s worn old parlour carpet.
Now, with the evening creeping in as the sun sets in the west, whilst more than half of the champagne has been drunk and the cake eaten, the festive atmosphere of the occasion is still very much present as the gentlemen of the party continue to choose tunes to dance to between telling funny stories of life in the theatre, before they have to set off for their respective theatres in London’s West End to either act, sing or play music and Lettice and the birthday boy go and have dinner at the Café Royal***: Lettice’s birthday treat for Gerald. Harriet and Lettice sit off to the side on Harriet’s sofa, sipping champagne from their teacups, the pair making rather an odd pair with Lettice dressed in one of Gerald’s beautifully designed evening frocks, whilst Harriet wears a pretty, but far more casual and obviously less expensive day frock.
“Why do they do that?” Lettice asks Harriet as Cyril calls out to Gerald, using the name Dinah to address him.
“Do what, Miss Chetwynd?” Harriet queries.
“Why do they call each other by ladies’ names, instead of calling each other by their proper names? Cyril is Cilla. Gerald is Dinah. I… I don’t understand, Miss Milford.”
“Well, Cilla is obviously the female equivalent of Cyril.”
“I have a friend whose name really is Cilla.” Lettice answers. “Well, Priscilla actually.” She takes a gentle sip of warming champagne from her teacup.
“And I guess, Dinah,” Harriet thinks. “Might be derived from Geraldine. You know, Geraldine, Dina, Dinah.” She shrugs. “I’m only supposing. Perhaps you might ask him.”
Lettice’s face crumples with irritation. “But why do they insist on doing that, is what I want to know, Miss Milford.”
“You don’t know, Miss Chetwynd?”
“Know what?”
“It’s for protection.”
“Protection? How does calling one another by female names protect them? It only draws attention to them, if you ask me. It sounds utterly ridiculous!” Lettice scoffs. “Grown men calling each other by ladies’ names! And I get criticized by my parents for some of the turns of phrase I use! Whatever next?”
“It may sound like silly, Miss Chetwynd, but it’s actually very smart,” Harriet explains. “And it’s been done by men like Cyril and Gerry for generations. They might call themselves Cilla instead of Cyril, or Dinah rather than Gerry, or even Aunt Sally instead of Charles,” She nods in the direction of Charles Dunnage. “In private, but they don’t do it in public, or rather they do, but surreptitiously.”
“I think you’re just making me more confused, Miss Milford.” Lettice laughs, shaking her head. “Then again, it might be the third glass of champagne,” She holds up her half empty teacup. “That stultifies my thinking.”
“Then let me explain.” Harriet says kindly.
“Please do, Miss Milford.” A peal of squealing laughter and claps of applause from Cyril as he watches Beatrice being dipped in a sweeping tango movement by Leonard momentarily distracts both ladies before Lettice turns back to Harriet. “I’m all ears.”
“Well, when you are queer, as my gentlemen lodgers are, you have to be careful what you say and to whom. It may be safe here at Hazelwood Road, but out there,” Harriet waves her hand towards the closed chintz curtains covering the front window sheltering the party guests from prying eyes. “Even a whiff of gossip, can land a man, even a real gentleman like Gerald, on the wrong side of the law.”
“Don’t I know it, Miss Milford.” Lettice shudders. “Just the thought of Gerald being dragged up before a magistrate, much less being sent to prison to serve a sentence with hard labour, terrifies me.”
“If it assuages your fears at all, it does me too, Miss Chetwynd,” Harriet assures her. “And whilst I quite enjoy having the theatrical household I have, and feel perfectly safe amongst my all-male coterie of lodgers, I don’t exactly fly a flag advertising that they are all queer.” She pauses casting Lettice a wary glance. “We all of us have to be discreet, and when I say we, I mean us, and them as well.” She points to Gerald and the other gentlemen milling around her tea table with teacups or silvers of cake in their hands.
“You seem very well versed in all of this, Miss Milford.” Lettice observes.
“It helps when you have the clientele I do in my boarding house, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet says knowingly. “I learned things I never knew, and I discovered that I have the capacity to learn a great deal, very quickly.” She pauses and takes a draught of champagne from her cup. “Something my own father never gave me much credit for.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t have a father like I have, Miss Milford.” Lettice remarks sadly. “I was very fortunate that Pater, unlike Mater, is not blinkered about the education or place of women in society.”
“I am too.” Harriet sighs. “But then again, if I had had a better education, or found myself in different circumstances, I might never have known any of these fine gentlemen.”
“Or ladies.” Lettice adds as she watches Arthur as Beatrice spin like a whirling dervish, his spangled frock, a pre-war Edwardian tea dress built more for his bulky size, modified and updated with a shorter hemline, spinning around him in sparkling Napoleon blue. “So, how is using female aliases discreet, Miss Milford?”
“It means that when they go out and meet up at pubs, even friendly saloon bars**** in the West End like The Packenham***** that might be a safer haven for queer men, they can still talk more freely about one another and not be implicated.”
“Implicated? By whom?”
“Themselves,” Harriet sighs. “Each other: whether on purpose or by accident. Pubs are frequented by undercover constabulary ready to arrest a poor man under suspicion of a criminal act: men who will break easily under hard fists being pummelled relentlessly into them in a prison cell at the local police station.”
“Surely they wouldn’t implicate one another, Miss Milford.”
“Oh, wouldn’t they just, Miss Chetwynd? Queens can be very nasty and catty, especially in the theatrical industry. Some have gone to great lengths to get rid of their competition if they are vying for a role they want.” Harriet sees Lettice’s eyes grow wide as she turns her head slightly to stare at Gerald and his friends. She quickly clarifies, “None of my borders would of course, Miss Chetwnd!”
“Of course not, Miss Milford!”
“I want a peaceable kingdom. Anyway, if they refer to one another as Cilla or Dinah, Beatrice or Aunt Sally, they can get away with talking freely about one another, and even a sharp eared undercover member of the constabulary cannot pick them up on suspicion of an inverted nature******. So if Gerry were silly enough to say after a few too many pints at The Packenham, that he was coming home to Cilla – not that he would Miss Chetwynd – then no-one could accuse him of sharing a bed with Cyril.”
“I should certainly hope that he wouldn’t!” A look of concern crosses Lettice’s face.
“No, he wouldn’t.” Harriet sighs and look up at Cyril, who is engaged in a telling a story that has engaged his male companion audience, flapping his arms around in wild gesticulations as he giggles. “But Cyril on the other hand.” She cocks her eyebrow over her right eye.
“He isn’t as discreet as Gerald is.” Lettuce finishes Harriet’s unstated thought and then takes a gulp of her champagne, which suddenly tastes bitter and acidic as it tumbles down her throat.
“No, he isn’t.” Harriet agrees. “But at least if his lips are slick with drink, and he says that Dinah’s coming over to stay, his friends at the bar with know who he is referring to, but his foes, like the undercover constable, won’t.”
Lettice turns in her seat on the overstuffed chintz fabric sofa to face Harriet. “May I be frank, Miss Milford?”
“Goodness!” Harriet gasps. “It sounds like we might need a top up to our refreshments.” She opines, glancing at Lettice’s empty cup cradled in her elegantly manicured hand. Harriet looks up. “Charles! Charles!” She calls.
The mature actor with white hair and an impressive, expertly waxed handlebar moustache dressed resplendently in full evening attire looks away from Cyril and his story. When Harriet holds her own nearly empty teacup slightly aloft before her, he understands her meaning, nods and snatches up the open bottle of champagne next to Gerald’s partially eaten birthday cake and walks over to Lettice and Harriet with it, his bearing noble and elegant.
“And what are you two lovely wallflowers talking about over here in the shadows?” Charles asks as he bends and politely pours champagne into Lettice’s proffered cup. “Something deliciously salacious? Come whisper it into your Aunt Sally’s ear.” He then pours champagne into Harriet’s cup. “I’m sure there is nothing she hasn’t heard yet that would shock her.”
“No,” Harriet laughs. “It’s more likely the other way around.”
“Never a truer word was spoken, dear Hattie.” Charles finishes pouring and straightens up. “I warned you, Miss Chetwynd, the first time we met. Do you remember?”
“I can’t say I do, Mr. Dunnage.” Lettice replies. “Remind me. What did you warn me of?”
“When I first met you in the hallway of this very house, just out there, I told you to flee, Miss Chetwynd! To flee!” he says in his deep, booming actor’s voice as he sweeps his arms out dramatically, as though shooing Lady Macbeth’s unwanted spirit from the room. “I said for you to flee this den of iniquity and retreat to the salubrious surrounds from whence you came, before you were swept up into the maelstrom of actors that pass through Hattie’s welcoming doors, and whisked into these immoral and improper parties.” He sighs and smiles down at her cheekily. “However, I see that you failed to heed my timely words of warning and now it is too late.” He pauses for affect. “You Miss Chetwynd, my beauteous lady, are doomed to become one of the bohemian oddities of Hazelwood Road, for there is no going back now.”
