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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.

 

This morning Lettice is entertaining a neighbour, of sorts, of her parents, Mr. Alisdair Gifford, nephew of 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 time 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, 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. Luckily Selwyn Spencely, the handsome eldest son of the Duke of Walmsford, 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. As she was leaving to return to London on the Monday, Sir John approached her and asked if she might meet with his nephew, Mr. Gifford, as he wishes to have a room in his Wiltshire house, Arkwright Bury, redecorated as a surprise for his Australian wife, Adelina, who collects blue and white porcelain but as of yet has no place to display it at Arkwright Bury. With a smile Lettice agreed, and thus Mr. Gifford now sits opposite her in her Mayfair drawing room.

 

She appraises Mr. Gifford as he helps himself to a biscuit from the plate on the low coffee table between them. He is a slight man, probably not more than ten years older than herself with pale patrician skin over a fine bone structure, and a mop of auburn hair which is streaked with silvery white hairs, possibly prematurely owing to his experiences in the war. He is dressed in a very smart morning suit with a silver fob watch chain hanging from his cherry red waistcoat pocket. He movements are as delicate as his frame, and his sparking blue eyes are further enhanced by the strong prescription of the glasses persistently sliding down his nose.

 

“Now, this is what I wanted to show you, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Gifford says in well educated and modulated tones from the comfort of one of Lettice’s round backed Art Deco arm chairs.

 

He reaches down with his elongated fingers into the slightly battered and worn brown leather case at his feet, which he arrived with, but refused to allow Edith, Lettice’s maid, to take from him. From it he withdraws an old photograph album. Covered in vibrant green Morocco leather, Lettice notices its bumped corners, which have worn down over many years losing their sharp edges, and a sun faded spine that tells of sitting for many a year, closed on a bookshelf. There is no writing on the cover, but glancing at the thick creamy card pages contained within the covers, she recognises it as a photograph album.

 

“This is a very precious piece of Arkwright Bury’s, and my own family’s, history.” Mr. Gifford goes on.

 

“I’m very looking forward to seeing it then.” Lettice remarks with curiosity as she leans forward in her own armchair.

 

“I don’t know whether my Uncle John told you or not when you were at the Caxton’s country house party at Gossington, but Arkwright Bury was badly damaged in a fire in 1879.”

 

“No,” Lettice admits. “Your uncle didn’t tell me a great deal about Arkwright Bury at all, Mr. Gifford, other than it fell into some disrepair when your elder brother went off to war, and that since you and your wife inherited it, you have been restoring it.”

 

“Quite right, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Gifford passes over the album to Lettice, who takes it with reverence into her elegant hands. “However, this will give you an idea of what Arkwright Bury used to look like in the 1860s and 70s, before the fire. It’s an album rescued from the conflagration which consists mostly of photographs of the house and its interiors, and not family photographs.”

 

“How very unusual.” Lettice remarks.

 

“Well, my grandfather was very passionate about architecture and photography, so I think this may have been a pet project of his.”

 

“And thus, perhaps why it was saved, Mr. Gifford?” Lettice asks tentatively.

 

“Perhaps, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Gifford replies with a gentle shrugging roll of his shoulders.

 

Lettice finds an old photograph of an unassuming Regency style country house, partially overgrown with creepers, set amidst a simple English park style garden on the front page. The house has a low pitched roof which is hidden from view by the building’s parapets. It has five bays of large sash windows over its two storeys and an Ionic columned portico.

 

“We think Arkwright Bury may have been designed by Anthony Keck*,” Mr. Gifford explains, assuming that Lettice will know who the Georgian architect is. “Although we cannot confirm it. Like so many things, the precious architectural drawings of Arkwright Bury went up in flames in the 1897 fire. I mean, his work isn’t found in Wiltshire, and if it is his, then it most probably was built after his retirement, and would be the only example in the county. I do know it was built in 1796, and Anthony Keck died just a year later.”

 

“And you have brought me this album because?” Lettice queries as she starts to turn the page.

 

“Well, because this has the only known surviving photograph of the Pagoda Room.” Mr. Gifford answers.

 

“The Pagoda Room?” Lettice asks.

 

“Yes. Just flip through the first few pages.” The gentleman says helpfully as he leans forward over the black japanned coffee table covered with Lettice’s Art Deco Royal Doulton tea set and tray of biscuits. “It should be on page six or so.” Lettice does as he says, counting the pages in her mind silently as she turns them. “Ahh! There it is.”

 

Lettice looks to where he points, and there, on a thick card page, beige and greyish and mottled with age, framed by flowers hand painted by one of the more artistic Gifford females of history, is an old photograph, underneath which is written in a delicate looped hand, ‘The Pagoda Room – July 1876’.

 

“Being from 1876, I’m sure my grandfather took this photograph.” Mr. Gifford explains. “It was called the Pagoda Room because as you can see on the walls, there is some Georgian wallpaper, hand painted and imported from China we assume, which features Pagodas on it. Of course I wasn’t born until after the fire, but my father remembers he and his sister, my Aunt Eugenia, making up stories about Chinese people who lived inside the pagodas.”

 

“I say!” Lettice laughs. “How frightfully jolly.”

 

Lettice looks at the image. It depicts the corner of what must have been a larger room with a high dado, papered with the Georgian wallpaper Mr. Gifford mentioned, featuring the stylised pagodas that gave the room its name. The corner is filled with Georgian and Regency furniture that is intermixed with pieces from later periods, the surfaces of tables and the shadowy interiors of a Georgian corner cabinet are cluttered with a collection of decorative porcelain that owed much to the conscientious consumption of the wealthy in the mid Victorian era. Paintings of Gifford ancestors hang on the walls in thick gilt frames, whilst a top heavy elaborate floral display of roses and ferns sits atop a heavily carved Victorian pillar. Overstuffed, yet comfortable looking chairs and sofas fill the space, their owners gone, but their presence marked by a stack of leatherbound books with decorative covers, a sewing basket and embroidery hoop, and a silver teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl and dainty china teacups on a galleried silver tray.

 

“My grandmother loved needlework, so I’m sure that’s her embroidery frame and basket in the photograph, and my grandfather was an avid reader.”

 

“Indeed.” Lettice remarks, lowering the page and allowing the well loved album to sit comfortably open across her lap as she reaches over to the black japanned side table on which her telephone stands and picks up her teacup. “And besides for its interesting historical context, you have brought me this album, why, Mr. Gifford?”

 

“Well, the Arkwright Bury fire tore through that part of the house and destroyed it entirely, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“Mmmm…” Lettice sips her tea.

 

“Or at least I thought it had until recently.” Mr. Gifford continues.

 

“Go on, Mr. Gifford.”

 

“Well, as my uncle explained to you, Adelinde and I have almost completed a full restoration of Arkwright Bury, and we only have a small amount left to do. This includes my brother, Cuthbert’s, study.”

 

“He died before the end of the war, didn’t he, Mr. Gifford?” Lettice asks gently.

 

“He did, Miss Chetwynd. He was honourably discharged after the Battle of Ypres**, but he came back a very changed man.”

 

“You never went to France yourself, did you, Mr. Gifford?”

 

“No,” Mr. Gifford admits a little guiltily. “But please don’t hold that against me, Miss Chetwynd. I wasn’t accepted because of my appalling eyesight.” He pushes his pair of thick lensed glasses up the bridge of his aquiline nose with awkward embarrassment. “I did however work under Mr. Churchill*** in the Admiralty.”

 

“I won’t hold your not going to battle in Flanders Fields**** against you, Mr. Gifford.” Lettice assures him with a comforting smile.

 

“Thank you.” he sighs. “That’s a relief.”

 

“Anyway, the war has been over for more than five years now.”

 

“Not for some people, it hasn’t.” Mr. Gifford says sadly. “And just because I’m not maimed physically like those poor returned soldiers you see selling matches at the top of Tottenham Court Road or in Piccadilly Circus, there is a certain amount of stigma against me: people thinking I didn’t do my bit during the war.”

 

“Well, I won’t jump to any incorrect conclusions about what you did, or didn’t do, during the war. My eldest brother returned from the conflict with all his limbs intact, both his eyes and most importantly his mind unaltered, thank god, so I’m hardly in a position to judge you for a lack of injuries.”

 

“Well, many others feel differently, especially those young, embittered war widows or fiancées, of which there are so many about. You were not affianced to a young officer or captain yourself, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Thankfully no, Mr. Gifford.”

 

“Poor Cuthbert came back with all his limbs and his sight, but his mind was disturbed from what he witnessed over in France, and he killed himself: shot himself in the temple with his gun before Armistice Day*****.” Mr. Gifford says dryly.

 

“Yes, I had heard the rumour.” Lettice murmurs quietly in admission.

 

“And that’s why his study is one of the last places Adelina and I have to deal with.”

 

“Too many painful memories, Mr. Gifford?”

 

“Yes,” he admits. “But also, too much mess quite frankly. As I said, Cuthbert came back from the Western Front with his mind addled and his study reflects that, with piles of papers and books in all kinds of disorder, the meaning of which known only to him, so it’s just been too hard to deal with. In fact, Adelina and I closed the door on it, and more often than not have been using it as a storage room whilst we’ve been restoring other parts of Arkwright Bury, shoving furniture and boxes of things between Cuthbert’s belongings. Recently Adelina has been using it to store her boxes of blue and white porcelain that we brought over from Briar Priory, plus a few newly acquired pieces.” He sighs. “It’s actually only been recently that I have had the stomach to start sorting out Cuthbert’s things. Adelina wants to turn the study into a display room for her collection, since we can’t seem to find anywhere else suitable in Arkwright Bury to display it, which seems odd,” He laughs. “When you think that Briar Priory was so much smaller than Arkwright Bury is.”

 

“And that’s why you’ve come to see me?” Lettice asks, trying to get Mr. Gifford to explain himself and share his intentions.

 

“Yes.” Mr. Gifford agrees. “If you’re willing to take it on, I’d love for you to redecorate Cuthbert’s study as a surprise for Adelina. It would make it a happy space to be in, rather than a sad and neglected one.”

 

“Although that still doesn’t explain the necessity for this.” Lettice half raises the green Morocco leather photo album in her lap with her spare left hand.

 

“Well, I wanted you to look at the photo of the Pagoda Room because, I thought it had been completely destroyed by the fire, until I started going through Cuthbert’s study. Before it was Cuthbert’s study, it was my father’s study, and my grandfather’s before him. So much Gifford history was lost with the fire that my grandparents didn’t have the heart to try and replicate what they had, and the study was created from part of the shell of the Pagoda Room.”

 

“How do you know this, Mr. Gifford?”

 

“Well, do you see that corner cabinet?” Mr. Gifford points to a glass door decorated with delicate fretwork, half hidden in the shadows behind the elaborate floral arrangement on the pedestal. When Lettice affirms with a nod he continues, “Well I didn’t recognise it at first, but this is what my brother, father and grandfather all used as a corner bookcase. It was only when I was doing an inventory of Cuthbert’s books in it, that I suddenly looked at the door, and I recognised it as being the same one from the photograph of the Pagoda Room. So, I took out my penknife******.” He withdraws a small blade with an ebony handle from his pocket. “So useful. I never go anywhere without it being in my pocket, and I took to the red wallpaper just next to the cabinet. I cut away a little, and what do you think I found beneath it, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“The Chinese pagoda paper, I presume, Mr. Gifford.” Lettice laughs.

 

“Just so, Miss Chetwynd!” Mr. Gifford exclaims, bouncing on his seat excitedly. “It’s badly degraded of course, but I thought it would make a splendid backdrop to Adelina’s blue and white porcelain collection!”

 

“Aah… then I’m very sorry, Mr. Gifford,” Lettice begins to apologise. “But you have wasted your journey up to London from Wiltshire. I’m a redecorator and designer, not a restorer.”

 

“Oh I know that, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Gifford replies. “However, I also know from what I read in Mr. Tipping’s******* article in Country Life******** that you are a fine artist. You painted a demilune table********** for Mr. and Mrs. Channon, did you not?”

 

“I did Mr. Gifford. But what of it?”

 

“I had rather thought you might paint the design of the pagoda wallpaper from this photograph for me.”

 

“A demilune table is entirely different to a mural, Mr. Gifford!” Lettice exclaims in horror. “I’m hardly a muralist!”

 

“Oh I’m sorry, Miss Chetwynd, if I in any way implied that I wanted you to paint a mural.” Mr. Gifford defends raising his hands in concern. “No. I thought that because you have connections with wallpaper manufacturers who produce papers based on individual designs submitted, I was rather hoping you would design a panel of the pagoda wallpaper, which could then be reproduced as wallpaper to hang.”

 

Lettice ruminates on Mr. Gifford’s idea for a moment. “Well,” she says cautiously. “I suppose I could speak to Jeffrey and Company***********. They do produce bespoke wall hangings. Mind you, to be frank, it isn’t at all inexpensive, Mr. Gifford.”

 

“Oh I don’t mind, Miss Chetwynd. The Pagoda Room may have been large once, but I can assure you that Cuthbert’s study isn’t a terribly large space. I certainly don’t mind paying the cost to have it papered.”

 

“Well, I know it’s precious to you, but may I have this photograph then, Mr, Gifford?”

 

“Of course you may, Miss Chetwynd. Just slip it out of the album.”

 

As Lettice carefully extracts the old black and white photograph from the album she says. “I can see if I can recreate a design as close to the original as I can make out from this photograph. I take it you can tell me what the colours of it are from the little bit of paper you exposed?”

 

“I have it here, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Gifford replies with a sigh, delving into his satchel once more and withdrawing a crumbling piece of paper that shows a small piece of the pagoda door and some roof tiles in French blue and sage green on an ecru background that must once have been white, which he carefully hands over to Lettice with trembling fingers.

 

“Yes, well. Using this, I could come up with a panel, that once it meets your approval, I can then take to Jeffrey and Company, and see if they are willing to reproduce it, and at what price.”

 

“Capital, Miss Chetwynd! Capital!” Mr. Gifford enthuses excitedly.

 

“I’d have to see the room as well, Mr. Gifford.” Lettice says. “To establish the amount of wall space we are discussing to have papered.”

 

“Are you by chance coming down to Wiltshire to visit your family soon, Miss Chetwynd?” asks Mr. Gifford with a toothy smile.

 

“As a matter of fact, I am, Mr. Gifford.”

 

“Then perhaps I could extend an invitation to you, to take tea with my wife and I at Arkwright Bury, whilst you are in residence at Glynes.”

 

“That sounds splendid, Mr Gifford.”

 

“Of course, you cannot let on to Adelina about this, Miss Chetwynd. This would be strictly between us. I want this redecoration to be a surprise for her.”

 

“You are being presumptuous, Mr. Gifford. I haven’t said that I will take you on as my client yet.” Lettice cautions with a wagging finger. “There are many dependencies and counter-dependencies yet to consider. But I will consider your request after I have seen the room for myself.”

 

“Oh thank you, Miss Chetwynd!” Mr. Gifford replies, clapping his hands in delight.

 

“I said, consider, Mr. Gifford.” Lettice says again, attempting to temper Mr. Gifford’s enthusiasm.

 

“Well, thinking of consideration, Miss Chetwynd. I do have one final titbit that might just make you consider my request a little more favourably.” He pauses for affect.

 

“And what might that be, Mr. Gifford?” Lettice asks with intrigue.

 

“Well, Mr. Henry Tipping is my godfather.” Mr. Gifford says with a smile that makes him look like the cat who just ate the cream. “And when I mentioned your name to him as a potential candidate for redecorating Cuthbert’s study, he said to me that he would happily consider writing an article on your redecoration of the room for Country Life, if you agreed.”