“Perhaps I enjoy being a bohemian oddity, Mr. Dunnage.” Lettice answers him.
“Then you are welcome, dear lady.” he replies, taking up her hand and kissing it like a queen.
“Oh, get away with you, Charles!” Harriet slaps the older gentleman on the forearm playfully. “You’ll drive Miss Chetwynd away with your superlatives and theatricalities! Once an actor, always an actor!”
“How many times must I tell you, Hattie?” Charles bemoans irritably, suddenly animating his shoulders, making them rise and fall with every syllable. “I’m a thespian,” He emphasises the word with reverence. “Not an actor! Why must you insult me so, and throw me into the lot with those who are mere actors?” He spits the last two words out like an insult.
“But you just said there was a maelstrom of actors who flowed through Miss Milford’s door, Mr. Dunnage.” Lettice opines. “Didn’t you?”
Charles’ eyes grow wide and his cheeks puff in and out with surprise at being caught out by his own words. “Well, never mind if I did.” he blusters. “But even if I did, I am right. There are many actors in our little den of iniquity, but there are very few thespians like me.” He draws himself up to his full height and places a hand dramatically against his chest. Cyrill’s pealing laughter bursts forth again commenting with perfect comic timing on Charles’ stance, even though his laughter is really directed at something Gerald has whispered in his ear. “He’s an actor.” Charles points to Cyril. “Melodramatic, and amusing, yes, but never up to the standards of the Old Vic*******. Only true thespians can perform the works of the Great Bard. Anyone can be an actor, and anyone is!” He arches his eyebrows, causing her brow to furrow in folds of pale white flesh.
“I can hear you, Aunt Sally!” Cyril calls across the room. “Your booming old thespian voice betrays you, dear heart. Stop discussing me with monstrously jealous green eyes, and come back here this instant!”
“Or we’ll christen you an old masher********,” giggles Gerald, his champagne glass half aloft. “And ruin your reputation at The Bunch of Grapes*********.”
“Go on, Aunt Sally!” Harriet refers to Charles by his female alias, shooing him with anxious waves of her hand. “You don’t want your reputation as a gentleman’s man ruined. Anyway,” she assures him as his face falls. ‘We’re only discussing women’s business, and nothing of interest to you. Off you trot.”
Charles turns dolefully and slips away, back to the circle of men around the tea table covered in tea things.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Chetwynd. I ought to have fetched the champagne myself. I should have known we would have been subject to one of Charles’ dramatic conversations. Please forgive me.” She smooths down her skirt across her knee nervously as she returns her attention to Lettice. “Now, you were saying?”
“Please, don’t apologise, Miss Milford. In fact, Cyril’s response to Mr. Dunnage’s display of theatricality only cements my concerns.”
“Concerns, Miss Chetwynd?”
“I’ve already spoken to Gerald about this, and not in a nasty way. My dearest wish is for Gerald’s happiness, and I know that Cyril does make him happy: his bouts of melancholy are far less than they were before he met Cyril.”
“But?”
“Cyril’s lack of discretion scares me, Miss Milford.” Lettice confides. “I’ve made Gerald promise to be discreet and asked him to ensure that Cyril is as discreet as possible about who he is and their relationship.”
“Oh, Cyril’s only behaving outrageously because he’s here, Miss Chetwynd, and he can be himself. He isn’t anywhere near as flamboyant when he’s out in the world.”
“How do you know, Miss Milford? It seems to me that a few glasses, or rather teacups, of champagne loosens his tongue and enhances his…” Lettice pauses as she contemplates the correct word to describe Cyril’s current animated state. “His theatricality, shall we say.”
“It’s a shrewd observation, Miss Chetwynd, but I can assure you that I’ve been to a few saloon bars with Cyril and Gerry before, and he’s never done anything frightfully overt to betray himself.”
“Then I’m sure that Cyril was on his best behaviour, and even if he weren’t, I know Gerald well enough to know that he would have kept him in line.”
“Pardon me for saying this, Miss Chetwynd, and with the greatest of respect, but you weren’t there. You may know Gerry far better than me, being childhood chums and all, but I know Cyril better than you do. He can take care of himself and steer clear of trouble. He grew up in Cambridge. He’d have had to watch is p’s and q’s there.”
“Cambridge is hardly a market town, Miss Milford. It’s a university city, and to be fair, I know at least one or two sons of family friends who are members of Gerald and Cyril’s theatrical set who have sailed through the hallowed halls of both Oxford and Cambridge, and I’m not talking about the study halls.” Lettice sighs. “I can’t help but worry. I don’t want anything untoward to happen to Gerald,” She sighs more deeply. “Or Cyril for that matter.”
“It’s only natural that you should worry, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet reaches out and places a comforting hand on Lettice’s knee: an overly familiar gesture that makes Lettice – unused to such shows of affection from a person she does not know that well – feel a little awkward. “But no matter what happens, Cyril and Gerry will always have a safe haven here.”
Sensing her unease, Harriet withdraws her hand somewhat reluctantly from Lettice’s knees as she finds a common bond between she and Lettice to try and bridge the gap that she so badly wants to cross.
The two women fall into a thoughtful silence that is at odds with the bright music from the gramophone and the theatrical noise that bursts like bubbles around them, as momentarily they allow themselves to become lost in their own deeper thoughts and concerns.
“But this won’t last forever, Miss Milford,” Lettice says at length, breaking their silence. “Will it?”
“Whatever do you mean, Miss Chetwynd?”
“Well look,” She waves her hand expansively around Harriet’s untidy front room cum millinery studio. “Dare I say it, but your home is more madcap and untidy than it was when I first met you.”
“I have tried to tidy up, Miss Chetwynd, truly I have.” Harriet defends herself, a little hurt that Lettice insists on bringing up the state of general untidiness of her home life yet again.
“Oh I don’t mean that, Miss Milford.” Lettice soothes. “I’m not here to tell you whether you should or shouldn’t have an untidy studio. I’ve said my peace. It’s not up to me as to how you choose to live.”
“Then what?”
“I meant the fact that you can’t keep this up for too much longer. You can’t continue to live here, run your business, and run a boarding house at the same time. I can understand that when your father died suddenly, due to his poor opinion about women’s education and blinkered idea as to your place in the world, he left you with little choice but to turn his home into a boarding house in order to keep the roof over your head. However, now that I’ve given you a helping hand to start off with by introducing you to a few influential new clients, your skills as a highly talented milliner are becoming better known and speak for themselves. That’s only going to increase, just like Gerald’s atelier. Gerald tells me that your orders for hats are rapidly increasing. You can barely keep the two businesses reconciled, can you?”
“Well,” Harriet agrees begrudgingly. “I can’t lie. It is getting harder to fit all the cooking, laundering, washing and tidying up around here around my customer appointments and the time I spend making my hats, especially in the lead up to Ascot. I’d love to have a housekeeper again, but I can’t quite afford one, at least not yet, and I don’t want to put up the rents.”
“What you really need is a full-time landlady to run the boarding house, but I know, you can’t afford it. I’m not telling you out of spite, but rather as a friendly piece of advice that soon – maybe not tomorrow or the next day – but soon, you’re going to have to decide where your future lies. Is it as a landlady of a theatrical boarding house, or a successful milliner? I know which one I would choose.” Lettice pauses. “However, the path I would choose for you would involve you giving this up and perhaps moving to more appropriate lodgings that don’t involve you being the landlady, but rather the keeper of your own atelier.”
“But then what will become of Charles, and Cyril, or Gerald.”
“They will have to make their own way in the world, and that is why I worry.” Lettice admits. “Gerald hasn’t enough money yet either, to give he and Cyril a safe home where they can live together, away from prying eyes and the more unkind people of this world. I hope he does one day, and I’m sure he will. However, now he needs to pour any profits he makes back into his Grosvenor Street atelier in order to make it bigger and better. Until he can set up that home, because for all his good intentions an oboist like Cyril will never be able to afford to buy a home, Gerald and he will have to find a safe way through the world.”
“I don’t want to think about that, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet says bitterly as she turns away from Lettice, as if trying to shy away from the truth.
“I know you don’t, Miss Milford.” Lettice says kindly. She raises he hand to Harriet’s shoulder and then quickly retracts it before she touches it, returning it to nursing her teacup. “But how can you stop a stone from rolling after it gains momentum.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have given me an introduction to your aunt and her friends.” Harriet mutters.
“Nonsense, Miss Milford!” Lettice chides. “Now if I ever meant to cause harm to you, then that is exactly how I would have behaved. I may not have liked you very much when we first met, Miss Milford. You know that I foolishly saw you as a threat to Gerald’s and my friendship, when in fact you were no such thing. However, whilst we will never be bosom friends********, I don’t dislike you so much as to prevent you from developing your potential. You are a talented milliner, Miss Milford, and you know it, and now the world is starting to see what Gerald saw in you when he first met you, and what I have benefited from as a result. You can’t deny that millinery brings you pleasure. Enjoy it and embrace it. However, like anything else that you, or I, enjoy, there are sacrifices that we need to make – as I said before, maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but eventually.”
“Come on! Come on you two!” Gerald’s gleeful and animated voice interrupts the women’s conversation. “This is meant to be my birthday party!”
“And so it is, Gerry.” Harriet says with false joviality.
“Then if it is my birthday, I get to decide what we do.” He claps his hands. “You two look far too serious, like a pair of old countesses at a debutante ball, bitter and sad.”
“We’re not sad, Gerald!” Lettice balks. “We’re just being introspective.”
“Oh pooh introspection Lettuce Lea…”
“Ahh.. ahh, Mr. Buttons!” Lettice quickly interrupts Gerald from saying her hated childhood nickname, using the nasty name given him by Lady Gladys Caxton at her book reading at Selfridges, wagging a warning finger at him.
As Gerald hears Cyril giggle behind him, he counters, “Oh pooh melodramatic Madeline St John, queen of the mushy romance novella, and pooh you! We’re going to play a game!”
“What shall we play then?” Harriet asks as Charles takes away her cup and helps her to her feet, whilst Gerald does the same with Lettice.
“We’re going to play Cats and Dogs***********!” he says with delight as he withdraws a deck of cards from his tailcoat breast pocket. “We have enough time for a game before Cilla and Aunt Sally are due at their respective theatres, and Lettice and I dine at the Café Royal.”
*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.
**Prior to 1967 with the introduction of the Sexual Offences Act which decriminalised private homosexual acts between men aged over 21, homosexuality in England was illegal, and in the 1920s when this story is set, carried heavy penalties including prison sentences with hard labour. The law was not changed for Scotland until 1980, or for Northern Ireland until 1982.
***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.
*****Some pubs and bars were “friendly” places (as much as a publican and his staff would tolerate in those days) for lesbians, queer men and more sexually bohemian society in the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Francis Downes Ommanney was a well known Antarctic explorer who served in the Royal Navy during the Second World War, yet what was less well known about him was that he was a homosexual. In 1966 he published his autobiography ‘The River Bank’ which contains a very interesting account of gay pubs in the 1920s. In it he talks about the social hierarchy of pubs and what happened when class lines were ignored: “There were several bars, a saloon and a public bar as a matter of course, but there might also be others, like the lounge, the private bar and sometimes the ladies’ bar. In the saloon, where I think bitter beer was about 8d. a pint, the surroundings were distinctly more classy than in the public where the same beer was only 4d. or 4d. a pint. There were sofas and tables with ash-trays and there might be a tinny piano, though this was rare in the West End… The public bar often had sawdust on the floor to absorb the beer swills, spittoons and a generally spartan, poverty-stricken air so that the patrons might feels themselves a step or two lower down the ladder than their neighbours in the saloon. I usually patronised the saloon because once or twice in the public bar the proprietor had looked at me in a meaningful manner and said severely, ‘Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the saloon bar, sir?’ And I had immediately felt guilty as though I were there for a nefarious purpose, as perhaps I was…” He describes one of his more favourite haunts, the Fitzroy Tavern on Charlotte Street: “Perhaps the liveliest of all the bars I frequented was the Fitzroy Tavern in Soho which had an atmosphere as close to that of a Paris boite in its earthy gaiety as it was possible to achieve in London. It was frequented by an extraordinary collection of bohemians, dope addicts (very sinister in those days but nothing, apparently, now), lesbians, queers and oddities of all sorts. It was always full of soldiers and sailors, especially the latter, who always love the free-and-easy, pick-up atmosphere of a joint anywhere in the world.”
******Variously called the Pakenham Arms, Pakenham Hotel or Pakenham Tavern, this pub in Knightsbridge, popular with guardsmen from the Household Cavalry was a well-known gay haunt. It stood on the corner of Raphael Street and Knightsbridge Green, and was originally a country house. It was enlarged and converted into a Hotel and Tavern at a cost of over three thousand pounds by the builder Edward Nangle, who became its first licensee in 1847. It was demolished in the 1950s to build Caltex House, but a replacement pub, Tattersall’s, was included in the development.
*******An invert is a term coined and popularly used in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries to describe a homosexual. Sexual inversion is a theory of homosexuality popular primarily in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth century. Sexual inversion was believed to be an inborn reversal of gender traits: male inverts were, to a greater or lesser degree, inclined to traditionally female pursuits and dress and vice versa.
********The Old Vic theatre in the London borough of Lambeth was formerly the home of a theatre company that became the nucleus of the National Theatre. The company’s theatre building opened in 1818 as the Royal Coburg and produced mostly popular melodramas. In 1833 it was redecorated and renamed the Royal Victoria and became popularly known as the Old Vic. Between 1880 and 1912, under the management of Emma Cons, a social reformer, the Old Vic was transformed into a temperance amusement hall known as the Royal Victoria Hall and Coffee Tavern, where musical concerts and scenes from Shakespeare and opera were performed. Lilian Baylis, Emma Cons’s niece, assumed management of the theatre in 1912 and two years later presented the initial regular Shakespeare season. By 1918 the Old Vic was established as the only permanent Shakespearean theatre in London, and by 1923 all of Shakespeare’s plays had been performed there. The Old Vic grew in stature during the 1920s and ’30s under directors such as Andrew Leigh, Harcourt Williams, and Tyrone Guthrie.
*********Derving from American English a masher is a slang term for a man who makes unwanted advances, particularly sexual ones, towards women not acquainted with him, especially in public places.
**********Frequented by sailors, and known as a homosexual haunt, the Bunch of Grapes was located at 45 Strand, St Martin in the Fields. Originally called the Craven Coffee House in 1822, this pub was later renamed the Bunch of Grapes and continued to trade until 1928 when it finally closed its doors. It never reopened and was demolished after the Second World War in 1945.
***********The term bosom friend is recorded as far back as the late Sixteenth Century. In those days, the bosom referred to the chest as the seat of deep emotions, though now the word usually means a woman's “chest.” A bosom friend, then, is one you might share these deep feelings with or have deep feelings for.
************In the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, the game “dogs and cats” was in vogue. All that is required is a deck of playing cards and even numbers of guests to make two teams. The host of the party hides the cards around the house. They can be hidden inside of magazines, books, vases, drawers, biscuit barrels- just about anywhere really, but hopefully not in bedrooms or any other private spaces! The party guests have team captains that split off into two teams- the “dogs” and the “cats’. The goal for the dogs is to find all of the black cards, and the cats have to find all of the red ones. It is the team captain’s responsibility to gather all of their team’s cards. If a member of the dog team finds a black card, they have to bark loudly until their captain gets to them, and the cats have to meow. If a guest finds a card of the opposite team, they can quietly put it back, or choose an even more difficult hiding place. The game is over when one of the teams gets their half of the deck completed. One can only imagine that this game fell out of vogue after too many incidents when players tore a house apart looking for cards, or perhaps discovered something that was better left a secret about their host!
This rather cluttered and chaotic scene of a drawing room cum workroom decked out for a party, 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:
Harriet’s beautiful birthday fruitcake the Edwardian tea set and the plate for the biscuits come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The enamel handled knife comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small World in the United Kingdom. The bottle of Deutz and Geldermann champagne. It is an artisan miniatures and made of glass and has real foil wrapped around its neck. It was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The various biscuits on the plate are all hand made and come from either Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering or were made 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 wrapped present comes from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay.
The tilt chess table I bought from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom, whilst the Indian hexagonal table comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
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 straw hat with the green ribbon sitting on the arm of the chair was made by an unknown artisan in America.
The concertina sewing box on casters which you can see spilling forth its contents in the background 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 black japanned fire screen in the background, the black metal fire tools and the potted plants and their stands all come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop.
Harriet’s family photos seen cluttering the mantlepiece 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 and the ornamental swan figurine on the mantlepiece have been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton.
The sewing basket that you can see on the floor just behind the chess table 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 chair is made by J.B.M. miniatures who specialise in well made pieces of miniature furniture made to exacting standards.
The paper chains festooning Harriet’s front room 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
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 Shop in the United Kingdom as were the aspidistra and fern to their side of the fireplace and the stands they are on.
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 northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid, grew up. She is visiting her parents as she often does on her Wednesdays off. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price* biscuit factory in Harlesden as a Line Manager, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s Mayfair flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith. Usually even before she walks through the glossy black painted front door, Edith can smell the familiar scent of a mixture of Lifebuoy Soap, Borax and Robin’s Starch, which means her mother is washing the laundry of others wealthier than she in the terrace’s kitchen at the rear of the house. Yet with her father’s promotion, Edith’s mother is only laundering a few days a week now, yet even though today is not a day for laundering, there is work to be done for Ada’s next laundry day. So we find ourselves in the Watsford’s scullery at the back of the terrace behind the kitchen, which like most Victoria era homes, also serves as the wash house.