 

“Well!” Lettice replies, her expertly shaped eyebrows arching over her glittering blue eyes. “That is an interesting incentive, Mr. Gifford.”

 

“I thought that might pique your interest, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Gifford replies with a satisfied sigh as he settles back in his armchair again.

 

*Anthony Keck (1726 – 1797) was an Eighteenth Century English architect with an extensive practice in Gloucestershire, Worcestershire, Herefordshire and South Wales. He designed at least fifty country houses in the South-West of England and South Wales.

 

**The Battle of Ypres was a series of engagements during the First World War, near the Belgian city of Ypres, between the German and the Allied armies (Belgian, French, British Expeditionary Force and Canadian Expeditionary Force). During the five engagements, casualties may have surpassed one million.

 

***Sir Winston Churchill (30th if November 1874 – 24th of January 1965) was a British statesman, soldier, and writer who twice served as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, from 1940 to 1945 during the Second World War, and again from 1951 to 1955. Apart from two years between 1922 and 1924, he was a Member of Parliament from 1900 to 1964 and represented a total of five constituencies. Ideologically an adherent to economic liberalism and imperialism, he was for most of his career a member of the Conservative Party, which he led from 1940 to 1955. He was a member of the Liberal Party from 1904 to 1924. In October 1911, Prime Minister Asquith appointed Churchill First Lord of the Admiralty, and he took up official residence at Admiralty House. He created a naval war staff and, over the next two and a half years, focused on naval preparation, visiting naval stations and dockyards, seeking to improve morale, and scrutinising German naval developments. As First Lord, Churchill was tasked with overseeing Britain's naval effort when the First World War began in August 1914. In the same month, the navy transported 120,000 British troops to France and began a blockade of Germany's North Sea ports. Churchill sent submarines to the Baltic Sea to assist the Russian Navy and he sent the Marine Brigade to Ostend, forcing a reallocation of German troops. In September, Churchill assumed full responsibility for Britain's aerial defence. In May, Asquith agreed under parliamentary pressure to form an all-party coalition government, but the Conservatives' condition of entry was that Churchill must be removed from the Admiralty. Churchill pleaded his case with both Asquith and Conservative leader Bonar Law but had to accept demotion and became Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster.

 

****The term “Flanders Fields”, used after the war to refer to the parts of France where the bloodiest battles of the Great War raged comes from "In Flanders Fields" is a war poem in the form of a rondeau, written during the First World War by Canadian physician Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae, written in 1915.

 

*****Armistice Day or Remembrance Day is a memorial day observed in Commonwealth member states since the end of the First World War to honour armed forces members who have died in the line of duty. It falls on the 11th of November every year. Remembrance Day is marked at eleven o’clock (the time that the armistice was declared) with a minute’s silence to honour the fallen. Following a tradition inaugurated by King George V in 1919, the day is also marked by war remembrances in many non-Commonwealth countries.

 

******A penknife, or pen knife, is a small folding knife. Today penknife is also the common English term for both a pocketknife, which can have single or multiple blades, and for multi-tools, with additional tools incorporated into the design.

 

*******Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

*********Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

**********A demilune is a half-moon shaped table that was created and very popular in the Eighteenth Century. With no hard edges or corners and a shallow profile, this type of accent table works well in so many tight spaces. Georgian rooms were often quite small, so they were a useful surface to have in bedrooms, hallways and entryways.

 

***********Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Company’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.

 

This may look like an old photograph taken in the Victorian era and inserted into a photograph album, affixed with corners, but it is in fact a photograph made up completely of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my teenage years, which has then been post produced as an old black and white photograph.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The embroidery frame, which features a partially completed embroidery, complete with a 1:12 miniature needle inserted into it was made by Falcon Miniatures, who are known for their detail in relation to their miniature pieces. I acquired it from Doreen Jeffrey’s Small Wonders Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The sewing basket sitting next to it on the overstuffed sofa is a 1:12 artisan miniature which I have had since I was a teenager. I acquired it from a high street dolls’ house and miniatures supplier and it is amongst my very first artisan pieces I purchased.

 

The silver tea set on the pedestal table, consisting of milk jug, sugar bowl and teapot come from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The silver tray upon which they stand also comes from Warwick Miniatures. The two dainty floral teacups with gilt edging are part of a larger tea set that I acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The books on the table, by the slipper chair and on the sofa in the forefront of the picture are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. These books are amongst the rarer exceptions that have been designed not to be opened. Nevertheless, the covers are copies of real Victorian bindings. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The overstuffed white settee and matching slipper chair, the two pedestal tables, the demilune table upon which the three vases sit, the three vases themselves, the corner cabinet and the china inside it, the hand embroidered footstool in front of the slipper chair, the two pillows on the sofa in the foreground, the paintings on the walls the extravagant floral arrangement and the two matching ornamental Victorian pillars I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The hand painted oriental ginger jar on the pedestal in the background next to the corner cabinet I acquired from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom.

 

The floral sofa in the foreground I obtained from Crooked Mile Cottage Miniatures in the United States.

 

The oriental rug is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug and has been machine woven. The wallpaper is an Eighteenth Century chinoiserie design of pagodas and would have been hand painted in its original form.

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Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Lettice is nursing a broken heart. Her beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, has been sent to Durban for a year by his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wants to end so that she can marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lettice returned home to Glynes to lick her wounds, however it only served to make matters worse as she grew even more morose. It was from the most unlikely of candidates, her mother Lady Sadie, with whom Lettice has always had a fraught relationship, that Lettice received the best advice, which was to stop feeling sorry for herself and get on with her life and wait patiently for Selwyn’s eventual return. Since then, Lettice has been trying to follow her mother’s advice and has thrown herself into the merry dance of London’s social round of dinners, dances and balls. However, even she could only keep this up for so long, and on New Year’s Eve, her sister, Lally, suggested that she spend a few extra weeks resting and recuperating with her in Buckinghamshire before returning to London and trying to get on with her life. Lettice happily agreed, however her rest cure ended abruptly with a letter from her Aunt Egg in London, summoned Lettice back to the capital and into society in general. Through her social connections, Aunt Egg has contrived an invitation for Lettice and her married Embassy Club coterie friends Dickie and Margot Channon, to an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party of Sir John and Lady Caxton, who are very well known amongst the smarter bohemian set of London society for their amusing weekend parties at their Scottish country estate and enjoyable literary evenings in their Belgravia townhouse. Lady Gladys is a successful authoress in her own right and writes under the nom de plume of Madeline St John, so they attract a mixture of witty writers and artists mostly.

 

The weekend party has proven to be every bit as amusing and entertaining as Lettice, Dickie and Margot has hoped for, with lively literary, artistic, social and political discussions, driven mostly by the gathering of artists drawn to Gossington, Sir John and Lady Gladys’ Scottish baronial Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland, for the weekend. In addition to that there have been lively games of sardines*, charades and a scavenger hunt that had all the houseguests overrunning Kershopefoot in efforts to gather such items as a baked apple pie, a Union Jack and a chimney pot. It also served as a great distraction for Lettice, drawing her mind away from her troubles, and enabling her to enjoy herself with a happy heart. Across the course of the weekend, Sir John and Lady Gladys cajoled Lettice into redecorating the Bloomsbury pied-à-terre** belonging to Lady Gladys’ niece and ward, Pheobe, who is pursuing a career in garden design, and has been accepted to a school in Regent’s Park associated to the Royal Academy.

 

However, the most surprising thing for Lettice over the course of the weekend, was her dinner companion on the Friday evening. Deliberately seated to the right of Pheobe, to enable them to discuss interior design ideas, Lettice found the place card to her left read ‘Nettie’. Imagining this was short for Antoinette, she was surprised when instead of a woman, she was seated next to 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 time 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, 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. Luckily 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. However, over the weekend, Lettice has come to know Sir John better, and whilst far from the romantic match she found in Selwyn, Lettice surprisingly found herself enjoying the company of “Nettie” – Lady Gladys’ nickname for Sir John when the pair were lovers – discovering his avid interests in the arts and architecture, enjoyment of reading and support of universal women’s suffrage***. He made her laugh and turned out to be quite a companionable person to take strolls around the grounds of Gossington with.

 

Now the Caxton’s pleasurable Friday to Monday has come to an end, and the guests who arrived by train have been returned to nearby Carlisle to catch the London, Midland and Scottish Railway**** services home, leaving only those who arrived via private motor car, which includes Lettice, who ventured up to Gossington from London in Dickie and Margot’s Brunswick green 1922 Lea Francis***** four seater tourer and Sir John Nettleford-Hughes who drove up from Fontengil Park in his maroon and black Austin Twenty Allweather coupé******, amongst a handful of other guests. So we find ourselves in the grand entrance hall of Gossington with its barrel vaulted ceiling, ornate wood panelling and William Morris****** ‘Poppies’ wallpaper where the remaining guests have amassed their luggage for loading back into their cars and have gathered to bid farewell to their gracious host and hostess.

 

“Well, goodbye Gladys,” Lettice addresses her hostess informally, as per the relaxed style established by Sir John and Lady Gladys, who are both members of the Fabian Society********. “Thank you so much for a marvellous weekend!”

 

“We’re so glad you could come, dear Lettice!” Lady Gladys replies, enveloping Lettice in an embrace that smells lightly of Yardley’s face powder and English Lavender perfume.

 

“And not just because you have agreed to redecorate Pheobe’s little Bloomsbury pied-à-terre.” Lord Caxton assures her. “It really has been such a pleasure to have such a pretty, and witty guest in our midst.”

 

“Oh John!” Lettice colours at his compliment. “I’m sure you’ve had far more pretty and witty guests here than me.”

 

“Whether we have or haven’t,” Lady Gladys states. “It has been a delight to have you, and we’re so pleased you enjoyed your stay at Gossington, even if it is frightfully old fashioned in its interior designs.”

 

“It’s lovely, Gladys.” Lettice assures her. “It wouldn’t be as cosy or charming if it were decorated any other way.”

 

“Perhaps not.” Lady Gladys agrees. “Now, I’ll telephone you ahead of time when I’m back in London, and we’ll go around to Bloomsbury and you can take a look at the place.”

 

“I say Margot,” Dickie’s voice opines loudly, interrupting Lady Gladys’ conversation with Lettice. “Are you sure you haven’t acquired more luggage since we arrived?”

 

Lettice and Gladys turn and look across the hall to where Dickie stands looking perplexed on the William Morris ‘Strawberry Thief’ carpet surrounded by a red leather steamer trunk and several vermillion hatboxes and a pillbox makeup case belonging to his wife.

 

“You haven’t decided to appropriate an urn or two from here belonging to John and Gladys, that you fancy for the décor of Hill Street, have you?” he continues.

 

“As if I would ever stoop to something so wicked!” exclaims Margot as she glides elegantly down the stairs in a French blue frock and matching travel cape that matches Lettice’s own portmanteau and hatbox, with a neat cloche adorned with blue and white feathers, made by their Embassy Club coterie friend Gerald Bruton’s friend Harriet Milford.

 

Lettice laughs and shakes her head. “You know Margot never travels lightly, Dickie.”

 

“One never knows what one will need,” Margot opines, smiling cheekily at her husband as she reaches the foot of the staircase. “So, it is best to travel prepared for every occasion. I’m sure you agree, Gladys.”

 

“How very wise, Margot dear.” their hostess agrees.

 

“I’m sure we came up here with less.” Dickie mutters. “God knows how we’re going to get all our luggage back in the car.”

 

“Well Lettice,” The well enunciated syllables of Sir John Nettleford-Huges’ voice catches Lettice’s attention and she turns to see the older gentleman, dressed impeccably in a tweed suit striding across the entrance hall, swinging his silver topped walking stick and oozing the confidence of male privilege that his sex, class and enormous wealth bestows. “Our sojourn at Gossington concludes. How frightfully sad.”

 

“It is rather. I’ve had such an enjoyable stay.” Lettice agrees.

 

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone complain about a weekend spent here with Gladys and John.”

 

“I should hope you haven’t.” pipes up Lady Gladys.

 

“All the same, I think I shall be pleased not to call you ‘Nettie’, Sir John.” Lettice admits somewhat guiltily, still struggling to use the nickname given Sir John by their hostess.

 

“Perhaps then, we might settle on, John, Lettice.” Sir John suggests politely. “Now that we know each other a little better, I’d hate to go back to ‘Sir John’ and ‘Miss Chetwynd’.” He smiles at her hopefully. “Only if you agree, and only in select company of course.”

 

“Of course, Si… John.” Lettice smiles a little awkwardly in return. “I’d like that.”

 

“Excellent! Excellent!” Sir John says, clapping his grey glove clad hands lightly, slipping his cane underneath this right arm like a swagger stick.

 

Sir John looks Lettice up and down appraisingly, and for the first time, she does not feel like he is mentally undressing her, but rather admiring her choice of outfit.

 

“Is something the matter, John?” she asks.

 

“No, no!” he assures her in return. “Not at all. I was just admiring that green colour you are wearing. It suits your complexion.”

 

“Thank you. It’s sage, Si… John.”

 

“You’ll forgive me if I also remark on how rather fetching you are in that smart and select hat, my dear. Is it one of Bruton’s?”

 

“Thank you.” Lettice automatically raises her right sage green glove clad hand to the crown of her head and self-consciously pats the dyed sage straw of the hat she is wearing. Also made by her old school chum Gerald’s friend Harriet Milford at her house in Putney, her stylish headwear is decorated with a green grosgrain band, a cluster of silvery silk roses and iridescent peacock feathers which curl and sweep around the top of the hat elegantly. “No. Gerald doesn’t make hats: only frocks. However it does come from a friend of his, Harriet Milford, who happens to be an acquaintance of Gerald’s.”

 

“I’ve always considered Bruton as being rather a queer fish, designing frocks for women.” Sir John remarks. “But then again, who other than a man is better equipped to judge what looks fetching on a girl?”

 

Behind Sir John, one of the Caxton’s liveried footmen meekly carries his chocolate brown valise. He instructs the young man to put the case in his car as he hands him the keys to open the boot, slipping him a small tip as he does, before returning his attentions to Lettice. “I always find a small vail********* paid to the staff loading your luggage infinitely useful at these little country house weekend parties.”

 

“How so, John?” Lettice asks.

 

“Well, I usually find that it ensures a case isn’t packed upside down, or that a latch isn’t inexplicably unfastened prior to departure, thus avoiding the spilling of clothes throughout the boot en route to the next destination.”

 

“And where is your next destination?” Lettice asks him.

 

“Oh, just home to Fontengil Park, my dear, where, as the local squire, I have matters that must be attended to. I could easily swing by your parents’ house and give them a message from you, if you like.”

 

“No thank you, John; but thank you for the thought.” Lettice replies.

 

“I say, Lettice.” Sir John remarks after a few moments. “I don’t suppose you have plans back in London do you?”

 

“Not definite plans, John. No. Why do you ask?”

 

“Look here, Lettice, I’ve been meaning to ask you something all weekend, and I’ve just been trying to work up the courage to ask it.”

 

“I hope this isn’t a marriage proposal, John.” Lettice replies warily.

 

“You could do far worse than Nettie, my dear Lettice.” Lady Gladys buts in, overhearing their conversation. “He’s fabulously wealthy you know. If I hadn’t met my own John,” she adds wistfully. “I feel sure that Nettie and I should have married. We would have made a perfect match.”

 

“Nonsense Gladys.” Sir John retorts. “You are far too hedonistic for me. We’re both frightfully self-indulgent. It would never have worked.” He returns his attentions to Lettice. “No, I was hoping you could find time in your schedule for my nephew, Alisdair Gifford, to pay a call on you.”

 

“I remember Mr. Gifford. You brought he and his wife to my mother’s Hunt Ball, didn’t you?”