Like all the houses in the terrace, the Watsford’s scullery has an old square-sided ceramic sink in the corner, set on bricks, joined to the same pipe as the one directly behind the wall in the corner of the kitchen, however the small room is dominated by the large built-in washing cauldron made of bricks, set above its own wood fire furnace with a copper cauldron in its centre. The distemper on the walls of the scullery are tinted ever so slightly blue, a traditional colour for laundries, as it made whites look even whiter. Around it stand wicker baskets for laundry, a dolly-peg** and a very heavy black painted mangle*** with wooden rollers, whilst on its top a panoply of laundry items stand, including an enamelled water jug, bowls, irons, a washboard and various household laundry products. The room smells comfortingly clean: scents of soap and starch that have seeped into every fibre of the space.
“Hand me that bar of Hudson’s Soap**** will you, Edith love.” Ada says to her daughter as she takes an old enamelled bowl and places it with a heavy metallic clunk on the top of the old red brick copper*****. Reaching for a silver grater she says with a resigned groan, “Time to make a batch of soap flakes******.”
“Oh, let me do that, Mum.” Edith says kindly, grasping the smooth, rounded top of the grater, just before her mother does.
“Ahh…thank you love.” Ada says gratefully, sinking down onto a small, long and worn wooden stool surrounded by baskets and tubs of soiled linen.
“You just keep sorting old Widow Hounslow’s bloomers.” Edith says with a cheeky smirk as she pulls out a bar of Hudson’s yellow soap.
“Now don’t spoil your generosity by saying nasty things about poor Mrs. Hounslow.” Ada cautions her daughter with a wagging finger.
“Pshaw! Poor my foot.” Edith pulls a face at the mention of the Watsford’s landlady, and her former employer, the wealthy and odious old widow draped in black jet and mourning barathea******* whom she grew up hearing about regularly, and seeing on the rare occasions she would deign to stop by to collect their rent in person, rather than her rent collector.
“You know Mrs. Hounslow’s husband died a hero in the siege of Mafeking in the Boer War.”
“And neither you, nor she will ever let any of us forget it, Mum.” Edith mutters, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.
“Now you know I won’t have a bad word said about her, Edith.” Ada gives her daughter a warning look. “Shame on you! She’s helped pay for many a meal in this house with her sixpences and shillings for her washing over the years.”
“Which she then takes back in exorbitant rent.”
“Exorbitant, is it now?” Ada scoffs. “Such fancy words, Miss Edith Watsford.”
“It means inflated or excessive, Mum, and you know it.” Edith counters. “She charges too much for this old place and she spends nary a penny on maintaining it. Look at this poor old thing.” She taps the crumbly red brick of the laundry copper dust from its limestone dressing coming off on her fingers in a light white powder. “I bet it hasn’t been touched by old Widow Hounslow since before I was born.”
“That’s because she doesn’t need it.” Ada says with a smile, looking affectionately at her laundry copper. “She was well made in the first place.”
“Well, whether it was well made or not, there are other things around here that old Widow Hounslow could spend some of your hard-earned money on.”
“Like what?”
“Like fixing up the plumbing, block the draughts around the windows.” Edith begins. “Maybe even install electricity.”
“Now I’m not having that put in this house!” Ada gasps. “You can’t trust it. What would I do with electricity anyway?”
“Well, you wouldn’t have to toast bread with a toasting fork over the grate. You could have a manual electric toaster********, or an electric ‘Smoothwell’ iron*********, like we have at Cavendish Mews, for a start.”
“As if I could afford either one of those contraptions!” Ada jeers with a sniff. “Not that I’d want one.”
“Well, you could at least have an electric light in the kitchen, so you and Dad could read in comfort.”
“Which we do quite successfully by oil lamp, just the same as we have been doing for many years now, thank you very much.”
“It’s not the same, Mum.” Edith takes the bar of soap and begins to run it up and down the grater, producing the first few shavings of soap as they fall into the bottom of the enamel bowl.
“It’s the devil’s work, that electricity!” Ada mutters, picking up a pillowcase from a basket and moving it to an old tub sitting at her feet. “You see the sparks come flying off the wires of the trams********** that run between Shepherd’s Bush and Hammersmith.”
“You ride it, nonetheless, Mum,” Edith replies with a smirk. She stops grating and gives her mother a knowing look. “I know you do, so it’s no good trying to pretend you don’t. The world is changing, Mum.”
“Those soap flakes aren’t going to magically make themselves, you know,” Ada nods at Edith’s still hands holding the bar of soap and the grater over the bowl. “Electricity or not.”
Edith sighs resignedly as she resumes making soap flakes. “So Mum, I saw Frank the other day,”
“Of course you did, Edith love.” Ada laughs good naturedly as she observes her daughter’s cheeks flush with pleasure at the mention of her beau. “And how is our young Frank?”
“He’s quite well, Mum. He was setting up Mr. Willison’s shop window,” Edith remarks excitedly.
“Oh, was he now? That must have made Frank very proud, getting to do something else for Mr. Willison, and being trusted with an important job like the front window.” Ada remarks cheerfully as she looks around for her brush, having spied some dried mud on the hem of one of Mrs. Hounslow’s petticoats.
“Oh yes, Mum.” Edith runs the bar of soap up and down the grater, sending a flurry of dusty flakes cascading down into the bowl as she speaks. “Mr. and Mrs. Willison had gone off to see their daughter receive an award of some kind at her school, so they let Frank do the window in their absence. Visual merchandising, he calls it.”
“Does he now?” Ada scrubs away the dried mud, revealing a shadow of brown stain beneath it on the linen.
“Oh it looked ever so splendid, Mum! Packets of tea, tins of golden syrup and black treacle, jars of jam and marmalade and colourful bunting.”
“Sounds like our Mr. Lovegrove down the High Street could learn a thing or two from Frank.” Ada remarks, more than a little tongue in cheek, smiling with delight at how proud her daughter is of her beau’s accomplishments as she brushes a loose strand of mousy brown hair streaked with silver that has escaped her bun, behind her ear.
“Well, I reckon he could, and all, Mum. There was even a pyramid of biscuit tins. Of course, McVities and Price was on the top.”
“So I should think, Edith love.” Ada remarks seriously. “There are no finer biscuits all of England than the ones your Dad keeps his eyes on. Fit for the King they are!” She breaks her seriousness and laughs jovially. “Well, it seems your young Frank is coming up in the world of business. I’m happy for him, Edith love.”
“I’m happy for him too, Mum. Guess what the window display was of, Mum?”
Ada considers her daughter’s question, albeit not seriously, for a few moments as she rummages through a tub of sheets, silently counting the number and keeping it in her head to work out what she will charge for all the laundry later. “I’m sure I couldn’t begin to hazard a guess, Edith love.”
“He was doing a window to advertise the British Empire Exhibition*********** at Wembley************.”
“Oh yes! Your Dad and I were talking about that, just the other day.”
“Really Mum?” Edith stops grating soap flakes for a moment.
“Yes, your Dad was reading me an article about it from the newspaper, by lamplight I might add,” Ada adds in pointedly at the end. “As I was doing my darning, also by lamplight.”
“Yes, yes, Mum. I take your point.” Edith rolls her eyes again.
“Well, it all sounds rather splendid, I must say, Edith love.”
“I think it will be quite a spectacle,” Edith muses. “I’ve read in Miss Lettice’s newspapers that there will be fifty-six displays and pavilions from around the Empire! Imagine that!”
“I hope she doesn’t catch you reading those newspapers of hers, Edith love.” Ada cautions her daughter.
“Oh, Miss Lettice doesn’t mind.” Edith replies breezily. “In fact, she encourages me to read them after she’s finished. She says that we women should all be aware of what is going on in the world, especially working women like me.”
“Does she indeed? It seems to me that your Miss Chetwynd has a lot of interesting ideas about what young women like you, should or shouldn’t be doing.”
“Oh she does, Mum! She’s ever so modern and forward thinking.” Edith drops the grater with a clatter into the enamel bowl and holds her arms out expansively, the half grated bar of yellow soap still in her right fist. “She says that if women want to go up in the world, and be taken seriously, then we need to keep abreast of what’s happening in the world, to prove that we aren’t stupid. Miss Lettice even says it won’t be too long before women like us will have the vote.*************”
“Well, I’m not at all sure that I agree with all Miss Chetwynd’s ideas, and I can’t say as I particularly like your head being turned by her talk about women’s suffrage************** and the like.” Ada sighs heavily. “But then again, she is one of those young flappers your Dad and I read about in the papers, and they don’t have any respect for the likes of your father’s or my opinion.”
“Oh, Miss Lettice isn’t like that at all, Mum. If she were sitting here, I’m sure she’d be ever so polite and listen to what you have to say.”
“Chance would be a fine thing!” Ada laughs, sitting back on her stool. “A fine lady like Miss Chetwynd in my scullery!” After she finishes chortling, she goes on, “Anyway, listening is one thing, Edith love. Doing is quite another. Besides, I’m sure that between the encouragement of your Miss Chetwynd and young Frank, you’ll do just as you like, with never a thought for what I consider proper for a young lady in your position.”