 

“Yes, whilst not exactly neighbours of your parents, they live nearby at Arkwright Bury, and as members of Wiltshire county society, they were invited, so we came as a party together.”

 

“His wife is Australian, isn’t she?”

 

“How clever of you to remember. Yes, Adelinde comes from some dusty part of Australia.”

 

“And why does Mr. Gifford wish to pay a call on me, John?” Lettice queries, cocking an eyebrow and squeezing her lips together in a tight purse quizzically.

 

“Well, I had luncheon with Alisdair and Adelinde last week and mentioned in passing that I was going to be seeing you, as a fellow member of Wiltshire county society, here at Gossington .” Sir John admits. “He asked me to put in a good word for him.”

 

“A good word?” Lettice asks.

 

“He read the favourable article Henry Tipping********** wrote about you in Country Life***********.”

 

“Didn’t everyone?” Lettice rolls her blue eyes, thinking of John and Gladys and their request for her to redecorate Pheobe’s London flat, but smiles at Sir John as she does so.

 

“And so they should, Lettice.”

 

“Did you read it, John?”

 

“Of course I did! Anyway, Alisdair asked me to put in a good word because he wants a room done up as a surprise for Adelinde. She collects blue and white porcelain, and now that he and Adelinde have inherited Arkwright Bury and moved in, Alisdair wants a proper home for her ever-expanding collection. They had it nicely displayed when they lived at Briar Priory, but since moving into Arkwright Bury, they haven’t settled on a place. They have been too busy managing their own restoration of the house, which had fallen into some disrepair when Cuthbert had it.”

 

“Cuthbert was Alisdair’s elder brother, wasn’t he?”

 

“Yes, my other Gifford nephew. He died a few years ago, but the house began to fall into disrepair when Cuthbert went away to fight at the beginning of the Great War. Being unmarried, he didn’t have a wife to manage Arkwright Bury in his absence, so he just dismissed all the staff, save for an elderly housekeeper and her husband who was some kind of odd-job man, shut it up, and decamped. When Cuthbert came back from the war, well,” A sadness clouds Sir John’s face. “Well, he was never quite the same.”

 

“So many of them weren’t.” Lettice murmurs in agreement with Sir John.

 

“Indeed.” Sir John concurs seriously. “And thanks to the evident uselessness of the housekeeper and her husband, the rot had already settled in, literally.”

 

“And now?”

 

“And now Arkwright Bury has arisen, like a phoenix from the ashes as it were. They are almost at the end of their extensive restoration, so Alisdair has an idea for his wife’s collection.”

 

“And they’d like me to decorate a room for them for that purpose?”

 

“You needn’t sound so surprised, my dear Lettice!” Sir John scoffs. “As Gladys has said, your skills as an interior designer have become very much in demand now that people are aware of you and what you can create.” He pauses. “Oh, and just to clarify the point with you, Lettice, if I may: it is only my nephew who wishes to engage your services as an interior designer. Adelinde knows nothing about his plans. He wants to decorate the room as a surprise for Adelinde: a sort of thank you for coming along willingly on the odyssey of renovating Arkwright Bury.”

 

Lettice considers Sir John’s offer. It is true that she has no definite plans in London once she returns to Cavendish Mews. A dinner with Gerald perhaps, assuming he isn’t too busy with his gentleman friend Cyril and the other theatrical types boarding at Harriet Milford’s rather unorthodox house in Putney. A night at the theatre, maybe. She knows that being such good friends, Dickie and Margot will try and entertain her by filling her evenings with dinners at their flat in Hill Street, around the corner from Cavendish Mews, but she doesn’t want to intrude too much on their lives. A visit from Mr. Gifford as a potential new client may be just the thing to distract her until Gladys returns to London and shows her Pheobe’s Bloomsbury flat.

 

“Very well, John. Please ask Mr. Gifford to call me in London, and we’ll arrange a suitable time for him to pay a call at Cavendish Mews.”

 

“Oh splendid!” Sir John taps his cane against the worn and faded William Morris carpet. “Alisdair will be thrilled!”

 

“I make no promises though.” Lettice quickly adds. “I’ll join you at Arkwright Bury to have a look at, and consider, Mr. Gifford’s ideas. I’ve just agreed to redecorate Pheobe’s flat.”

 

“Of course! Of course, Lettice. Your consideration is all Alisdair is asking for.”

 

*Sardines is an active game that is played like hide and go seek — only in reverse! One person hides, and everyone else searches for the hidden person. Whenever a person finds the hidden person, they quietly join them in their hiding spot. There is no winner of the game. The last person to join the sardines will be the hider in the next round. Sardines was a very popular game in the 1920s and 1930s played by houseguests in rambling old country houses where there were unusual, unknown and creative places to hide.

 

**A pied-à-terre is a small flat, house, or room kept for occasional use.

  

***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. 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.

 

****The London, Midland and Scottish Railway (LMS) was a British railway company. It was formed on the 1st of January 1923 under the Railways Act of 1921, which required the grouping of over 120 separate railways into four. The companies merged into the LMS included the London and North Western Railway, the Midland Railway, the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway (which had previously merged with the London and North Western Railway on 1 January 1922), several Scottish railway companies (including the Caledonian Railway), and numerous other, smaller ventures.

 

****The Austin Twenty is a large car introduced by Austin after the end of the First World War, in April 1919 and continued in production until 1930.

 

*******William Morris (24th of March 1834 – 3rd of October 1896) was a British textile designer, poet, artist, writer, and socialist activist associated with the British Arts and Crafts movement. He was a major contributor to the revival of traditional British textile arts and methods of production. His literary contributions helped to establish the modern fantasy genre, while he helped win acceptance of socialism in fin de siècle Great Britain. In 1861, Morris founded the Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co. decorative arts firm with Burne-Jones, Rossetti, Webb, and others, which became highly fashionable and much in demand. The firm profoundly influenced interior decoration throughout the Victorian period, with Morris designing tapestries, wallpaper, fabrics, furniture, and stained glass windows. In 1875, he assumed total control of the company, which was renamed Morris & Co.

 

********The Fabian Society is a British socialist organisation whose purpose is to advance the principles of social democracy and democratic socialism via gradualist and reformist effort in democracies, rather than by revolutionary overthrow. The Fabian Society was also historically related to radicalism, a left-wing liberal tradition.

 

*********A vail is an archaic word for a tip or gratuity paid to servants of country houses, used commonly in Edwardian times.

 

**********Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

***********Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

This interior may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The pretty dyed green straw cloche adorned with satin roses, green ribbons and peacock feathers is an artisan miniature. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. The maker of this hat is unknown, but it is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The hat stand the hat rests on is also part of Marilyn Bickel’s collection.

 

The blue travel de necessaire and its matching hatbox in the foreground on which the black and white hat and the present is sitting are 1:12 artisan miniatures and made of blue kid leather which is so soft to the touch, and small metal handles, clasps and ornamentation. They have been purposely worn around their edges to give them age. They come from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures in England. The peach pillbox boxes are made by the same artisan, but were acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom. The brown leather gladstone bag next to the blue and travel de necessaire is also a 1:12 artisan miniature acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop. and unlike the blue pieces, it is made to open and be fully functional and has a cream satin lining. All three pieces come from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures in England.

 

The furled umbrella with the luggage is a 1:12 artisan pieces made of silk, with a wooden lacquered handle. It comes from specialist artisan miniature makers in England. The silver knobbed walking stick is also a 1:12 artisan miniature. The top is sterling silver. It was made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures.

 

The beautifully printed carpet featuring William Morris’ “Strawberry Thief” pattern was a birthday gift to me from a very close friend of mine. It was hand made in Australia by Kristina Truter of Golightly Miniatures.

 

The beautiful dinner gong in the background made of pitted and patinaed brass with its wooden stand comes complete with its own mallet striker (not pictured). It was made by the Little Green Workshop in England.

 

The green majolica umbrella stand in the background comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in England. It is filled with a collection of umbrellas and walking sticks which also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop, the Little Green Workshop and several online specialist stockists on dolls’ house miniatures.

 

The Arts and Crafts chair in the background has been hand japanned and decorated and comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.

 

The wallpaper is William Morris’ ‘Poppies’ pattern, featuring stylised Art Nouveau poppies. William Morris papers and fabrics were popular in the late Victorian and early Edwardian period before the Great War.

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"All Natural" Alternatives for Erectile Dysfunction: A Risky Proposition

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 just a short distance from Cavendish Mews, at Mr. Willison’s grocers’ shop. Willison’s Grocers in Mayfair is where Lettice has an account, and it is from here that Edith, Lettice's maid, orders her groceries for the Cavendish Mews flat, except on special occasions, when professional London caterers are used. Mr. Willison prides himself in having a genteel, upper-class clientele including the households of many titled aristocrats who have houses and flats in the neighbourhood, and he makes sure that his shop is always tidy, his shelves well stocked with anything the cook of a duke or duchess may want, and staff who are polite and mannerly to all his important customers. The latter is not too difficult, for aside from himself, Mrs. Willison does his books, his daughter Henrietta helps on Saturdays and sometimes after she has finished school, which means Mr. Willison technically only employs one member of staff: Frank Leadbetter his delivery boy who carries orders about Mayfair on the bicycle provided for him by Mr. Willison. He also collects payments for accounts which are not settled in his Binney Street shop whilst on his rounds.

 

Lettice’s maid, Edith, is stepping out with Frank. Whilst Edith made a wonderful impression when she met Mrs. McTavish, her young beau Frank Leadbetter’s grandmother, less can be said for Frank who whilst pleasing Edith’s father, rubbed her mother the wrong way at the Sunday roast lunch Edith organised with her parents to meet Frank. Ever since then, Frank has been filled with remorse for speaking his mind a little more freely than he ought to have in front of Edith’s mother. Finally, Edith hit upon a possible solution to their problem, which is to introduce Mrs. McTavish to her parents. Being a kindly old lady who makes lace, with impeccable manners, Edith and Frank both hope that Mrs. McTavish will be able to impress upon Edith’s mother what a nice young man Frank is, in spite of his more forward-thinking ideas, which jar with her ways of thinking, and assure her how happy he makes Edith. After careful planning, today was the day that Edith raised the idea with her parents in their kitchen in Harlesden, and the response from Edith’s mother was most encouraging. Now Edith cannot wait to tell Frank the good news, so she takes a circuitous route from Down Street Railway Station* to Cavendish Mews so that she can walk past Willison’s Grocers in the hope of seeing Frank.

 

As she nears the grocer’s shop, she notices the side delivery door opening and hears the cheerful sound of Frank’s whistle accompanied by the click of chainrings and whir of the spokes of his Willison’s Grocers delivery bicycle. He wheels the smart black bicycle with a wicker basket on the front out and leans it against the brick wall of the grocers. Edith notices the basket is full of groceries, so she is lucky to have caught him as he prepares to make a delivery within the neighbourhood. Frank closes the door behind him and walks his bicycle up the alleyway towards the front of the shop, and unknowingly towards Edith, who stands on the street opposite the shopfront.

 

“Frank!” Edith calls. “Frank!” She waves her handkerchief at her beau to catch his attention as he looks around to see where her voice is coming from. Looking up the street to make sure there is no traffic coming, she scuttles across the road and joins Frank out the front of the grocers which is plastered with advertisements for different household products and pantry staples.

 

“Edith! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” Frank says with a beaming smile as he gazes across at her. “I’m afraid I’m just about to dash out on a delivery for the Duchess of Maybury’s cook.”

 

“Yes,” Edith nods towards the basket on the front of the bicycle in which sits a Willison’s shopping bag full of groceries. A bottle top with a gleaming lid and a leafy head of romaine lettuce poke out of it, “I can see that Frank.”

 

“Oh it’s alright,” Frank replies. “I can tarry for a few minutes,” He looks anxiously over his left shoulder to the shop window behind him which is stacked full of produce and colourful advertising posters: his latest window display. “So long as old Mrs. Willison doesn’t catch us. You know what she’ll think.” He raises his eyebrows.

 

“Yes,” Edith sighs knowingly. “That we’re lowering the tone of the establishment by fraternising out the front.”

 

“Exactly.” Frank agrees with a quick nod of ascent. “So, quickly, before I push off to Grosvenor Square**, what can I do for my best girl on a Wednesday afternoon? A jar of black Astrakhan caviar***? Or,” He delves into the paper shopping bag like a magician reaching into his magical top hat, making it crumple noisily in the process. “A packet of Rowntree’s Jelly Crystals****?” he asks, withdrawing a prettily decorated box with the name emblazoned in cursive writing over a drawing of cornucopia of fruits spilling across a table. He sniffs the box theatrically, as if he can smell every fruit illustrated on the front of the box.

 

“Oh get away with you, Frank!” giggles Edith prettily as she swats at him kittenishly. “No, I’ve just come to tell you that everything went well this afternoon, Frank.” She beams proudly.

 

Frank’s face crumples as he looks into his sweetheart’s happy and expectant face as he tries to recollect what she is talking about. After a few minutes deliberation he gives up. “What went well, Edith?”

 

“Oh Frank!” she sighs in exasperation, her smile falling away as disappointment clouds her face. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember!”

 

He shrugs his shoulders, the v in his knitted vest rising and falling about his neck as he does.

 

“You don’t remember, then.” Edith mutters, shaking her head in disbelief. “You are impossible sometimes, Frank Leadbetter!” she tuts. “I went to talk to Mum today,” She pauses. “About having your granny over for lunch one Sunday. Remember?”

 

“Oh!” Frank’s eyes grow wide and clear as he recollects the conversation that Edith had with him on Sunday as they waited in the queue for a table at the Lyons Corner House***** on Tottenham Court Road. “Oh yes! How did it go then?”

 

“Splendidly, Frank!” Edith enthuses, restoring her good humour, rising up on her toes in pleasure. “In fact, it went better than I’d hoped for.”

 

“So your mum said yes then?”

 

“She did!” Edith acknowledges. “And best of all, Dad was home then too, and he’s just as pleased about meeting her as Mum is. He said it was ‘a capital idea’! Now what do you think of that then?”

 

“That sounds spiffing, Edith!” Frank replies excitedly with a slightly quavering laugh.

 

“And Mum agreed because she knows as well as Dad that we’re serious about one another, so she agreed. I said that your granny wasn’t up to hosting lunch herself, being older and all… oh, and I told Mum about her bad teeth not being up to lots of chewing. So, Mum said she’s make one of her beef stews with suet dumplings.”

 

“Oh Gran will like that.”

 

“Yes, I thought she would.”

 

“I will too.” adds Frank with a smirk.

 

“And Mum said that she’d make her cherry pie for you, since you like it so much.”

 

“Oh ripping!” exclaims Frank. “Well, that is a turn up for the books!” He pauses and thinks. “Perhaps I actually made a better impression on her than I thought I had, if she’s willing to bake me her cherry pie.”

 

“Well, thinking of making a good impression, I think that we had better have a word with your granny about what happened when you came over for lunch.”

 

“About me rubbing your mum up the wrong way, do you mean?”

 

“Well, yes Frank.” Edith mutters guiltily. She quickly looks up into his youthful face. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that. I want us to all put our best foot forward this time. We don’t want any mistakes. If we’re honest with your granny, she’ll understand that to help us aid your cause, she can say all those nice things that she does. We won’t be asking her to lie to Mum, just… just…”

 

“Gild the lily?” Frank proffers hopefully.

 

“Gild the what?”

 

Frank chuckles. “It means to praise something highly. To talk it up.”

 

“You do have some funny turns of phrase sometimes, Frank.” Edith laughs.

 

“I guess it comes from reading all those books I do.”

 

“I expect so. I love it though, Frank. I never know what you’re going to say, and I always learn something new.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you find me educational, if nothing else.” Frank says teasingly, fishing for a compliment.

 

“Oh, you know I find much more in you than someone to educate me, Frank!” Edith replies with a shy smile. “Anyway, going back to what we were saying just before, if we get your granny to talk you up a bit in front of Mum, gild the… the…”

 

“Lily, Edith.”

 

“Yes, that,” Edith gesticulates as if pushing it aside. “Then it can’t do any harm. Can it?”

 

“I suppose not.” Frank shrugs.

 

“Of course it can’t, Frank, and it will help Mum look on you more favourably as my beau, and her future son-in-law… one day.” Edith adds quickly, seeing the surprise in Frank’s eyes. The pair have agreed that they want to save some money first between them before they officially become engaged.

 

“So how to do we arrange it then, Edith?”

 

“Well, Mum told me to have a chat with you and your granny. Then I can let her know by sending her a postcard****** between now and next Wednesday with details as to what she says. So, maybe you and I should give up going to the pictures this Sunday and go and have a chat with her instead. What do you think, Frank?”

 

“I think it sounds like a fine plan, Edith.”

 

Suddenly there is a loud rapping on the glass. Edith and Frank both turn with wide and startled eyes and see a steely faced Mrs. Willison peering at them through a small amount of exposed glass in the grocer’s window. She suspiciously eyes the pair through her pince-nez*******. Her face disappears into the dark inner gloom of the shop. Then the alert bell rings cheerily as she opens the plate glass door with Mr. Willison’s name painted in neat gilt lettering upon it. Stepping across the threshold she stands astride the stoop, half in, half out of the shop, and folds her arms akimbo. Edith looks up, unnerved, at the proprietor’s wife and bookkeeper, her upswept hairstyle as old fashioned as her high necked starched shirtwaister******** blouse down the front of which runs a long string of faceted jet black beads.

 

“Good afternoon, Miss Watsford. May I help you?” Mrs. Willison asks haughtily, her eyes drifting meaningfully to the table in front of the window covered in boxes containing onions, carrots, potatoes, apples and oranges. “Is there something we have missed from your order for the Honourable Miss Chetwynd earlier in the week?”

 

“Err… no, Mrs. Willison,” Edith manages to stammer under the sharp gaze of the old Edwardian shopkeeper. “I was… was, just…”

 

“Then I strongly suggest you go about your business, Miss Watsford, and stop tarrying in front of my husband’s establishment, fraternising with Mr. Leadbetter in the public thoroughfare.” Mrs. Willison scrutinises Edith’s fashionable and brightly coloured frock with the pretty lace collar. The hem of the skirt is following the current style and sits higher than any of Mrs. Willison’s own dresses and it reveals Edith’s shapely stockinged calves. She wears her black straw cloche decorated with purple silk roses and black feathers over her neatly pinned chignon. “What you both choose to do on your days off is your own affair, but I do not want Willison’s to gain a reputation of ill repute as a meeting place for young people with idle time on their hands.” She turns her attentions to Frank. “I thought I saw you leaving for Grosvenor Square a little while ago, Mr. Leadbetter. You should have been back by now since it’s only around the corner, but I can see by the basket that you haven’t been there yet.”

 

Err… yes, I mean, no, Mrs. Willison.” Frank stammers.

 

“Mrs. Dulwich will be expecting you.” Mrs. Willison says matter-of-factly, her voice moderate and her tone even. “We don’t want Her Grace waiting for her dinner now, do we?”

 

“Err… no, Mrs, Willison.” Frank replies in sheepish apology.

 

“Then off you!” replies Mrs. Willison crisply, clapping her hands. “Quick sticks!”

 

“We’ll meet on Sunday, “ Frank says as he hurriedly adjusts his cap on his head. “I’ll let Gran know to be expecting us both.”

 

Then without tarrying any longer, Frank gets astride his bicycle and starts off down the road away from the grocers, heading south down Binney Street towards Grosvenor Square. With one final peevish look at Edith, Mrs. Willison steps back into the darkness of her shop’s interior, and allows the door to close behind her, the bell tinkling prettily as she does.

 

Left on her own, Edith begins to walk the short distance back to Cavendish Mews. Usually after such a rebuke as that she received from Mrs. Willison, Edith would be upset, but today, with the good news that her mother will host luncheon for Mrs. McTavish, she has a spring in her step. There is a lightness in her heart that everything is going to begin to fall nicely into place for she and Frank as their relationship strengthens and their bond grows deeper.

 

*Once part of the Great Northern Piccadilly and Brompton Railway – which gave rise to the modern Piccadilly line, Down Street station was closed in 1932, a mere twenty-five years after opening. Squashed quite closely between Hyde Park Corner and Dover Street (now known as Green Park), it suffered from low passenger numbers due to both the proximity of its neighbours, and the wealth of its local residents, who could afford more comfortable means of transport. Down Street wasn’t out of action for too long, however; in 1939, it was earmarked for use during the war effort. Once the platforms were bricked up, it was home to the Railway Executive Committee, before playing host to Winston Churchill and his War Cabinet before the Cabinet War Rooms were built – Churchill was known to affectionately refer to it as “The Barn”. There was no further use for it after the war, which means Down Street has stood empty ever since.

 

**Grosvenor Square is a large garden square in the Mayfair district of Westminster, Greater London. It is the centrepiece of the Mayfair property of the Duke of Westminster, and takes its name from the duke's surname "Grosvenor". It was developed for fashionable residences in the Eighteenth Century.

 

***Astrakhan caviar combines high quality Ossetra and Siberian caviar. According to testimonies it has “a wonderful nutty flavour, and a pleasant iodine finish”.

 

****Founded by Henry Isaac Rowntree in Castlegate in York in 1862, Rowntree's developed strong associations with Quaker philanthropy. Throughout much of the Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries, it was one of the big three confectionery manufacturers in the United Kingdom, alongside Cadbury and Fry, both also founded by Quakers. In 1981, Rowntree's received the Queen's Award for Enterprise for outstanding contribution to international trade. In 1988, when the company was acquired by Nestlé, it was the fourth-largest confectionery manufacturer in the world. The Rowntree brand continues to be used to market Nestlé's jelly sweet brands, such as Fruit Pastilles and Fruit Gums, and is still based in York.

 

*****J. Lyons and Co. was a British restaurant chain, food manufacturing, and hotel conglomerate founded in 1884 by Joseph Lyons and his brothers in law, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein. Lyons’ first teashop opened in Piccadilly in 1894, and from 1909 they developed into a chain of teashops, with the firm becoming a staple of the High Street in the United Kingdom. At its peak the chain numbered around two hundred cafes. The teashops provided for tea and coffee, with food choices consisting of hot dishes and sweets, cold dishes and sweets, and buns, cakes and rolls. Lyons' Corner Houses, which first appeared in 1909 and remained until 1977, were noted for their Art Deco style. Situated on or near the corners of Coventry Street, Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and other products. In addition, they possessed hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time, the Corner Houses were open twenty-four hours a day, and at their peak each branch employed around four hundred staff including their famous waitresses, commonly known as Nippies for the way they nipped in and out between the tables taking orders and serving meals. The tea houses featured window displays, and, in the post-war period, the Corner Houses were smarter and grander than the local tea shops. Between 1896 and 1965 Lyons owned the Trocadero, which was similar in size and style to the Corner Houses.

 

******One hundred years ago, postcards were the most common and easiest way to communicate with loved ones not only across countries whilst on holidays, but across neighbourhoods on a daily basis ‘de leurs jours’ with the minutiae of life on them. This is because unlike today where mail is delivered on a daily basis or , there were several deliveries done a day. At the height of the postcard mania in 1903, London residents could have as many as twelve separate visits from the mailman. This means that people in the early Twentieth Century amassed vast collections of picture postcards which today are highly collectible depending upon their theme.

 

*******Pince-nez is a style of glasses, popular in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, that are supported without earpieces, by pinching the bridge of the nose. The name comes from French pincer, "to pinch", and nez, "nose".

 

********A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.

 

This cluttered, yet cheerful Edwardian shopfront is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Frank’s black metal delivery bicycle with its basket on the front came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The sign on the body of the bicycle I made myself with the aid of the brown paper bag in the front of the basket which bears the name “Walter Willison’s Tea and Grocery”. The paper bag is actually filled with grocery items, which along with the bag were made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

Edith’s green leather handbag leaning against the bicycle I acquired as part of a larger collection of 1:12 artistan miniature hats, bags and accessories I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. Her small wicker basket I acquired from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay.

 

The onions, carrots, potatoes and oranges on the display table all come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, and are just some of the dizzying and ever growing array of realistic looking fruit and vegetables in 1:12 scale that they supply to collectors. Also on the display table is a box of apples which are all very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay they are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The white cloth bags at the base of the table I have had since I was a teenager. The romaine lettuce in the bicycle basket and in the wicker basket on the ground I acquired from an auction house some years ago as part of a lot of hand made artisan miniatures. The bag of carrots came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. The wooden boxes the fruit and vegetables are in, the basket with the greenery in it and the pottery jug all came from the same 1:12 miniatures supplier online that Edith’s basket came from.

 

The tree that is blurred in the foreground and the red metal wall mounted letterbox both came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The advertisements along the wall of the shop are all 1:12 size posters made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Ken is known mostly for the 1;12 miniature books he created. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but he also produced other items, including posters. All of these are genuine copies of real Edwardian posters. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make these items 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.

 

A co-operative wholesale society, or CWS, is a form of co-operative federation (that is, a co-operative in which all the members are co-operatives), in this case, the members are usually consumer cooperatives. The best historical examples of this are the English CWS and the Scottish CWS, which are the predecessors of the 21st century Co-operative Group. Indeed, in Britain, the terms Co-operative Wholesale Society and CWS are used to refer to this specific organisation rather than the organisational form. They sold things like tea and cocoa. The English and Scottish Co-operative Wholesale Society opened its own new Luton cocoa factory in 1902. The factory was demolished in 1970.

 

W.D. & H.O. Wills was a British tobacco manufacturing company formed in Bristol.. It was the first British company to mass-produce cigarettes, and one of the founding companies of Imperial Tobacco along with John Player & Sons. Brands they manufactured included Cinderella Cigarettes and Firefly Cigarettes.

Supplement II to the General synopsis of birds..

London :Printed for Leigh, Sotheby, & Son, York Street, Covent Garden,[1801 or 1802].

biodiversitylibrary.org/page/33261344

(further pictures and information you can see if you go to the end of page and by clicking on the link...)

Belvedere

Belvedere Castle. Garden Front of the Lower Belvedere.

Belvedere Palace stands supposedly on the foundations of a Roman camp that had been erected here for strategic reasons. In 1693 Prince Eugene of Savoy acquired field and vineyard grounds between today's Rennweg and today's Gürtel. In 1700 Johann Lukas von Hildebrandt began with the construction of a palace garden (Lower Belvedere), whose in French-style layed out park was equipped with large water basins, an orangery with precious foreign plants and a menagerie. Prince Eugene was a great animal lover, and some animals in his collection could be fed exclusively by himself.

1720 the Prince conceived the plan the summer palace to supplement by a another palace building on the hill of the garden.

The 1721 by Johann Lukas von Hildebrandt begun works had been completed in 1724. The Upper Belvedere served in contrast to the Lower only representative purposes and was never meant to live.

The Prince and his architect managed a perfect symbiosis between architecture and garden. After the death of the Savoy (1736) inherited his niece Victoria of Savoy-Soisson, nee Princess Hildburghausen, all his possessions. From her the Habsburgs beginning of 1752 acquired the Belvedere. From 1755 Empress Maria Theresa moved the Arcierenleibgarde (Royal Company of the Archers) and the Galician Guard in the annex of the Belvedere. Besides, the castle stood almost empty.

Belvedere Castle. Engraving by Salomon Kleiner 1731/40 (left).

Vienna from the Belvedere. Coloured copper engraving by Carl Schütz, 1784 (right).

1770 Belvedere Palace was venue of brilliant festivities:

In castle and park the marriage of Archduchess Maria Antonia (Marie Antoinette) with the Dauphin of France by proxy (per procura) was celebrated. About 2,000 people were invited, more than 1,500 bottles of champagne, which was far from home in Vienna at that time,

were emptied. For hospitality of the guests, there were round tables, which were covered with silver. However, the Court of Vienna had a large part of the silver service to rent of nobles, because the stocks of the silver chamber were not sufficient. Finished was the festival by a magnificent fireworks.

1776, the imperial picture gallery from the Stallburg (home of the famous Lipizzan stallions) was transferred to the Upper Belvedere, the animals of the menagerie came to Schönbrunn. Shortly before the Congress of Vienna in 1814 in the Lower Belvedere the Ambras Collection was exposed. During the war against Napoleon (1805-1809), much of the collection of paintings had to be outsourced. The Corsican claimed 400 masterpieces for himself, but which after his defeat at Waterloo to the Habsburgs have been restituted. The after the French wars completely neglected building has been restored 1850-1866.

Castle Park with Upper Belvedere. Photograph, around 1890.

1819 Emperor Franz II (I) the Institute of Botany, University of Vienna, had given spacious grounds for enlargement of the Botanical Garden at Rennweg. Franz was very interested in botany and in accordance with a Habsburg House bill - every Archduke must learn a civilian job - has been educated for gardener. In an adjoining garden of Schloß Belvedere he had from his private funds laid out a botanical garden ("Flora Austriaca") which was left to the Institute of Botany for use.

During the cholera epidemic of 1831, the Belvedere served as well as Schönbrunn Palace the imperial family as a refuge; supposedly one was there protected from the bad air, which was attributed to the onset of the disease. Both castles lay in the "countryside", the air was much better here than in the densely populated city. During wartime, a hospital was set up in the castle.

As the space for the imperial collections became too small, it was thought to expand the Upper Belvedere by wing buildings. This plan was dropped for aesthetic reasons, however. After the expansion of the city (razing of the bastions and glacis) arose on the ring road the newly created Court Museums; moved there in 1891 the major part of the paintings.

Archduke-Heir to the Throne Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Este at folk and children's party in the park of the Belvedere Palace. Photograph, 1905.

To 1893/94 it is likely that Archduke Franz Ferdinand has chosen the Upper Belvedere to his residence in Vienna. Other sources say that it had been assigned to him by the Emperor Franz Joseph as a place to stay in Vienna. The rooms have been restored, adapted for residential purposes and supplemented with neo-Baroque furniture. The heir of the Este collections furnished his residence with numerous works of art. He had envisaged the castle for the accommodation of his collections; in 1893 were numerous boxes from India and Singapore in Belvedere stored. 1894 Emperor Franz Joseph could see the collection: "Yesterday I went to the Belvedere, where Franzi showed me his now quite and very nicely prepared collections. The same are as imposing as interesting by the incredible amount of objects and by the rarity and beauty of them. I believe that this exhibition would be interesting for you", wrote the monarch to his wife, Empress Elisabeth. That same year, Archduke Franz Ferdinand showed his collections his future wife, Sophie Chotková,

"Where I unaware of your fatigue with particular brutality you dragged from box to box" as he apologetically from Budweis wrote to the Countess.

Then the collections moved one the one hand to the Palais Modena in the Beatrixgasse, on the other hand to Konopischt. Only in 1898, Franz Ferdinand was granted by Emperor Franz Joseph to move into the Belvedere as Vienna Residence. More revitalization works were carried out and were also necessary. Technical modernization and preservation of the original building condition had priority - as always with the projects of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. As furnishings served still preserved furnitures from Schloss Hof, which were supplemented by new ones in old style. The private rooms in addition to electric lighting were equipped with central heating.

Belvedere Castle. Staircase in the Upper Belvedere (left).

Marble plastic "Apotheosis of Prince Eugene" by Balthasar Permoser in Gold Cabinet of the Lower Belvedere (right).