“Mum, as I said before, the world is changing.”
“I arrest my case. Well, the world may be changing in some respects, but it isn’t changing here in my laundry this very minute.”
“Perhaps not, Mum.” Edith concedes. “But Dad believes in women’s suffrage.”
“Your Dad,” Ada scoffs. “Believes in women’s suffrage so long as it doesn’t affect him getting his tea, nice and hot, when he comes home for it, Edith love.”
“Well, thinking of the world,” Edith says brightly in an effort to steer the conversation away from things she and her mother don’t necessarily agree on. “There will be palaces for industry, and art.”
“Where, Edith love?”
“At the British Empire Exhibition, Mum! Each colony will have its own pavilion to reflect its local culture and architecture.”
“Oh, yes,” Ada chuckles. “It will probably be quite a thing, getting to see all the countries of the world without even having to leave London.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you, Mum, well you and Dad really.”
“What’s that, Edith love?”
“Well, Frank and I were talking, and we want to go and see the British Empire Exhibition,” Edith says tentatively. “And we thought, well, we were hoping, that you might like to come with us.”
“Oh what a lovely though, Edith love! Yes, I’m sure your Dad would love to go, and I know I would. Thank you!”
“Oh hoorah!” Edith drops the bar of soap on the edge of the copper and claps her soapy hands. “That will be ripping! We can all go! Frank is going to ask Granny McTavish.”
“Well, that will be nice, Edith love. I’m sure she’ll enjoy it, and your Dad and I would love to see her again.”
“We’ll make a day of it!” Edith says excitedly.
“How long is the British Empire Exhibition on for? I can’t remember.”
“It started last month, and it’s on until October.” Edith answers as she picks up the soap and grater again. “Why do you ask, Mum?”
“Well, I thought that maybe, if you and Frank were willing to wait, we’ll go when Bert gets his shore leave in June.”
“Oh.” Ediths face falls. “Oh, I’m sure Frank won’t mind.” She goes on a little less enthusiastically. “It will be lovely and summery then anyway: the best weather to enjoy all the wonders of the British Empire.”
“What’s the matter, Edith love?” Ada asks as she watches her daughter’s face cloud over.
“Do you think Bert would mind paying for his own ticket?”
“What a peculiar question to ask, Edith love.” Ada shakes her head. “I’m sure he won’t. What brought that out?”
“Well, its just that Frank and I thought we could pay for Granny McTavish, you and Dad, but I don’t know if we could stretch to paying for Bert too.”
“It’s good of you to buy a ticket for an old woman like Mrs. McTavish, but you mustn’t pay for us, Edith love! You Dad and I can buy our own tickets.”
“Oh, but Frank and I wanted to treat you.”
“You treat us to more than enough as it is, Edith love! Just look at that wonderful turkey you bought us for Christmas. No, you let us pay for ourselves, and save your money. You should be saving every penny of your wages that you can for when you and Frank have your own home.”
“Oh Mum! You’re as bad as Hilda!” Edith flaps her hand dismissively at her mother, swatting the idea of marriage away. “She keeps saying Frank will propose to me any day now.”
“And I shouldn’t wonder if he won’t, Edith love.” Ada replies sagely. “He obviously loves you. It’s only natural.”
“Well yes, but he’s not proposing yet.”
“But he will, Edith love, and when he does, it will be good to have some money behind you. Your Dad and I can help pay for your wedding breakfast***************, and I can help you sew your wedding dress and that of your bridesmaids, but you’ll need money to set up house together.”
“But Mum…”
“Don’t ‘but Mum’, me, my girl!” Ada wags a finger admonishingly at her daughter. “You want to talk about women’s rights? Well, it’s well within my right to say that your Dad and I will pay for our own tickets. You keep telling me that I don’t need to be doing as much laundry as I do, since your Dad got his promotion to line manager at McVities.”
“Well you don’t, Mum.”
“But that pin money**************** I make from it helps with the housekeeping, and enables me to pay for the occasional treat, like a trip to the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley.” Ada folds her arms akimbo and the steeliness in her jaw tells Edith that this is not a point she can win her mother over on. So that’s settled then. Your Dad and I will come, and Bert too, but we’ll pay our own way, thank you very much.”
“Oh, alright Mum.” Edith acquiesces.
“Good girl.” Ada purrs. “Are you still keeping your wages aside?”
“Yes Mum. I keep them in that tin you gave me for it*****************, when I went to work for old Widow Hounslow.”
“Good girl. You just keep putting any spare aside, and it will add up nicely, and be ready for the day that you do get married and need to set up house. Things may be changing in this world, but setting up home isn’t getting any cheaper.” Ada nods shrewdly. “You mark my words.”
*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.
**A dolly-peg, also known as a dolly-legs, peggy, or maiden, in different parts of Britain, was a contraption used in the days before washing machines to cloth in a wash-tub, dolly-tub, possing-tub or laundry copper. Appearing like a milking stool on a T-bar broomstick handle, it was sunk into the tub of clothes and boiling water and then used to move the water, laundry and soap flakes around in the tub to wash the clothes.
***A mangle (British) or wringer (American) is a mechanical laundry aid consisting of two rollers in a sturdy frame, connected by cogs and (in its home version) powered by a hand crank or later by electricity. While the appliance was originally used to squeeze water from wet laundry, today mangles are used to press or flatten sheets, tablecloths, kitchen towels, or clothing and other laundry.
****Robert Spear Hudson (1812 – 1884) was an English businessman who popularised dry soap powder. His company was very successful thanks to both an increasing demand for soap and his unprecedented levels of advertising. In 1837 he opened a shop in High Street, West Bromwich. He started making soap powder in the back of this shop by grinding the coarse bar soap of the day with a mortar and pestle. Before that people had had to make soap flakes themselves. This product became the first satisfactory and commercially successful soap powder. Despite his title of "Manufacturer of Dry Soap" he never actually manufactured soap but bought the raw soap from William Gossage of Widnes. The product was popular with his customers and the business expanded rapidly. In the 1850s he employed ten female workers in his West Bromwich factory. His business was further helped by the removal of tax on soap in 1853. In time the factory was too small and too far from the source of his soap so in 1875 he moved his main works to Bank Hall, Liverpool, and his head office to Bootle, while continuing production at West Bromwich. Eventually the business in Merseyside employed about 1,000 people and Hudson was able to further develop his flourishing export trade to Australia and New Zealand. The business flourished both because of the rapidly increasing demand for domestic soap products and because of Hudson's unprecedented levels of advertising. He arranged for striking posters to be produced by professional artists. The slogan "A little of Hudson's goes a long way" appeared on the coach that ran between Liverpool and York. Horse, steam and electric tramcars bore an advertisement saying "For Washing Clothes. Hudson's soap. For Washing Up". Hudson was joined in the business by his son Robert William who succeeded to the business on his father's death. In 1908 he sold the business to Lever Brothers who ran it as a subsidiary enterprise during which time the soap was manufactured at Crosfield's of Warrington. During this time trade names such as Rinso and Omo were introduced. The Hudson name was retained until 1935 when, during a period of rationalisation, the West Bromwich and Bank Hall works were closed.
*****A wash copper, copper boiler or simply copper is a wash house boiler, generally made of galvanised iron, though the best sorts are made of copper. In the inter-war years, they came in two types. The first is built into a brickwork furnace and was found in older houses. The second was the free-standing or portable type, it had an enamelled metal exterior that supported the inner can or copper. The bottom part was adapted to hold a gas burner, a high pressure oil or an ordinary wood or coal fire. Superior models could have a drawing-off tap, and a steam-escape pipe that lead into the flue. It was used for domestic laundry. Linen and cotton were placed in the copper and were boiled to whiten them. Clothes were agitated within the copper with a washing dolly, a vertical stick with either a metal cone or short wooden legs on it. After washing, the laundry was lifted out of the boiling water using the washing dolly or a similar device, and placed on a strainer resting on a laundry tub or similar container to capture the wash water and begin the drying and cooling process. The laundry was then dried with a mangle and then line-dried. Coppers could also be used in cooking, used to boil puddings such as a traditional Christmas pudding.
*****In the days before commercial washing machines and soap powder, soap flakes were often made by grating bars of washing soap into fine flakes. Soap flakes were used for a variety of purposes including bathing, laundering, and washing, including hair washing. Pure soap flakes were used alone or sometimes combined with other natural cleaning products such as baking soda, borax or washing soda to make a variety of more gregarious and specific cleaners. Soap flakes whilst labour intensive to make were an economical cleaning agent, and are still used today.
*******Barathea is a fine woollen cloth, sometimes mixed with silk or cotton, used chiefly for coats and suits. It was very popular during the Victorian era, and was often used to make widows weeds because it was good quality and would survive regular wear during the obligatory year of deep mourning and period of half mourning thereafter.