If his presence was needed in Vienna, Franz Ferdinand here could lead a normal family life and escape the pressures of court ceremonial, in which the to him in morganatic marriage affiliated wife was exposed to the evils of the courtiers. When the heir to the throne invited guests to the Belvedere, he was sitting opposite his wife as a hostess while she was ranked in the Hofburg always after the latest unmarried Archduchess. About the cozy family life at Belvedere reported Prince von Clary-Aldringens:

"Aunt Sophie invited us ... to snack into a Belvedere, unexpectedly, suddenly appeared the Archduke - we literally froze in our Hab-Acht-position (stand at attention). He greeted us warmly ... [I got to know] the Archduke as a friendly landlord, who was playing and laughing with his Children..."

Between 1899 and 1914 in the Lower Belvedere the military bureau of the heir to the throne was housed. Other well-known Residents - but of outbuildings - were Anton Bruckner, who in 1896 died in the Kustodenwohnung (guardian house), and Richard Strauss, who lived here from 1925 to 1944.

After the assassination of the Archduke and his wife in Sarajevo, the Belvedere should serve as the residence of the new heir to the throne, Archduke Karl and his family. This, however, preferred living in Schönbrunn and especially in the villa Wartholz. In 1917, Charles' brother Archduke Maximilian moved with his family into the Belvedere.

During World War II the castle was badly damaged by bombs, but rebuilt after the war ended immediately. On 15 May 1955 was the Marble Hall venue of the signing of the Austrian State Treaty. Today, the Upper Belvedere houses important art collections.

Excerpts from

Thus lived the Habsburgs - Imperial and Royal Palaces in the

Austro-Hungarian Monarchy

Ingrid Haslinger, Gerhard Trumler

Christian Brandstätter Verlag mbH

The publishing service for museums, businesses and

public bodies

www.brandstaetter - verlag.at

Denomination of the summer residence which Prince Eugene of Savoy himself had erected btw Rennweg and Swiss Garden. The term which refers to the unique view over Vienna dates from the time of Maria Theresa. Prinz Eugen bought in 1697 a plot of land at the Rennweg, which he extended to 1721 in four stages to the current area. Between 1714 and 1716 emerged the Lower Belvedere It is an elongated ground floor building, designed of a 7-axes central projection, two wings and two corner pavilions. The 3-axis central pavilion houses the Marble Hall. The castle the only rarely in Vienna sojourning builder served during the summer months as a pleasure palace.

Only in 1720 commenced construction works for the Upper Belvedere, first drawings for this existed already in 1717. The in it extent and form language compared to the Lower Belvedere especially magnificent Upper Belvedere served primarily as a representative setting for grand receptions and festivities. The architectural history of the example due to the loss of the Eugenianischen Bauarchivs (construction archiv of Prince Eugene) cannot be explored in detail without any gaps. 1723 (according to Rizzi 1721/22) the Upper Belvedere s is considered complete. The architect Johann Lukas von Hildebrandt, who repeatedly worked for Prince Eugen, with the construction of the Belvedere has created his main work. It counts in its multiform architectonic as well as sculptural structure to the most important baroque buildings of the 18th century. The to the ensemble belonging, btw Upper and Lower Belvedere laying garden has been created by the Bavarian horticultural engineer D. Girard and today only in broad terms is original. The designs for the interior of the castle stem from C. le Fort du Plessy.

After the death of the prince the belvedere went into the possession of his sole heiress, Victoria Duchess of Saxe-Hildburghausen. She sold it in 1752 to Maria Theresa. At the behest of Joseph II from 1775 the imperial picture gallery was transferred here, which in 1781 for the first time was open to the public. had. Since 1806 was located in the Lower Belvedere the Ambras Collection. Both collections were in 1890 in the Museum of Art History transferred. In 1894, the palace became residence for the heir to the throne Archduke Franz Ferdinand.

After the first World War I the Republic of Austria in Belvedere installed the Austrian Gallery. 1945 suffered the Belvedere severe war damage. In 1950, the "Gold Cabinet" in the north-eastern corner pavilion of the Upper Belvedere was destroyed by fire and replaced by a copy. The since 1988 ongoing general renovation should have been completed in 1996.

aeiou - the cultural information system of the bm: bwk

14,000 key words and 2000 pictures from history, geography, politics and business in Austria

www.aeiou.at

Austrian Gallery Belvedere

The in the center of Vienna situated Belvedere palaces with their extensive parks form an impressive baroque Gesamtkunstwerk. The Museum in the Upper and Lower Castle

provides an excellent overview of the Austrian Art from the Middle Ages to the present. the collections of the 19th and 20th Century also include an exquisite inventory of international art. World Famous works by Klimt, Schiele, Kokoschka, Renoir and Monet you can see in the upper

Belvedere, from where you can enjoy a spectacular view to the center of Vienna. In the historic rooms of the Lower Belvedere are shown works of art from the Middle Ages and Baroque.

Austrian Gallery Belvedere

Prinz Eugen -Strasse 27 , A - 1037 Wien

Phone +43 / ( 0) 1 / 79557-0

Fax +43 / (0) 1/79 84 337

Upper Belvedere

Collections of the 19th and 20th century

Prinz Eugen -Strasse 27 , A - 1037 Wien

Lower Belvedere

Baroque Museum, and Museum of Medieval Art

Rennweg 6a, A - 1030 Vienna

www.wien-vienna.at/blickpunkte.php?ID=255

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 following Lettice’s maid, Edith, who together with her beau, local grocery delivery boy Frank Leadbetter, have wended their way north-east from Cavendish Mews, through neighbouring Soho to the Lyons Corner House* on the corner of Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road. As always, the flagship restaurant on the first floor is a hive of activity with all the white linen covered tables occupied by Londoners indulging in the treat of a Lyon’s luncheon or early afternoon tea. Between the tightly packed tables, the Lyons waitresses, known as Nippies**, live up to their name and nip in and out, showing diners to empty tables, taking orders, placing food on tables and clearing and resetting them after diners have left. The cavernous space with its fashionable Art Deco wallpapers and light fixtures and dark Queen Anne English style furnishing is alive with colour, movement and the burbling noises of hundreds of chattering voices, the sound of cutlery against crockery and the clink of crockery and glassware fills the air brightly.

 

Amidst all the comings and goings, Edith and Frank wait patiently in a small queue of people waiting to be seated at the next available table, lining up in front of a glass top and fronted case full of delicious cakes. Frank reaches around a woman standing in front of them in a navy blue dress with red piping and a red cloche and snatches a golden yellow menu upon which the name of the restaurant is written in elegant cursive script. He proffers one to Edith, but she shakes her head shallowly at him.

 

“You’ve brought me here so many times, Frank, I practically know the Lyons menu by heart, Frank.”

 

Frank’s face falls. “You don’t mind coming here again, do you Edith?” he asks gingerly, almost apologetically.

 

“Oh Frank!” Edith laughs good naturedly. She tightens her grip comfortingly around his arm as she stands beside him with it looped through his. “Of course I don’t mind? Why should I mind? I love coming here. This is far grander than any other tea shop around here, and the food is delicious.”

 

“Well so long as you don’t think it’s dull and predicable, Edith.”

 

“How could anything be dull and predictable with you involved in it, Frank?”

 

Frank blushes at his sweetheart’s compliment. “Well it’s just that we seem to have fallen into rather a routine, going to the Premier in East Ham*** every few weeks, before coming here for tea.”

 

“I don’t see anything wrong with that, Frank. You know I love going to the pictures, and a slap-up tea from here is nothing to sneeze at.”

 

“Well, so long as you don’t mind, Edith.”

 

“Frank Leadbetter, I don’t mind anything that I do with you.” Edith squeezes his arm again. “Anyway, it isn’t like we haven’t done other things on our days off as well between our visits here. We go walking in Hyde and Regent’s Parks and Kensington Gardens, and we do go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais****, so it’s not always the same.”

 

“And you’ve been a good sport, coming with me to the National Portrait Gallery.” Frank adds with a happy smile.

 

“Oh, I loved gong there, Frank!” enthuses Edith. “Like I told you, I never knew that there were galleries of art that were open to then public. If I had, I might have gone sooner.” She smiles with satisfaction. “But then again, if I had known about it, I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of you introducing me to it. I’m looking forward to us going back again one day.”

 

“But I suspect you enjoy the pictures more than the National Gallery.” Frank chuckles knowingly.

 

“Well,” Edith feels a flush fill her cheeks with red. “It is true that I perhaps feel a bit more comfortable at the pictures than the gallery, Frank, but,” She clarifies. “That’s only because my parents never took me to the gallery when I was growing up, like your grandparents did with you.”

 

“Whereas your parents took you to the pictures.”

 

“Oh yes Frank!” Edith sighs. “It was a cheap bit of escapism from the everyday for the whole family: Mum, Dad, Bert and me.” Her voice grows wistful as she remembers. “I used to look forward to going to the pictures on a Saturday afternoon with Mum and Dad and Bert. We’d walk into the entrance of the Picture Coliseum***** out of the boring light of day and into the magic darkness that existed all day there. I grew to love the sound of the flick and whir of the protector, knowing as I sat in my red leather seat in the balcony that I was about to be transported to anywhere in the world or to any point in time. Dad and Mum still love going there on the odd occasion to see a comedy. The pictures became even more important to me as a teenager after I left home and went into service for nasty old Widow Hounslow. She never gave me anything to be happy about in that cold house of hers as I skivvied for her in my first job, day in and day out, from sunrise to sunset, so the escape to a world of romance filled with glamorous people where there was no hard work and no dirty dishes or floors to scrub became a precious light in my life.”

 

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” Frank chuckles.

 

“You know Frank, because I thought everyone went to the pictures, I’ve never actually asked you whether you enjoy going to them. Perhaps with your grandparents taking you to the gallery, you might not like it. Do you Frank?”

 

“Oh yes I do, Edith,” Frank assures his sweetheart. “I’m happy if you are happy, but even before I met you, I used to go to the pictures. Whilst I might not be as enamoured with the glamour and romance of moving picture stars like Wanetta Ward like you are, I do like historical dramas and adaptations of some of the books I’ve read.”

 

“Does that mean you didn’t enjoy ‘A Woman of Paris’******?” Edith asks with concern.

 

Frank turns away from his sweetheart and rests his arms on the glass topped counter, and gazes through it at the cakes on display below. “Oh, yes I did, Edith.” he mutters in a low voice in reply.

 

Edith hooks her black umbrella over the raised edge of the cabinet and deposits her green handbag on its surface and sidles up alongside Frank. “It doesn’t sound like you did, Frank.” she refutes him quietly.

 

“No, I really did, Edith.” he replies a little sadly. “Edna Purviance******* is so beautiful. I can well understand your attraction to the glamour of the moving pictures and their stars.”

 

“But something tells me that you didn’t like the film.” Edith presses, nudging Frank gently. “What was it?”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing, Edith.” Frank brushes her question off breezily as he turns his head slight away from her so she cannot see it.

 

“Well, it must be something. I chose the film, so I shall feel awful if you didn’t want to see it.” Edith tries to catch his eye by ducking her head, but fails. “You should have said something, Frank.”

 

A silence envelops them momentarily, at odds to all the gay noise and chatter of the Corner House around them. At length Frank turns back to Edith, and she can see by the glaze and glint of unshed tears in his kind, but saddened eyes, that this is why he turned away. “I didn’t mind seeing ‘A Woman in Paris’, Edith. Honestly, I didn’t.” He holds up his hands. “Like you are with me, I’m happy to go anywhere or do anything with you.”

 

“Then what is it, Frank?” Edith says with a concerned look on her face. “Please, you must trust me enough to tell me.”

 

Frank reaches out his left hand and wraps it loving around her smaller right hand as it sits on the surface of the counter, next to her handbag. “Of course I trust you Edith. I’ve never trusted a girl before, the way I trust you.” He releases her hand and runs his left index finger down her cheek and along her jaw lovingly. “You’re so good and kind. Goodness knows what you see in me, but whatever it is, Edith, I’m so glad you do.”

 

“What’s gotten into you, Frank?” she replies in consternation. “What was it about the film that has upset you so much and given you such doubts?”

 

The awkward silence falls between the two of them again as Edith waits for Frank to formulate a reply. His eyes flit between the shiny brass cash register, the potted aspidistra standing in a white jardinière on a tall plant stand, the Art Deco wallpaper and Lyons posters on the walls and the cakes atop the counter. He looks anywhere except into his sweetheart’s anxious face.

 

“It was the relationship between Jean’s mother and Marie in the film, Edith.” he says at length.

 

“What of it, Frank?”

 

“It reminded me of the relationship between your mum and me, Edith.”

 

“What?” Edith queries, not understanding.

 

“Well,” Frank elucidates. “Jean’s mum didn’t like Marie and refused to accept her.”

 

“I keep telling you, Frank,” Edith reassures her beau, looking him earnestly in the face. “Mum doesn’t dislike you. She just struggles with some of your more,” She nudges him again, giving him a consoling, and cheeky smile. “Progressive ideas. Anyway, Jean’s mum and Marie made up at the end of the film and went off to set up an orphanage in the countryside.”

 

“Are you suggesting that your mum and I might do the same?” Frank laughs a little sadly, trying to make light of the moment.

 

“That’s better, Frank.” Edith encourages, seeing him smile.

 

Frank looks back down again at all the cakes on display in the glass fronted cabinet. Cakes covered in thick white layers of royal icing like tablecloths jostle for space with gaily decorated special occasion cakes covered in gooey glazed fruit and biscuit crumbs. Ornate garlands of icing sugar flowers and beautifully arranged slices of strawberries indicate neatly where the cakes should be sliced, so that everyone gets the same portion when served to the table. Frank even notices a pink blancmange rabbit sitting on a plate with a blue and white edge.

 

“I love coming here because there are so many decadent cakes here.” Frank admits, changing the subject delicately, but definitely. “It reminds me of when my Gran was younger. She used to bake the most wonderful cakes and pies.”

 

“Oh, Mum loves baking cakes, pies and puddings too.” Edith pipes up happily. “She’s especially proud of her cherry cobbler which she serves hot in winter with hot custard, and cold in summer with clotted cream.”

 

“Being Scottish, Gran always loved making Dundee Cake********. She used to spend ages arranging scorched almonds in pretty patterns across the top.”

 

“That sounds very decadent, Frank.” Edith observes.

 

“Oh it was, Edith!” Frank agrees. “Mind you, I don’t think it would have taken half as long if she hadn’t been continually keeping my fingers out of the bowl of the decorating almonds and telling me that the cake ‘would be baked when it is done, and no sooner’.”

 

Edith chuckles as Frank impersonates his grandmother’s thick Scottish accent as he quotes her.

 

“Mum always made the prettiest cupcakes for Bert’s and my birthdays.” Edith points to the small glass display plate of cupcakes daintily sprinkled with colourful sugar balls and topped with marzipan flowers and rabbits sitting on the counter.

 

“I bet you they were just as lovely as those are, Edith.”

 

“Oh, better Frank,” she assures him. “Because they were made with love, and Mum is a very proud cook.”

 

“I did notice that when I came for Sunday roast lunch.”

 

Edith continues to look at the cakes on display on stands on the counter’s surface, some beneath glass cloches and others left in the open air, an idea forming in her mind, formulating as she gazes at the dollops of cream and glacé cherries atop a chocolate cake, oozing cream decadently from between its slices.

 

“That’s it Frank!” she gasps.

 

“What is, Edith?”

 

“That’s the solution to your woes about Mum, Frank.” She snatches up her bag and umbrella from the counter.

 

Frank doesn’t understand so he asks yet again, “What is, Edith?”