********With the arrival of wood and coal stoves in the 1880’s, a new toasting method was needed. This led to a tin and wire pyramid-shaped device which was the predecessor to what we know as the modern toaster. The bread was placed inside, and the device was heated on the stove. Fire was the source of heat for toasting bread until 1905 when the engineer Albert Marsh created a nickel and chromium composite, called Nichrome. Marsh’s invention was easily shaped into wires or strips and was low in electrical conductivity. Within months, other inventors were using Nichrome to produce electric toasters. The first successful version was brought out by Frank Shailor of General Electric in America in 1909. The D-12 model consisted of a cage-like device with a single heating element. It could only toast one side of the bread at once; the bread had to be flipped by hand to toast both sides. Better models soon followed, some with sliding drawers, others with mechanical ways to turn the bread, but the real innovation was the automatic pop-up toaster, conceived in 1919 by the American mechanic Charles Strite. The incorporated timer shut off the heating element and released a pop-up spring when the slice of toast was done. In 1926, the Waters-Genter Company used a redesigned version of the Strite’s toaster; it was called the “Toastmaster”. With a triple-loop logo inspired by its heating elements, it became part of the modern age of kitchen appliances. By the end of 1926 Charles Strite’s Toastmaster was available around the world, and became a standard in most upper-class and middle-class homes in Britain by the 1930s.
*********Originally sold in London’s Harrods department store in the early 1920s, the English Electric Premier System “Smoothwell” iron with a rubber, non-conducting handle, was supplied with its own trivet. Made in Birmingham, the ''Smoothwell Premier System'' appliance was patented as a revolutionary invention, powered by electricity. Many middle-class houses built for electricity after the war had a socket installed in the ceiling next to the light, allowing an electric iron such as the “Smoothwell” to be plugged in, allowing the modern Jazz Age housewife to iron over her kitchen table whether by day or night.
**********London United Tramways (LUT) began London's first electric tram service in July 1901. They electrified lines between Shepherd's Bush, Hammersmith, Acton and Kew Bridge. By 1906, ten municipal systems had been set up and by 1914 London operated the largest tram network in Europe. At their peak, over 3,000 trams carried a billion passengers a year over 366 miles of track. After the First World War tramways began to decline as the motor bus competed for passengers. By the late 1920s, the new buses offered higher standards of comfort, while the pre-war trams were shabby and in need of modernisation.
***********The British Empire Exhibition was a colonial exhibition held at Wembley Park, London England from 23 April to 1 November 1924 and from 9 May to 31 October 1925. In 1920 the British Government decided to site the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley Park, on the site of the pleasure gardens created by Edward Watkin in the 1890s. A British Empire Exhibition had first been proposed in 1902, by the British Empire League, and again in 1913. The Russo-Japanese War had prevented the first plan from being developed and World War I put an end to the second, though there had been a Festival of Empire in 1911, held in part at Crystal Palace. One of the reasons for the suggestion was a sense that other powers, like America and Japan, were challenging Britain on the world stage. Despite victory in Great War, this was in some ways even truer in 1919. The country had economic problems and its naval supremacy was being challenged by two of its former allies, the United States and Japan. In 1917 Britain had committed itself eventually to leave India, which effectively signalled the end of the British Empire to anyone who thought about the consequences, while the Dominions had shown little interest in following British foreign policy since the war. It was hoped that the Exhibition would strengthen the bonds within the Empire, stimulate trade and demonstrate British greatness both abroad and at home, where the public was believed to be increasingly uninterested in Empire, preferring other distractions, such as the cinema.
************A purpose-built "great national sports ground", called the Empire Stadium, was built for the Exhibition at Wembley. This became Wembley Stadium. Wembley Urban District Council was opposed to the idea, as was The Times, which considered Wembley too far from Central London. The first turf for this stadium was cut, on the site of the old tower, on the 10th of January 1922. 250,000 tons of earth were then removed, and the new structure constructed within ten months, opening well before the rest of the Exhibition was ready. Designed by John William Simpson and Maxwell Ayrton, and built by Sir Robert McAlpine, it could hold 125,000 people, 30,000 of them seated. The building was an unusual mix of Roman imperial and Mughal architecture. Although it incorporated a football pitch, it was not solely intended as a football stadium. Its quarter mile running track, incorporating a 220 yard straight track (the longest in the country) were seen as being at least equally important. The only standard gauge locomotive involved in the construction of the Stadium has survived, and still runs on Sir William McAlpine's private Fawley Hill railway near Henley.
*************In 1924 when this story is set, not every woman in Britain had the right to vote. In 1918 the Representation of the People Act was passed which allowed women over the age of thirty who met a property qualification to vote. Although eight and a half million women met this criteria, it was only about two-thirds of the total population of women in Britain. It was not until the Equal Franchise Act of 1928 that women over twenty-one were able to vote and women finally achieved the same voting rights as men. This act increased the number of women eligible to vote to fifteen million.
**************Suffrage refers to a person's right to vote in a political election. Voting allows members of society to take part in deciding government policies that affect them. Women's suffrage refers to the right of women to vote in an election.
***************A wedding breakfast is a feast given to the newlyweds and guests after the wedding, making it equivalent to a wedding reception that serves a meal. The phrase is still used in British English, as opposed to the description of reception, which is American in derivation. Before the beginning of the Twentieth Century they were traditionally held in the morning, but this fashion began to change after the Great War when they became a luncheon. Regardless of when it was, a wedding breakfast in no way looked like a typical breakfast, with fine savoury food and sweet cakes being served. Wedding breakfasts were at their most lavish in the Edwardian era through to the Second World War.
****************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.
*****************Prior to the Second World War, working-class people didn’t use banks, which were the privilege of the upper and middle-classes. For a low paid domestic like Edith, what little she saved she would most likely keep in a tin or jar, secreted away somewhere to avoid anyone stealing what she had managed to keep aside.
This cheerful laundry scene is not all you may suppose it to be, for the fact is that all the items are from my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in thus tableau include:
The red brick copper in the centre of the image is a very cleverly made 1:12 artisan miniature from an unnamed artist. Believe it of not, it is made of balsa wood and then roughened and painted to look like bricks. I acquitted it from Doreen Jeffries’ Miniature World in the United Kingdom.
The great wrought mangle with its real wooden rollers is made of white metal by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
The dolly-peg is an antique Victorian dollhouse miniature and it’s tub is sitting behind it. I am just lucky that something from around 1860 just happens to be the correct scale to fit with my 1:12 artisan miniatures.
There is a panoply of items used in pre-war laundry preparation on the white painted surface of the copper. There are two enamel rather worn and beaten looking bowls and an enamel jug in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom. The grater and the two small irons also come from there. The boxes of Borax, Hudson’s Soap and Robin’s Starch and the bottle of bleach in the green glass were made with great attention to detail on the labels by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
Before the invention of aerosol spray starch, the product of choice in many homes of all classes was Robin starch. Robin Starch was a stiff white powder like cornflour to which water had to be added. When you made up the solution, it was gloopy, sticky with powdery lumps, just like wallpaper paste or grout. The garment was immersed evenly in that mixture and then it had to be smoothed out. All the stubborn starchy lumps had to be dissolved until they were eliminated – a metal spoon was good for bashing at the lumps to break them down. Robins Starch was produced by Reckitt and Sons who were a leading British manufacturer of household products, notably starch, black lead, laundry blue, and household polish.
On the little set if drawers on the wall, which came from Marie and Mick’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom, stands a box of Jumbo Blue Bag and some Imp Soap, also made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
Reckitt and Sons who were a leading British manufacturer of household products, notably starch, black lead, laundry blue, and household polish also produced Jumbo Blue, which was a whitener added to a wash to help delay the yellowing effect of older cotton. Rekitt and Sons were based in Kingston upon Hull. Isaac Reckitt began business in Hull in 1840, and his business became a private company Isaac Reckitt and Sons in 1879, and a public company in 1888. The company expanded through the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries. It merged with a major competitor in the starch market J. and J. Colman in 1938 to form Reckitt and Colman.
Imp Washer Soap was manufactured by T. H. Harris and Sons Limited, a soap manufacturers, tallow melters and bone boiler. Introduced after the Great War, Imp Washer Soap was a cheaper alternative to the more popular brands like Sunlight, Hudsons and Lifebuoy soaps. Imp Washer Soap was advertised as a free lathering and economical cleaner. T. H. Harris and Sons Limited also sold Mazo soap energiser which purported to improve the quality of cleaning power of existing soaps.
The rusted metal washing tub that is full of white linens is an artisan miniature and comes from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The stack of wood logs behind the mangle, used to feed the copper boiler, came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop, as does the basket hanging from the wall, the washboard and the airing rack.
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U.S. Department of Agriculture's (USDA) Food and Nutrition Service (FNS) Disaster Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (D-SNAP) and South Carolina Department of Education (SCDOE) responded to severe flooding in South Carolina, by using of the National School Lunch Program, at the Richland County Schools - District One - Central Kitchen Facility, Columbia, SC, to provide disaster congregate feeding, on Wednesday, Nov. 18, 2015.
In times of emergency, FNS coordinates with state and federal partners, as well as local volunteer organizations, such as the American Red Cross and Salvation Army, to provide USDA Foods to shelters and other mass feeding sites and, in limited cases, distribute food packages directly to households in need. USDA Foods are 100% domestically produced, processed and procured agricultural commodities that are made available to schools, tribes, and low-income individuals through FNS Nutrition Assistance Programs. Once retail food stores reopen, if survivors still need nutrition assistance and the area has received a ‘Presidential Disaster Declaration with Individual Assistance,’ State agencies may request to operate D-SNAP. People who may not normally qualify for nutrition assistance benefits may be eligible for D-SNAP if they had disaster-related expenses, such as loss of income, damage to property, relocation expenses, and, in some cases, loss of food due to power outages. Those already participating in the SNAP may be eligible for supplemental benefits under D-SNAP. For more information please visit this web site: www.fns.usda.gov/disaster.
Central Kitchen Facility is the only central kitchen in South Carolina. They provide meals to 32 schools. Operations start at 4-5AM. The meals are comprised of 10-11,000 lunches, 6,000 breakfasts, 3,100 snacks, 3,100 supplemental meals, district-wide catering and more. To accomplish this there are 38 employed here and a total of 150 across the entire operation of satellite kitchens and other facilities. 14 truck move food and commodities from here to where they are needed. USDA photo by Lance Cheung.
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Basically a supplement service to the 1, the 481 operated once each way on a schoolday from Gotham Wallis Street to East Leake Academy, via Gotham Bus Garage, Rushcliffe Halt and Lantern Lane.
The service was picked up by Tiger European at the start of the new academic year in September 2014.
716 crosses the Great Central Railway at Rushcliffe Halt with the afternoon 481 back to Gotham on the last week of operation before the school closed for the summer.
Art is not merely an imitation of the reality of nature, but in truth a metaphysical supplement to the reality of nature, placed alongside thereof for its conquest.
Friedrich Nietzsche
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Due to Sunday engineering works, no Trans Pennine Express services were running between Manchester and Liverpool. This resulted in a shuttle service between York and Scarborough, to supplement the through services across the Pennines to and from Manchester. 68 024 'Centaur', having arrived at Scarborough with the 14.00 from York, sits under the station roof prior to providing the power for the 15.34 return service.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we have headed south-west across London, away from Cavendish Mews and Mayfair, over Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens to the comfortably affluent Kensington High Street. Here, amidst the two and three storey buildings that line either side of the street, Edith, Lettice’s maid, walks amidst the other pedestrians with purpose. Dressed in her three-quarter length black coat which she bought from a Petticoat Lane* second-hand clothes stall and remodelled herself, and wearing the black straw cloche decorated with purple satin roses and black feathers she picked up from Mrs. Minkin’s - a Whitechapel haberdasher recommended by Lettice’s char**, Mrs. Boothby – she tries to blend in with the other affluent local women on pleasant pre-Christmas shopping outings. However, if she is concerned about how fashionably she is dressed, no-one else around her seems to give it a thought. Christmas is not far away now, with only a few weeks until Christmas Day, and signs of festive cheer abound with bright and gaudy tinsel*** garlands and stars cut from metallic paper hanging in shop windows on either side of the busy thoroughfare. The windows themselves are full of the latest fashions, toys and gadgets for the ladies of Kensington to choose their perfect Christmas gifts from. The shops are busy, and the pavement is crowded with meandering shoppers and window shoppers alike. Yet as her heels clip along the footpath, Edith has no time to tarry admiring window displays. She has an important errand to run in Kensington on her Wednesday off before heading north to the working-class London suburb of Harlesden, where she will pay her usual weekly visit to her parents.
Finally Edith reaches the splendid blue and white tile decorated façade she has been walking brusquely towards. Stylised and elegant gilt lettering on the windows to either side of the central double doors reads: ‘Langham’s – meat, fish, poultry, game and ice’. She peers through the large plate glass window at the splendid Christmas fare on display. A huge turkey sits in pride of place on a large silver platter, decorated with ornamental feathers and surrounded by greenery and raw vegetables. She sighs and walks quickly through the door of the butcher’s shop. The shop bell releases a cheery tingle as the wood and glass door closes behind her, shutting out the constant chugging of the engines of passing traffic and red double-decker London motorbuses, and the burble of human traffic passing by, and enveloping her in serene silence. Edith closes her eyes for a moment before opening them again. As her eyes adjust to being indoors the now familiar layout of the butcher’s shop emerges. Edith remembers with awkward embarrassment the first time Frank had brought her into Mr. Langham’s butcher’s shop and how intimidated she was by it. Unlike Mr. Chapman’s, the local butcher’s shop in Harlesden where she grew up, which has a warm and cosy feel to it, Mr. Langham’s establishment is spacious, stylish all about show. The floors are tiled in luxurious black and white chequered linoleum, just like the kitchen floor at Cavendish Mews, with not a wood shaving**** in sight, as most of the butchering is done by Mr. Langham and his sons out of sight of customers in a back room. The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with white tiles with a few bands of decorative green ones, and hung with brightly painted metal signs advertising condiments. Rather than a wooden counter like Mr. Chapman’s, which encouraged shoppers to lean in and tarry for a gossip, Mr. Langham’s counter is made of panelled glass and filled with the most wonderful displays of meat, fish and poultry. Yet as soon as Frank introduced Edith to his friend Percy, dressed in a uniform of a navy blue vest and a blue and white striped apron just like Mr. Chapman’s, her nerves fell away. He smiled at her broadly and welcomed her warmly, even if she was most likely the only girl from Harlesden ever to be served by him in his establishment. A mature, rather portly man with a jolly disposition to match his apple cheeks, Mr. Langham was delighted to meet his friend Frank’s young lady, and was only too happy to be of service to her once Frank explained what Edith’s plans were. And ever since then, a fortnightly ritual had occurred where she visited Mr. Langham before going on to see her parents on her Wednesdays off.
“Well, if it isn’t my favourite maid from Mayfair!” Mr. Langham remarks with his usual smile and easy manner from behind the counter as he sees Edith walk through the door.
“Oh Mr. Langham!” Edith blushes at his compliment. “You do know how to make a maid feel like a lady!”
“Come to get away from the Christmas rush out there then, have you, Miss Watsford?” the butcher chortles as he carefully adjusts the position of a fat turkey on a white raised platter on his counter, fussing over several large feathers used to decorate it until they fan out perfectly.
“Oh yes,” remarks Edith with a timid chuckle. “It’s so busy out there this week.”
“Never get between a Kensington housewife and her Christmas shopping, Miss Watsford.” Mr. Langham says jovially. “That’s my advice.”
“And very wise and welcome it is too, Mr. Langham.” Edith replies with a sigh as she walks up to the counter.
Over the ensuing months since Frank first brought her to Mr. Langham’s butcher’s shop in Kensington, Edith has discovered, much to her delight, that whilst it might be glass and used for the successful display and promotion of his fare, Mr. Langham’s counter is every bit as welcoming as a place to perch and chat as Mr. Chapman’s is in Harlesden. Edith places her green leather handbag across the glass countertop and hooks her black umbrella over the slightly raised maple edging and she leans in to peer at what lies under the glass. Trays of fat sausages and rich beef mince sit alongside steaks and chops, whilst a whole boar’s head with an apple stuck in his mouth peers back at her from another raised platter with squinted eyes and a broad smile.
“Fancy having that sitting in the middle of your Christmas table, Miss Watsford?” the butcher says in an ebullient voice, noting where Edith’s eyes have strayed to.
“No fear, Mr. Langham!” Edith replies, holding up her purple glove clad hands in defence. “I’d rather not have my meal looking at me as Dad prepares to carve it!”
“Well,” Mr. Langham says, looking down upon the boar. “He’s destined for a house in Rosary Gardens in Chelsea next week for a pre-Christmas dinner party. Mrs. Phyllida Cavendish is hosting a cocktail party, and he is to be the centre of her light buffet supper. To amuse her guests, he will be sporting a festive Christmas crown that she is making for him,” He sniffs. “Or so I have been told by Mrs. Cavendish several times.”
“That sounds positively frightful, Mr. Langham!” Edith pulls a face.
“Quite so, Miss Watsford.” agrees the butcher. “But then again, Phyllida Cavendish is an artist, so no doubt she and her odd bohemian friends will find some macabre humour in it. Perhaps they shall dance some pagan rights with him in her rear garden after midnight.”
“You do have some odd customers, Mr. Langham.” Edith remarks, clasping at the scarf at her throat.
“Only the ones from bohemian Chelsea.” he replies with a chuckle.
“Well, I think I’ll just stick to a nice old fashioned and succulent turkey from your shop this Christmas, Mr. Langham.”
“Come to pay off the final instalment have you, Miss Watsford?”