 

Edith rests her elbow on the glass topped counter as she looks Frank squarely in the face. “Who is your greatest advocate, Frank? Who always speaks well of you in front of others.”

 

“Well, you do, Edith.” He gesticulates towards her.

 

“Yes, I know that,” she admits. “But besides me, who else always says the nicest things about you?”

 

“Well Gran does.” Frank says without a moment’s hesitation.

 

“Exactly Frank!” Edith smiles. “You need someone other than me in your corner, telling Mum what a wonderful catch you are. And that someone is your Gran, Frank!” Her blue eyes glitter with hope and excitement. “See, now that you’ve met Mum and Dad, and I’ve met your Gran, it’s time that they met. I bet Mum and your Gran would bond over cake baking and cooking, and of course Mum would believe anything a wise Scottish woman who can bake a Dundee Cake would say.”

 

“And everything she would say would be about me!” Frank exclaims. “Edith! You’re a genius!”

 

Frank cannot help himself as he reaches out and grasps Edith around the waist, lifting her up and spinning her around in unbridled joy, causing her to squeal, and for the people waiting in line around them to chuckle and smile indulgently at the pair of young lovers before them.

 

“Oh, put me down Frank!” squeaks Edith. “Let’s not make a scene.”

 

Reluctantly he lowers his sweetheart to the ground and releases her from his clutches.

 

“Now, all we need to do is talk with Mum and Dad, and your Gran, and settle on a date.” Edith says with ethusiasm.

 

“We’ll talk about it over tea and cake, shall we, Edith?” Frank asks with an excited lilt in his voice.

 

“Ahem.” A female voice clearing her throat politely interrupts Edith and Frank’s conversation. Turning, they find that whilst they have been talking, they have reached the front of the queue of people waiting for a table, and before them stands a bright faced Nippie with a starched cap with a red ‘L’ embroidered in the centre atop a mop of carefully coiffed and pinned curls, dressed in a black alpaca dress with a double row of pearl buttons and lace apron. “A table for two, is it?”

 

*J. Lyons and Co. was a British restaurant chain, food manufacturing, and hotel conglomerate founded in 1884 by Joseph Lyons and his brothers in law, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein. Lyons’ first teashop opened in Piccadilly in 1894, and from 1909 they developed into a chain of teashops, with the firm becoming a staple of the High Street in the United Kingdom. At its peak the chain numbered around two hundred cafes. The teashops provided for tea and coffee, with food choices consisting of hot dishes and sweets, cold dishes and sweets, and buns, cakes and rolls. Lyons' Corner Houses, which first appeared in 1909 and remained until 1977, were noted for their Art Deco style. Situated on or near the corners of Coventry Street, Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and other products. In addition, they possessed hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time, the Corner Houses were open twenty-four hours a day, and at their peak each branch employed around four hundred staff including their famous waitresses, commonly known as Nippies for the way they nipped in and out between the tables taking orders and serving meals. The tea houses featured window displays, and, in the post-war period, the Corner Houses were smarter and grander than the local tea shops. Between 1896 and 1965 Lyons owned the Trocadero, which was similar in size and style to the Corner Houses.

 

**The name 'Nippies' was adopted for the Lyons waitresses after a competition to rename them from the old fashioned 'Gladys' moniker - rejected suggestions included ‘Sybil-at-your-service’, ‘Miss Nimble’, Miss Natty’ and 'Speedwell'. The waitresses each wore a starched cap with a red ‘L’ embroidered in the centre and a black alpaca dress with a double row of pearl buttons.

 

***The Premier Super Cinema in East Ham was opened on the 12th of March, 1921, replacing the 800 seat capacity 1912 Premier Electric Theatre. The new cinema could seat 2,408 patrons. The Premier Super Cinema was taken over by Provincial Cinematograph Theatres who were taken over by Gaumont British in February 1929. It was renamed the Gaumont from 21st April 1952. The Gaumont was closed by the Rank Organisation on 6th April 1963. After that it became a bingo hall and remained so until 2005. Despite attempts to have it listed as a historic building due to its relatively intact 1921 interior, the Gaumont was demolished in 2009.

 

****The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.

 

*****Located in the west London inner city district of Harlesden. The Coliseum opened in 1912 as the Picture Theatre. In 1915 it was renamed the Picture Coliseum. It was operated throughout its cinema life as an independent picture theatre. Seating was provided in stalls and balcony levels. The Coliseum closed in December 1975 for regular films and went over to screening adult porn films. It then screened kung-fu movies and even hosted a concert by punk rock group The Clash in March 1977. It finally closed for good as a picture theatre in the mid-1980’s and was boarded up and neglected for the next decade. It was renovated and converted into a pub operated by the J.D. Weatherspoon chain, opening in March 1993. Known as ‘The Coliseum’ it retains many features of its cinematic past. There is even cinema memorabilia on display. There is a huge painted mural of Gary Cooper and Merle Oberon in “The Cowboy and the Lady” where the screen used to be. Recently J.D. Weatherspoon relinquished the building and it is now operated as an independent bar renamed ‘The Misty Moon’. By 2017 it had been taken over by the Antic pub chain and renamed the ‘Harlesden Picture Palace’.

 

******’A Woman of Paris’ is a feature-length American silent film that debuted in 1923. The film, an atypical drama film for its creator, was written, directed, produced and later scored by Charlie Chaplin. The plot revolves around Marie St. Clair (Edna Purviance) and her beau, aspiring artist Jean Millet (Carl Miller) who plan to flee life in provincial France to get married. However when plans go awry, Marie goes to Paris alone where she becomes the mistress of a wealthy businessman, Pierre Revel (Adolphe Menjou). Reacquainting herself with Jean after a chance encounter in Paris a year later, Marie and Jean recommence their love affair. When Jean proposes to Marie, his mother tries to intervene and Marie returns to Pierre. Jean takes a gun to the restaurant where Marie and Pierre are dining, but ends up fatally shooting himself in the foyer after being evicted from the restaurant. Marie and Jean’s mother reconcile and return to the French countryside, where they open a home for orphans in a country cottage. At the end of the film, Marie rides down a road in a horse drawn cart and is passed by a chauffer driven automobile in which Pierre rides with friends. Pierre's companion asks him what had happened to Marie after the night at the restaurant. Pierre replies that he does not know. The automobile and the horse-drawn wagon pass each other, heading in opposite directions.

 

*******Edna Purviance (1895 – 1958) was an American actress of the silent film era. She was the leading lady in many of Charlie Chaplin's early films and in a span of eight years, she appeared in over thirty films with him and remained on his payroll even after she retired from acting, receiving a small monthly salary from Chaplin's film company until she got married, and the payments resumed after her husband's death. Her last credited appearance in a Chaplin film, ‘A Woman of Paris’, was also her first leading role. The film was not a success and effectively ended Purviance's career. She died of throat cancer in 1958.

 

********Dundee Cake is a traditional Scottish fruit cake that has gained worldwide fame since its first appearance over three hundred and fifty years ago. The Dundee Cake is one of Scotland's most famous cakes and, it is said, was liked by the Queen at tea-time. The story goes that Mary Queen of Scots didn’t like cherries, so a fruit cake was made and decorated with the distinctive almond decoration that has now become very familiar to those of us in the know. A more likely story is that the Dundee Cake recipe was created in the 1700s, later to be mass-produced by the Marmalade company Keiller’s Marmalade.

 

An afternoon tea made up with sweet cakes like this would be enough to please anyone, but I suspect that even if you ate everything you can see here in and on this display case, you would still come away hungry. This is because they, like everything in this scene are 1:12 size miniatures from my miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau:

 

The sweet cupcakes on the glass cake stand have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The pink blancmange rabbit on the bottom shelf of the display cabinet in the front of the right-hand side of the case was made by Polly’s Pantry Miniatures in America. All the other cakes came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The glass and metal cake stands and the glass cloche came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The glass cake stands are hand blown artisan pieces. The shiny brass cash register also comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures.

 

The J. Lyons & Co. Ltd. tariff is a copy of a 1920s example that I made myself by reducing it in size and printing it.

 

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 wood and glass display cabinet I obtained from a seller of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.

 

The storage shelves in the background behind the counter come from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late Eighteenth Century. The plates, milk jug, silver teapots, coffee pots and trays on it all come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Miniatures.

 

The aspidistra in the white planter and the wooden plant stand itself also come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House shop, as does the 1920s Lyons’ Tea sign you can see on the wall.

 

The Art Deco pattern on the wall behind the counter I created myself after looking at many photos of different Lyons Corner House interiors photos. Whilst not an exact match for what was there in real life, it is within the spirit of the detailing found in the different restaurants.

...u light up my life.

Gamma Labs pre-workout formula builds muscle mass and smooth muscle tone.

Don't go looking for "The Motorama Building", especially in Aspen, CO.

 

It was built in 1956 to showcase future products of General Motors, as a temporary display.

  

One of my early means of learning to draw- was by copying Skip's style of cross-hatching and varied line-weight... Learning a sort of visual short-hand!

 

Skip Williamson was one of the pioneers of

the 1960s U.S. underground comix movement.

He is best known for his satirical comic strip 'Snappy Sammy Smoot' (1968-1996) and was closely involved with the underground comix magazine Bijou Funnies, as well as the section 'Playboy Funnies' in Hugh Hefner's Playboy.

Williamson worked in a fluid, roundish, psychedelic style

and was known for his highly political stance.

"Underground comics should be both

propaganda and entertainment," he once said.

"They're effective - the antithesis of rhetoric."

To him comics could be "subtle and exaggerated

at the same time.

So they are a valuable propaganda tool."

 

RIGHT-ON!

 

Because of their subversive content

these publications couldn't be sold in regular stores

and thus had to "underground".

They were distributed in stores specializing in hippie fashions, gadgets and drugs, the so-called "head shops".

 

One of these magazines was The Chicago Mirror,

founded in the summer of 1967 by Jay Lynch and Skip Williamson.

It featured a lot of satirical articles which unfortunately weren't always recognized as such.

One day Lynch invented a story how smoking dog excrement could be used as a substitute for marijuana. To his concern some hippies actually came forward to congratulate him for giving them this tip.

Even when Lynch explained it was satire the men still didn't believe it was all meant as a joke.

This made them decide to change the format into a comic magazine, because then at least their satire would be a lot clearer.

The Chicago Mirror was discontinued after four issues.

Inspired by Robert Crumb's groundbreaking Zap Comix,

Bijou Funnies hit the market in the summer of 1968.

It quickly became the 2nd most-read underground comix

after Zap.

 

By 1994 Williamson moved to Atlanta, Georgia, and started making politically conscious paintings on large-scale canvases. His works often poke fun at famous politicians like Richard Nixon, Spiro Agnew and Ronald Reagan.

Some of these works have been exhibited in various musea and cultural centra all across the United States and Europe as well.

 

In 2017 Skip Williamson passed away at the age of 72.

He was a diabetic and died after a bad reaction to antibiotics while undergoing treatment for a toe infection in Albany Medical Center.

He died only a week and a half after his frequent collaborator Jay Lynch.

  

A supplement in the special issue, year 3, issue 8, of the fine and long lived German graphic design magazine "Gebrauchsgraphik" that was published in 1926. This looks at the "Rhine and Ruhr in Advertising Art" and looks at many of the designer, printing houses and clients who were active in this long-established industrial powerhouse of Germany

 

This is for the Köln printing works of Seché and forms part of a calendar. The fine design is by "Schröder-Erbar" of Köln and I wonder if the Erbar is Jakob Erbar, the designer of Erbar-Grotesk that was issued in 1926 and a specimen of which appears in this magazine. He was based in the city at the time.

Canoe Regatta - unknown date

Camp Mazinaw opened in the 1940s and was located immediately south of the current Bon Echo Provincial Park on the old Highway #41. Initially it was a 6 week camp for 60 boys and was in operation for about 50 years.

 

The founder was PK Hambly who purchased 3 separate properties and opened the camp in 1940 during the war. Times were tough so cutting lumber supplemented the camp income. The original Hambly cottage is now part of Paul and Martha McLean's home.

 

The highly respected camp made a significant impact on many of the boys lives. Several notable men have fond memories of their summers at Camp Mazinaw. One of the most recognized campers would be Steve Paikin (The Agenda with Steve Paikin) Jim Smart- former owner of Smart's Marina was a cabin mate with Steve.

 

The boys instruction was of paramount importance. In 1946 Fred Hagan was appointed Arts & Craft Instructor at Camp Mazinaw and later taught at the Ontario College of Art in the 1950s and 60s. With his knowledge of art and crafts he built much of the furniture in Lodge. In 1951 Fred Hagan painted several painting of the Mazinaw the same year as Casson. It is unknown if they painted together.

 

Three men ran the camp until the 1970s (Hambly, Reginaud Blackstock 'Blackie' and Harry Hull). Blackie was famous for his canoeing expertise. He instructed at Pinecrest YMCA Camp prior to coming to Camp Mazinaw. He also was a teacher at Pickering College.

 

In the 1950s there were some financial problems and some lots were sold. The men were better teachers than businessmen and financing was sometimes difficult.

 

Brian Blackstock and Paul McLean eventually took over running the camp. Hambly died in 1976 and McLean purchased Hambly's shares in the camp. Blackie died in 1978 and Brian Blackstock inherited Blackie's shares. Harry Hull was a silent partner- he enjoyed being at Camp Mazinaw. In 1987 Paul and Martha McLean ran the camp and purchased the remaining shares from Harry Hull. By 1990 most of the Lodge was torn down.

Much of the above information was obtained from an interviews with Paul and Martha McLean in July 2008 and Jim Smart in August 2008.

 

Part of the Bon Echo Provincial Park Album

Note: Commercial use of this image is prohibited without CDHS permission. All CDHS Flickr content is available for personal use providing our Rights Statement is followed:

pioneer.mazinaw.on.ca/flickr_statement.php

My daily supplement intake

 

Photo featured here:

www.vitaminsfordepression.net/

Supplement to Testacea Britannica with additional plates :

London :And sold by J. White,1803.

biodiversitylibrary.org/page/61685877

Kushutara piece from HGB workshop with Wendy Garrity, October 2015.

Health is everything for human been and they do lots of things to keep their health fit and fine. They go to gym, yoga classes, aerobic classes, dance classes and morning walk. Gym is the perfect platform to be perfect fit but it requires protein supplements and weight gain supplements for attractive body shape.

www.biggnutrition.com/blog/

 

This image is excerpted from a U.S. GAO report:

www.gao.gov/products/GAO-16-674

 

SUPPLEMENTAL SECURITY INCOME: SSA Provides Benefits to Multiple Recipient Households but Needs System Changes to Improve Claims Management

 

Do you want to shed those unwanted kilos? Pure Cure and Co. brings you the 100% natural weight loss supplement for reducing fat and nourishing your body. Visit today!

St Edmund, Southwold, Suffolk

 

It is hard now to remember a time when Southwold was not fashionable. It must be coming on for thirty years ago now that the comedian Michael Palin made a film for television called East of Ipswich. It was a memoir of his childhood in the 1950s, and the basic comic premise was that in those days people used to go on holiday to seaside resorts on the East Anglian coast. In Palin's case, this was Southwold.

 

The amusement came from the idea that people in those days would sit in deckchairs beside the grey north sea, or shelter from the drizzle in genteel teashops or the amusement arcade on the pier. In the Costa Brava package tour days of the 1980s, the quaintness of this image made it seem like something from a different world.

 

And I remember Southwold in the 1980s. It was one of those agreeable little towns distant enough from anywhere bigger to maintain a life of its own. It still had its genteel tea shops, its dusty grocers, its quaint hotels and pubs all owned by Adnams, the old-fashioned and unfashionable local brewery. In the white heat of the Thatcherite cultural revolution, it seemed a place that would soon die on its feet quietly and peaceably.

 

And then, in the 1990s, the colour supplements discovered the East Anglian coast, and fell in love with it. The new fashions for antique-collecting, cooking with local produce and general country living, coupled with a snobbishness about how common foreign travel had become, conspired to make places like Southwold very sought after. Before Nigel Lawson's boom became a bust, the inflated house prices of London and the home counties gave people money to burn. And in their hoards, they came out of the big city to buy holiday homes in East Anglia.

 

Although they are often lumped together, the coasts of Norfolk and Suffolk are actually very different from each other (Cambridgeshire and North Essex are also culturally part of East Anglia, but the North Essex coast is too close to London to have ever stopped being cheap and cheerful, and Cambridgeshire has no coastline). Norfolk's beaches are wide and sandy, with dunes and cliffs and rock pools to explore; towns like Cromer and Hunstanton seem to have stepped out of the pages of the Ladybird Book of the Seaside. Tiny villages along the Norfolk coast have secret little beaches of their own.

 

Suffolk's coast is wilder. Beaches are mainly pebbles rather than sand, and the marshes stretch inland, cutting the coast off from the rest of the county. Unlike Norfolk, Suffolk has no coast road, and so the settlements on the coast are isolated from each other, stuck at the end of narrow lanes that snake away from the A12 and peter out in the heathland above the sea. There are fewer of them too. It is still quicker to get from Walberswick to Southwold by water than by land. Because they are isolated from each other, they take on individual personalities and characteristic. Because they are isolated from the land, they become bastions of polite civilisation.

 

Between Felixstowe in the south, which no outsiders like (and consequently is the favourite of many Suffolk people) and Lowestoft in the north, which is basically an industrial town-on-sea (but which still has the county's best beaches - shhh, don't tell a soul) are half a dozen small towns that vie with each other for trendiness. Southwold is the biggest, and today it is also the most expensive place to live in all East Anglia. Genteel tea shops survive, but are increasingly shouldered by shops that specialise in ski-wear and Barbour jackets, Jack Wills and White Stuff, delicatessens that stock radicchio and seventeen different kinds of olive, jewellery shops and kitchen gadget shops and antique furniture shops where prices are exquisitely painful. Worst of all, the homely, shabby, smoke-filled Sole Bay Inn under the lighthouse has been converted by the now-trendy Adnams Brewery into a chrome and glass filled wine bar.

 

If you see someone in Norfolk driving a truck, they are probably wearing a baseball cap and carrying a shotgun; in Suffolk, they've more likely just bought a Victorian pine dresser from an antique shop, and they're taking it back to Islington. Does this matter? The fishing industry was dying anyway. The tourist industry was also dying. If places like Southwold, Aldeburgh and Orford become outposts of north London, at least they will still provide jobs for local people. But the local people won't be able to afford to live there, of course; they'll be bused in from Reydon, Leiston and Melton to provide services for people in holiday cottages which are the former homes they grew up in, but can no longer afford to buy. Does this seriously annoy me? Not as much as it does them, I'll bet.

 

So, lets go to Southwold, turning off the A12 at the great ship of Blythburgh church, the wide marshes of the River Blyth spreading aimlessly beyond the road. We climb and fall over ancient dunes, and then the road opens out into the flat marshes, the town spreads out beyond. We enter through Reydon (now actually bigger than Southwold, with houses at half the price) and over the bridge into the town of Southwold itself.

 

Having been so critical, I need to say here that Southwold is beautiful. It is quite the loveliest small town in all East Anglia. None of the half-timbered houses here that you find in places like Long Melford and Lavenham; here, the town was completely destroyed by fire in the 17th century, and so we have fine 18th and 19th century municipal buildings. One of the legacies of the fire was the creation of wide open spaces just off of the high street, called greens. The best one of all is Gun Hill Green, overlooking the bay where the last major naval battle in British waters was fought; the cannons still point out to sea. The houses here are stunning, gobsmacking, jawdroppingly wonderful. If I could afford to buy one of them as a weekend retreat, then you bet your life I would, and to hell with the people who moaned about it.

 

At the western end of the High Street is St Bartholomew's Green, and beyond it sits what is, for my money, Suffolk's single most impressive building. This is the great church of St Edmund, a vast edifice built all in one go in the second half of the 15th century. Only Lavenham can compete with it for scale and presence. Unlike the massing at St Peter and St Paul at Lavenham, St Edmund is defined by a long unbroken clerestory and aisles beneath - where St Peter and St Paul looks full of tension, ready to spring, St Edmund is languid and floating, a ship at ease.

 

Southwold church was just one of several vast late medieval rebuildings in this area. Across the river at Walberswick and a few miles upriver at Blythburgh the same thing happened. Blythburgh still survives, but Walberswick was derelicted to make a smaller church, as were Covehithe and Kessingland. Dunwich All Saints was lost to the sea. But Southwold was the biggest. Everything about it breathes massive permanence, from the solidity of the tower to the turreted porch, from the wide windows to the jaunty sanctus bell fleche.

 

Along the top of the aisles, grimacing faces look down. All of them are different. The pedestals atop the clerestory were intended for statues as at Blythburgh, but were probably never filled before the Reformation intervened. At the west end, above the great west window, you can see the vast inscription SAncT EDMUND ORA P: NOBIS ('Saint Edmund, pray for us') as bold a record of the mindset of late medieval East Anglian patriotism and Catholicism as you'll find.

 

As at Lavenham and Long Melford, the interior has been extensively restored, but not in as heavy or blunt a manner as at those two churches. St Edmund has, it must be said, benefited from the attentions of German bombers who put out all the dull Victorian glass during World War II. Here, the interior is vast, light and airy, and much of the restoration is 20th century work, not 19th century. Perhaps because of this, more medieval interior features have survived. Unlike Long Melford, Southwold does not have surviving medieval glass (Mr Dowsing saw to that in 1644), but it does have what is the finest screen in the county.

 

It stretches right the way across the church, and is effectively three separate screens; a rood screen across the chancel arch, and parclose screens across the north and south chancel aisles. All retain their original dado figures; there are 36 of them, more than anywhere else in Suffolk. They have been restored, particularly in the central range, but are fascinating because they retain a lot of original gessowork - this is where plaster of paris is applied to wood and allowed to dry; it is then carved to produce intricate details. The central screen shows 11 disciples and St Paul; they are, from left to right, Philip, Matthew, James the Less, Thomas, Andrew, Peter, Paul, John, James, Batholomew, Jude and Simon.

 

The south chancel chapel is light and open; the bosses above are said to represent Mary Tudor and her second husband Charles, Duke of Brandon. The screen here is painted with twelve Old Testament prophets, and Mortlock suggests that they are by a different hand to the images on the other two screens. Further, he observes that the subject is a usual one for the English Midlands, but rare for East Anglia, and that perhaps this part of the screen came from elsewhere. The same may be true of the other two parts - it is hard to think that the central screen was deliberately made too wide for the two arcades. Here on the south screen, some of the figures have surviving naming inscriptions, and Mortlock surmises that the complete sequence, from left to right, is Baruch, Hosea, Nahum, Jeremiah, Elias, Moses, David, Isaiah, Amos, Jonah and Ezekiel. Hover and click on them below.

 

The north aisle chapel is reserved as the blessed sacrament chapel, and also contains a quite extensive modern library. The screen is harder to explore, because the northern side is curtailed by a large chest, but it features Angels. Unlike the screens at Hitcham and Blundeston, which show angels holding instruments of the passion, these are the nine orders of angels, with Gabriel at their head, and flanked by angels holding symbols of the Trinity and the Eucharist. Mortlock says that they are so similar to the ones at Barton Turf in Norfolk that they may be by the same hand, in which case the central screen is also by that person. They are, from left to right, the Holy Trinity, Gabriel, Archangels, Powers, Dominions, Cherubim, Seraphim, Thrones, Principalities, Virtues, Messengers, and finally the Eucharist. The Holy Trinity angel still has part of the original dedicatory inscription beneath his feet.

 

If part or all of this screen came from elsewhere, where did it come from? Possibly either Walberswick, Covehithe or Kessingland, the three downsized churches mentioned earlier. More excitingly, it might have come from one of the churches along this coast that was lost to the sea; perhaps neighbouring St Nicholas at Easton Bavents, or, just to the south, St Peter and St John the Baptist, the two Dunwich churches lost in the 16th and 17th centuries. We'll never know.

 

If you turn back at the screen and face westwards, your eyes are automatically drawn to the towering font cover, part of the extensive 1930s redecoration of the building. The clerestory is almost like a glass atrium to house it. Also the work of the period is the repainting and regilding of the 15th century pulpit (a lot of people blanch at this, but I think it is gorgeous) and the lectern. Beneath the font cover, the font is clearly one of the rare seven sacraments series, and part of the same group as Westhall, Blythburgh and Wenhaston. As at Blythburgh and Wenhaston, the panels are completely erased, probably in the 19th century, an act of barbarous vandalism. Given that Westhall is probably the best of all in the county, we must assume that three major medieval art treasures were wiped out. Astonishingly, vague shadows survive of the former reliefs. You can easily make out the Mass panel, facing east as at Westhall, the Penance panel and even what may be the Baptism of Christ.

 

Stepping through the screen, the reredos ahead is by Benedict Williamson and the glass above by Ninian Comper, familiar names in the Anglo-catholic pantheon, and evidence of an enthusiasm here that still survives in High Church form. There is a good engraved glass image of St Edmund to the north of the sanctuary, very much in the 1960s fashion, but curiously placed. On the wall of the chancel to the west of it, the high organ case is also painted and gilded enthusiastically.

 

As well as the screen, Southwold's other great medieval survival is the set of return stalls either side of the eastern face of the chancel screen. They have misericord seats, but the best feature are the handrests between the seats. On the south side, carvings include a man with a horn-shaped hat and sinners being drawn into the mouth of hell. On the north side are a man playing two pipes, a monkey preaching and a beaver biting its own genitals; a tale from the medieval bestiary, apparently.

 

What else is there to see? Well, the church is full of delights, and rewards further visits which always seem to turn up something previously unnoticed. St George rides full tilt at a dragon on an old chest at the west end of the north aisle. There is good 19th century glass in the porch and at the west end of the nave. A clock jack stands, axe and bell in hand, at the west end, a twin to the one upriver at Blythburgh. This one has a name - he's called Southwold Jack, and he is one of the symbols of the Adnams brewery.

 

As Mortlock notes, there are very few surviving memorials. This is partly because St Edmund was not in the patronage of a great landed family, but it may also suggest that they were largely removed at the time of the 19th century restoration, as at Brandon. One moving one is for the child of a Vicar, and there are some interesting pre-Oxford Movement 19th century brasses in the south aisle.

 

High, high above all this, the roofs are models of Anglo-catholic melodrama, the canopy of honour to the rood and the chancel ceilure in particular. But there is a warmth about it all that is missing from, say, Eye, which underwent a similar makeover. This church feels full of life, and not a museum piece at all. I remember attending evensong here late one winter Saturday afternoon, and it was magical. On another visit, I came on one of the first days of Spring that was truly warm and bright, with not a cloud in the sky. As I cycled into town, a cold fret off of the sea was condensing the steam of the brewery, sending it in swirls and skeins around the tower of St Edmund like low cloud. It was so atmospheric that I almost forgave them for what they have done to the Sole Bay Inn.

The Multiple Launch Rocket System (MLRS), formerly known as the General Support Rocket System (GSRS), is designed to supplement cannon weapons available to U.S. Army Division and Corps Commanders for the delivery of a large volume of firepower in a very short time against critical, time-sensitive targets.

 

The MLRS (Multiple Launch Rocket System) is a high-mobility automatic system based on an M270 weapons platform. The MLRS is capable of supporting and delivering all freeflight basic and extended-range (ER-MLRS) rockets and the Army Tactical Missile System (ATACMS) Block I missiles.

 

The MLRS launcher unit comprises an M270 launcher loaded with 12 rockets, packaged in two six-rocket pods. The launcher, which is mounted on a stretched Bradley chassis, is a highly automated self-loading and self-aiming system. It contains a fire control computer that integrates the vehicle and rocket launching operations. Without leaving the cab, the crew of three (driver, gunner and section chief) can fire up to twelve MLRS rockets in less than 60 seconds.

 

MLRS employs the ''shoot and scoot'' principle to limit vulnerability to counter-battery fire. In addition to the M77 dual purpose conventional submunition equipped with 644 high explosive grenades for anti-personnel and light vehicle engagements, the system can deliver the West German-developed AT2 scatterable mine warhead and has the potential for delivering other warheads.

 

A growth program is under way to add the extended range MLRS (ER-MLRS), which will increase the current range of the basic rocket from 19.76 miles to a new range of approximately 31 miles. The Guided MLRS (GMLRS), an additional combat support munition, is a modification to further enhance the range and accuracy of the ER-MLRS. The M270 launcher accommodates the MLRS Family of Munitions (MFOM), including the Army Tactical Missile System (Army TACMS). MLRS is co-produced by the United States, Germany, the United Kingdom, France, and Italy.

  

General characteristics -

 

▪︎Type: Multiple rocket launcher

▪︎Place of Origin: United States

▪︎In Service: 1983 to present

▪︎Conflicts: Persian Gulf War / War in Afghanistan / Iraq War / 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine

▪︎Designer: Ling-Temco-Vought

▪︎Designed: 1977

▪︎Manufacturer: Lockheed Martin / Diehl BGT Defence / Krauss-Maffei Wegmann / Aérospatiale-Matra

▪︎Produced: 1980 to 2003

▪︎Variants: M270 / M270A1 / M270A2 / MARS II / LRU / MLRS-I

▪︎Mass: 52,990 lb (combat loaded with 12 rockets)

▪︎Length: 22 ft 10.5 in

▪︎Width: 9 ft 9 in

▪︎Height: 8ft 6 in (launcher stowed)

▪︎Crew: 3

▪︎Caliber: 8.9 in

▪︎Effective Firing Range: M26 - 19.9 miles / M26A1/A2 - 28.0 miles / M30/31 - 57.2 miles

▪︎Maximum Firing Range: ATACMS - 103 or 186 miles

▪︎Armour: 5083 aluminum hull / 7039 aluminum cab

▪︎Main Armament: 12 x MLRS or 2 x ATACMS or 4 x PrSM

▪︎Powerplant: Cummins VTA-903 diesel engine 500 hp at 2600 rpm / 600 hp (M270A1)

▪︎Power / Weight: 18.9 hp/ST (M270)

▪︎Suspension: Torsion bar

▪︎Operational Range: 300 miles

▪︎Maximum Speed: 40 mph.

 

Information sourced from -

en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/M270_Multiple_Launch_Rocket_System

www.military.com/equipment/m270-multiple-launch-rocket-sy...

Magnus is doing well. Right now he wears out easily, but we have successfully transitioned him back to his regular food. He'll take his last antibiotic tablet Saturday evening. I hope his stools return to completely normal soon. In the meantime, Magnus simply cannot resist adding a bit of fresh greens to his diet.

 

(Given the amount of weight he's lost, he really should eat more than just salad.)

 

[SOOC, f/1.4, ISO 160, shutter speed 1/640, -2/3 EV]

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

(647) 351-4747

lbstoronto.com

Twitter: @LbsToronto

 

Owners: Jonathan Gonsenhauser and Will Tomlinson

 

Introducing for TorontoLife: torontolife.com/food/restaurants/lbs-pounds-lobster-burge...