“Just as we agreed, Mr. Langham.” Edith nods cheerfully.
“I’ll just go and fetch my accounts book from the office.” he replies as he moves away from Edith, almost gliding across his elegant black and white linoleum floors as befits the owner of this elegant establishment.
As he does, Edith smiles to herself. How surprised her whole family will be when a fine, fat turkey arrives at her home in Harlesden just before Christmas, big enough to feed her parents, her brother – who will be home for Christmas on shore leave, Frank, Frank’s Scottish grandmother Mrs. McTavish and herself, and have leftovers for after Christmas. Christmas in the Watsford household has never been a lean one, even during the Great War with rationing, especially with her father’s canny ability to procure certain foods at a reasonable price, like the smaller turkey he acquired two Christmases ago, and her mother’s ability to make a feast out of anything left laying around her kitchen. However, even with those skills, George and Ada have expressed concerns about being able to feed everyone sufficiently on Christmas Day, even with Mrs. McTavish suphome-madee of her homemade Christmas puddings. Edith had caught her mother looking through old recipe books for imitation foodstuffs to supplement or replace real ones usually used by her at Christmas, and seen her carefully count the housekeeping money, scrimping and saving where she feels she can, to allow for extra expenditures for Christmas. Despite her mother’s refusal to take any of her wages from her, Edith wanted to contribute to Christmas this year especially since it was she who had suggested inviting Frank and his grandmother to Christmas lunch. When Frank mentioned how Mr. Langham was a butcher friend he had, and it was from him that he procured a small roast chicken for he and his grandmother every year, Edith knew immediately how she was going to contribute to Christmas 1923.
“Well, Miss Watsford,” Mr. Langham announces as he returns with her account. “I’m very pleased to accept your final payment for your family’s Christmas turkey. And a fine one he is too, if I may say!”
“Thank you, Mr. Langham. You may.” Edith replies with pride in her voice as she fetches out her small reticule***** from her handbag and counts out the last few shillings payment for the turkey.
“No, thank you, Miss Watsford, for being such a polite and promptly paying customer. I wish more of my customers were like you.”
“Oh I’m sure the likes of Mrs. Cavendish spend far more than I do.” Edith replies, indicating to the boar’s head.
“Oh, Phyllida Cavendish is very good at filling up my account book, but she is far less prompt paying what she owes.” Mr. Langham says with a cocked eyebrow and a knowing look. “No,” the butcher continues cheerfully as he accepts Edith’s shillings and pops them with a clink into his gleaming brass till. “I wish I had a daughter like you. It isn’t every day a daughter buys a turkey for her whole family for Christmas.”
“Well,” Lettice replies, blushing again. “Langham and Sons sounds and looks far more impressive over the front door than Langham and daughter.”
“Be that as it may, I’d give anything for my lads to offer to pay for our Christmas turkey, Miss Watsford, let me assure you!”
“Will you be supplying your own turkey then, Mr. Langham?”
“If not me, then who else, Miss Watsford? Mrs. Langham is expecting a fine turkey this year, and that is what she shall have if I know what’s good for me and want a peaceable festive season.”
“Oh you are a wag, Mr. Langham!” Edith laughs, flapping her hand at the middle-aged butcher. “I’m sure Mrs. Langham is the most charming and delightful wife in Kensington.”
“That she is, Miss Watsford,” agrees the older man. “But if you don’t mind me saying, she isn’t half as pretty as you.”
“Oh Mr. Langham!” Edith puts her hands to her cheeks as she feels the warmth of the colour filling them.
“I know! I know!” Mr. Langham raises his hands in defence. “You’re spoken for. That Frank Leadbetter is a lucky chap, stepping out with a girl as thoughtful and beautiful as you.”
In an effort to change the subject, Edith asks, “So the turkey will be delivered on what day, Mr. Langham?”
“Friday the twenty-third, Miss Watsford,” the butcher replies. “To the address you’ve given me here.” He taps George and Ada’s address in Harlesden on the top of Edith’s account with his grey lead pencil. “When will you tell your Mum?”
“Well, now that it’s paid off, I might tell her today.” Edith contemplates. “I’m off to visit her now. And,” she adds. “If I tell her and Dad today, then Dad won’t go and organise something else in the meantime, like he usually does.”
“Good thinking, Miss Watsford.” Mr. Langham replies cheerily, tapping his nose in a knowing fashion.
“Well, I must be going, Mr. Langham.” Edith announces, taking up her handbag and umbrella from the shop counter. “I have to get over to Harlesden, and that’s no short trip from here.”
“Well, you must take a slice of Mrs. Langham’s Christmas fruit cake for the journey.” the butcher replies, indicating to four thick slices of cake encased in a thick layer of white royal icing sitting on a tray directly below one of his wife’s beautifully decorated Christmas cakes on a raised platter sitting on the counter next to the till.
“Oh I couldn’t possibly, Mr. Langham!” Edith declines vehemently. “They are for your customers to promote your wife’s excellent baking skills. Have you sold many of Mrs. Langham’s Christmas cakes this year?”
“Quite a few as a matter of fact.” he announces proudly. “Certainly enough to have had her baking a few extra cakes in the last few months.” He smiles at Edith. “But at this late stage in the lead up to Christmas, no-one is going to want to buy one of her cakes now. Those slices will only go to the children who visit me with their parents, or go to waste as they dry out sitting there.” He goes on, “And since this will be the last time I see you before Christmas, Miss Watsford, consider it a Christmas present, and a small token of both mine, and my wife’s esteem.”
He picks up the square silver dish and holds it out to Edith.
“Well…” Edith acquiesces hesitantly.
“That’s my girl!” Mr. Langham’s eyes light up. “Take a slice for your Mum too. I’m sure it isn’t every day she gets the treat of a cake baked by someone other than her.”
“Indeed no, Mr. Langham. She taught me how to bake, but even I don’t dare serve her one of my cakes. She’s a seasoned baker is my Mum.”
“Well, so is Mrs. Langham, Miss Watsford.” He smiles broadly. “I’ll just wrap them up in some brown paper and twine. Merry Christmas Miss Watsford.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Langham.” Edith answers happily.
*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.
***One of the most famous Christmas decorations that people love to use at Christmas is tinsel. You might think that using it is an old tradition and that people in Britain have been adorning their houses with tinsel for a very long time. However that is not actually true. Tinsel is in fact believed to be quite a modern tradition. Whilst the idea of tinsel dates back to Germany in 1610 when wealthy people used real strands of silver to adorn their Christmas trees (also a German invention). Silver was very expensive though, so being able to do this was a sign that you were wealthy. Even though silver looked beautiful and sparkly to begin with, it tarnished quite quickly, meaning it would lose its lovely, bright appearance. Therefore it was swapped for other materials like copper and tin. These metals were also cheaper, so it meant that more people could use them. However, when the Great War started in 1914, metals like copper were needed for the war. Because of this, they couldn't be used for Christmas decorations as much, so a substitute was needed. It was swapped for aluminium, but this was a fire hazard, so it was switched for lead, but that turned out to be poisonous.
****Regardless of where the butchers shop was, whether a suburban or up-market shop or a small concern in a village, the standard practice was to dust the wooden floorboards of the shop behind the counter where the butchering was done with sawdust. The idea was that the sawdust would sop up any spilled blood or dropped offcuts of meat that was easy to sweep away and helped prevent slips.
*****A reticule also known as a ridicule or indispensable, was a type of small handbag or purse, typically having a drawstring and decorated with embroidery or beading, similar to a modern evening bag, used mainly from 1795 to before the Great War.
This smart and stylish upper-class Edwardian butchers 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.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The dressed turkey on the counter and the stuffed pig’s head and trays of cuts of meat inside the counter come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The joints of meat in the background, on the bench, in the meat safe and hanging from hooks above it also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop.
The cranberry glass footed platter on the counter is made of real, finely spun glass, and comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The beautifully decorated Christmas cake atop it is a 1:12 artisan miniature which also comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The slices of fruitcake in front of it on the silver plate is a 1:12 artisan miniature I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom.
To the left of the photo is a food safe. In the days before refrigeration, or when refrigeration was expensive, perishable foods such as meat, butter, milk and eggs were kept in a food safe. Winter was easier than summer to keep food fresh and butter coolers and shallow bowls of cold water were early ways to keep things like milk and butter cool. A food safe was a wooden cupboard with doors and sides open to the air apart from a covering of fine galvinised wire mesh. This allowed the air to circulate while keeping insects out. There was usually an upper and a lower compartment, normally lined with what was known as American cloth, a fabric with a glazed or varnished wipe-clean surface. Refrigerators, like washing machines were American inventions and were not commonplace in even wealthy upper-class households until well after the Second World War.
The shiny metal cash register comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The red and black painted scales and weights, I have had since I was a teenager.
Edith’s handbag handmade from soft leather is part of a larger collection of hats and bags that I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The black umbrella came from an online stockist of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.
The advertising signs in the background come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom.
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