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 following Lettice’s maid, Edith, who together with her beau, local grocery delivery boy Frank Leadbetter, have wended their way pleasurably a short distance south-east of Cavendish Mews, through the Burlington Estate, along Piccadilly past the six storey red brick façade of Fortnum and Mason with its six fanlight display windows, across busy Piccadilly Circus with its high hoardings advertising Bovril and Schweppes tonic water and its central fountain surmounted by Eros, and down to Trafalgar Square in the centre of London.

 

The pair are dressed in their summer best as they enjoy the sunshine: Frank in his Sunday best blue suit and a smart straw boater with a colourful grosgrain ribbon around the crown, and Edith in her blue floral sprigged frock and her wide brimmed straw hat decorated with a gay blue green and red ribbon and artificial flowers in matching colours, yet still holding her old battered black umbrella just in case of inclement weather. Circumnavigating tall Nelson’s Column guarded by his four giant lion statues, the pair blend in with the other citizens of London taking a stroll in the good weather. They laugh and chatter away amicably together as they perambulate across the wide tiled square, all awkwardness of their early courtship long left behind and replaced with a comfort and ease that comes with knowing one another better. They walk between the two ornamental fountains where children play and head towards the sweep of stairs that lead up to the National Gallery of London.

 

As they walk into the shadow of the tall Neoclassical columned façade of the gallery, Edith shivers and pulls herself more closely against Frank, not because she is cold, but because she is intimidated by the enormity and grandeur of the ediface. She has never been to the National Gallery before, and even as she walks past the liveried guards, she silently worries that she will be dragged away from Frank and thrown out for her impertinence. Yet when they approach one near the entrance to the gallery, he smiles and says good morning to them both.

 

“You see, Edith,” Frank reassures her, squeezing her forearm just above where her green leather handbag handle sits in the crook of her arm. “I told you there was nothing to worry about. The National gallery is for everyone, not just the wealthy.”

 

The pair walk through long galleries where the gently diffused light from large skylights above falls onto the artworks hanging in gilt frames along the painted walls around them. The galleries are populated with people of all kinds chatting quietly together in pairs like Frank and Edith or in small groups, all admiring the works hanging serenely about them in the long galleries. Edith’s heels click against the parquetry floors, but she is too amazed by all the beautiful paintings to feel self-conscious about it or feel inferiority because her clothes are not as fine as some of the gallery’s visitors around them. With her right arm linked firmly with Frank’s, she allows him to lead her through gallery after gallery, pointing out portraits of famous people from history, landscapes by the Impressionist painters of France, Italian Renaissance paintings and Dutch masters.

 

Eventually the pair wend their way to a gallery featuring artwork and furnishings from, or inspired by the Tudor period.

 

“The Royal Nursery 1538 by Marcus Stone,” Edith reads quietly aloud from the plaque stuck to the red painted wall beneath the large gold framed portrait. “Painted in 1871.” She looks closely at the fine details of the faces of the people in the oil painting and their beautiful Tudor costumes. “Well that’s obviously Henry VIII,” she remarks, indicating to the central figure pulling a toy galleon on wheels, who is unmistakably the Tudor sovereign. “But who are the others?”

 

“Well,” Frank says peering at the oil painting which has yellowed with age and exposure to the elements. “I’d say that is his son, Prince Edward,” He points to the cherubic child in what looks more like a Tudor torture machine than a wooden walker. “I would imagine that that is Princess Elizabeth who became Queen Elizabeth.” He indicates to a sad looking child standing on her own to the left of the painting with a wistful look on her face.

 

“How do you know that Frank?” Edith asks with eyes glittering with excitement.

 

“Well, see,” he points to her hands. “She appears to have been reading before the arrival of King Henry, and Queen Elizabeth was purportedly an avid reader.”

 

“Oh!” Edith nods and gazes seriously at the child.

 

“And that may be Princess Mary, who became Queen Mary who caused so many problems between the Catholics and the Protestants here in England.” Frank indicates to the young woman in very grand garb kneeling beside the young prince in the walker. “She was Elizabeth’s older half-sister. I’m not sure who the rest are. Servants maybe, or the king’s advisors.”

 

“Yes, she looks like a nursemaid.” Edith points to a woman in the shadows to the right of the painting standing by a cradle.

 

“Of course,” Frank remarks. “It’s all very fanciful, really.”

 

Edith turns away from the painting after the pair look at it in companionable silence for a few moments longer and spots several high backed chairs with red velvet seats sitting in a cluster in the middle of the gallery’s parquetry floor.

 

“Do you mind if we sit down for a few minutes Frank? My shoes are beginning to pinch from all the standing we’ve been doing.”

 

“Oh of course, Edith!” Frank replies with concern. “Lets sit over there.” He nods to the same cluster of chairs that had caught Edith’s eyes.

 

The pair walk over to the chairs where Edith sinks down with a grateful sigh, whilst Frank sits down beside her, placing his smart summer straw boater on the seat next to him. Edith reaches down to her foot and discreetly slips off her left Sunday best black pump and rubs her heel beneath her slightly rumpled stocking.

 

Sitting up again, Edith looks back across at the painting. “What do you mean by the painting is fanciful, Frank?”

 

“Well, I doubt that even King Henry’s children’s nursery would have looked quite so picturesque as that in Tudor times. Life dirty back in those days, even for kings and queens. Marcus Stone* was a Victorian Romantic painter, Edith, so his image is a romanticised version of what we might have seen.”

 

“But none of us can truly know what the King’s nursery looked like back then, Frank.”

 

“Very true, Edith. Mr. Stone was painting a historical scene that appealed to the romantic ideals of the time. Queen Victoria and her family were very interested in history, but a romanticised and sanitised version of it, and she influenced the tastes of all her subjects. She was also a very family-oriented monarch, probably the first since King George III, so domestic scenes were very popular at the time Mr. Stone painted it.”

 

Edith’s pretty cornflower blue eyes grow wide as she stares in admiration at her beau sitting beside her. “You are so knowledgeable, Frank.”

 

“Thank you Edith.” he replies proudly sitting up a little more boldly.

 

“How do you know so much?”

 

“Well, I do read quite a lot, Edith. You should see my bedroom at my lodgings. There are books everywhere. Mrs. Chapman keeps threatening to fling them all out. She says the weight will make the floors bow.” He chuckles.

 

“They won’t will they, Frank?” Edith gasps.

 

“Oh no!” he assures her. “It’s just Mrs. Chapman and one of her ways. I don’t think she has ever been a great reader, and she treats books, and book readers, with suspicion. I don’t think she would have agreed to take me as a paying lodger if she knew I read as much as I do.”

 

“I don’t know where you find the space in your head to store all the information you gather from what you read. I’m sure I couldn’t. I’m sure I’ll never be as smart as you, Frank.” Edith blushes with embarrassment.

 

“Rubbish Edith!” Frank retorts quickly. “I’ve told you before, we are all smart in different ways. There are things you know and know how to do that I don’t.”

 

“Sometimes I think what I know in comparison to you is of no significance at all.”

 

“That’s foolish talk too, Edith, and I said as much in Hilda’s kitchen that Sunday when we all went to the Hammersmith Palais**.” Frank chides his sweetheart, not unkindly. “You know how to cook, and all my knowledge of painting couldn’t feed an empty belly.” He looks at Edith lovingly. “You know you really mustn’t feel inferior, Edith. I only know what I do because my grandparents used to bring me here when I was, as Gran would say, ‘a wee bairn’.”

 

“Well, you are very lucky, Frank.”

 

“I know, Edith.” He looks around the red painted gallery populated with couples, small clusters of people and a few men and women on their own, quietly admiring the Tudor paintings covering the walls. “So, how do you like your first visit to the National Gallery, then?”

 

“Oh, I love it, Frank!” Edith enthuses. “You know, when we spent New Year’s Eve at The Angel*** and you suggested that we visit here, I had my doubts.”

 

“I know Edith. I could see them, as plain as day in your pretty face.” Frank chuckles.

 

“I always thought of galleries as places, well where people like Miss Lettice and her fine friends go, and not for people like me. The way she tries to talk to me about modern art and fashionable trends when she gets a new delivery from the Portland Gallery in Bond Street just leaves me feeling bewildered. Next to her, I feel I don’t even know what art is.”

 

“Well, those kind of galleries are a bit more avant-garde.” Frank agrees.

 

“What does that mean, Frank?”

 

Frank thinks for a moment, looking up to the white painted plaster ceiling above before replying. “Experimental and innovatively modern.”

 

“Well, I don’t think I am so keen on that kind of art. Paintings that look like blotches and squares of bright colour that I’m told are portraits or landscapes where I can’t see either, leave me feeling unsettled. But here,” She waves her hands expansively around her with a relieved smile. “I can see paintings and sculptures that I understand. That painting says it’s a nursery, and whether it is historically accurate or not, Frank, it looks like a nursery to me. These are like the pictures Mrs. Boothby has hanging above her sink in Poplar, only far more colourful and beautiful.”

 

“That’s because these are originals, not facsimiles, Edith.”

 

“Facsimile.” Edith laughs quietly and shakes her head as she rolls the foreign word around on her tongue like an exotic sweet. “And what does that mean, Frank Leadbetter?”

 

“A copy.” he replies with a slightly embarrassed chuckle of his own.

 

“Facsimile, facsimile,” Edith quietly recites, trying to gain familiarity with the word. “I like that word, Frank. It sounds very grand and important, and much nicer than copy, which sounds so boring and everyday in comparison.”

 

The pair laugh together and sigh happily.

 

“So, you’d be happy to come here again then, Edith?” Frank asks hopefully.

 

“Oh yes Frank! I’d love that!”

 

“I’m glad to hear you say that Edith, because there are so many more galleries to see, and the curators of the galleries do change paintings over from time to time, and have exhibitions of paintings brought in especially from other galleries in other countries.”

 

“Are you wanting to make me as knowledgeable about art as you, Frank?”

 

“Well,” Frank blushes. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing to expand your horizons, Edith, and I love showing you that there is a whole world of art that you’ve never experienced before.”

 

“Oh, you are so lovely, Frank.” Edith sighs. “How fortunate I am to have met you.”

 

“And how lucky I am to have met you too, Edith.”

 

The couple discreetly hold hands as they sit side by side on the seats and stare lovingly into one another’s eyes, the people milling about them, the sound of footsteps and the quiet burble of conversation drifting away as they focus only on each other.

 

At length Frank breaks their blissful moment of enjoyment. “What do you think your mum would say to me bringing you here, Edith?” His happy eyes suddenly cloud a little with concern.

 

“Oh, I don’t think she’d mind, Frank.”

 

“Don’t you think she would think I was trying to fill your head with ideas that don’t belong there?” he asks glumly, hanging his head as he speaks.

 

“No, of course she wouldn’t! Mum loves beautiful things too, Frank. I think she thinks the same of galleries as I did until you brought me here, and if she knew that the gallery was open to the likes of you and me, and that it was free, she’d spend a few hard earned pennies catching the tube to come here too.”

 

“Do you really think so, Edith?”

 

“Of course I do, Frank. Maybe we could even bring her here one Sunday on our day off.” Edith assures her beau.

 

“That would be a turn up for the books, Edith.” Frank smiles.

 

“Look, I know that you and Mum got off to a rocky start together when you first met, but she’s warming to you, Frank. Honestly she is.”

 

“I’m sure Edith.” Frank squeezes Edith’s hands. “I’m just anxious that we get along, is all. When you and I get married, I want her to be proud of her daughter’s choice in a husband.”

 

“Frank,” Edith looks earnestly into the young man’s anxious face. “Mum knows that I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I’m not a little girl anymore. She will be proud when I marry the man who suits me down to a tee, and that man is you, Frank.”

 

Frank blushes red and smiles shyly at his sweetheart who returns it with her own shy smile.

 

“I do love you, Edith Watsford.”

 

“And I love you, Frank Leadbetter.”

 

“Well, if you do, Edith,” Frank looks back at the picture of the Royal Nursery and points. “How many children shall we have?”

 

“Oh, you are awful Frank Leadbetter!” gasps Edith, her cheeks colouring at the mention of having babies. “None until after the day we get wed!” She releases his hands and playfully smacks him across the knuckles.

 

“Yes, but then now many?” Frank persists.

 

“We’ll see then, won’t we, Frank?” Edith laughs. She slips her shoe back on and picks up her handbag. “Come on,” she says, standing up. “We’ve sat here for long enough.” She holds out her hand to him. “It’s time for you to show me some more of the National Gallery.”

 

“Yes Miss!” Frank says, snatching up his hat and their guidebooks.

 

Arm in arm the pair begin to move further along the gallery towards the door leading into the next room, their heads bowed towards one another as they chatter happily between them.

 

*Marcus Stone RA was an English painter. He was born in London in 1840, and was educated by his father, artist Frank Stone, before exhibiting at the Royal Academy before he was eighteen. He is known for his illustrations of books by Charles Dickens and Anthony Trollope. His earlier works were mostly historical incidents, but his later works were more sentimental. He is best known for his painting “In Love” which he painted in 1888. He died in 1921 in Kensington.

 

**The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.

 

***The Angel, one of the oldest Rotherhithe pubs, is now in splendid isolation in front of the remains of Edward III's mansion on the Thames Path at the western edge of Rotherhithe. The site was first used when the Bermondsey Abbey monks used to brew beer which they sold to pilgrims. It is located at 24 Rotherhithe St, opposite Execution Dock in Wapping. It has two storeys, plus an attic. It is built of multi-coloured stock brick with a stucco cornice and blocking course. The ground floor frontage is made of wood. There is an area of segmental arches on the first floor with sash windows, and it is topped by a low pitched slate roof. Its Thames frontage has an unusual weatherboarded gallery on wooden posts. The interior is divided by wooden panels into five small rooms. In the early 20th Century its reputation and location attracted local artists including Augustus John and James Abbott McNeil Whistler. In the 1940s and 50s it became a popular destination for celebrities including Laurel and Hardy. Today its customers are local residents, tourists and people walking the Thames Path.

 

Although carefully arranged to look like the National Gallery as it was in the 1920s, this scene is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection, including pieces from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The paintings on the walls in their gilt frames all come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. The main painting featured is a copy of “The Royal Nursery 1538”, an oil on canvas by Victorian Romanticist painter, history painter, illustrator and genre painter, Marcus Stone.

 

The Queen Anne chairs in the foreground are part of a dining room set that I was given as birthday present when I was a child.

 

1:12 size miniature hats made to exacting standards of quality and realism are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that one would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, makes them 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. Although not as expensive, Frank’s straw boater is made with wonderful detail and comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders miniature shop in the United Kingdom.

 

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 Tudor table beneath “The Royal Nursery 1538” and the Tudor chair you can just see to its right, I bought as part of a lot of miniature pieces from an antique auction when I was a late teenager. The chest to the left of the photo came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop.

 

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.

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This image is excerpted from a U.S. GAO report:

www.gao.gov/products/GAO-15-516

 

FEDERAL LOW-INCOME PROGRAMS: Multiple Programs Target Diverse Populations and Needs

 

Note: Unlike the official measure, the SPM adjusts for taxes. It subtracts federal, state, and local income taxes, and payroll taxes. It also takes into account federal and state tax credits, such as the Earned Income Tax Credit, as well as other tax credits.

 

Housing assistance, in the SPM, is based on households who reported living in public or subsidized housing in the Census Bureau's Current Population Survey, Annual Social and Economic Supplement. These could include recipients of housing programs administered by the Department of Housing and Urban Development, other federal agencies, or state or local governments.

Hergé, de son vrai nom Georges Prosper Remi (né le 22 mai 1907 à Etterbeek et mort le 3 mars 1983 à Woluwe-Saint-Lambert, en Belgique), est un auteur belge de bande dessinée, principalement connu pour Les Aventures de Tintin.

D'abord dessinateur amateur d'une revue scoute, il signe ses planches du pseudonyme « Hergé » à partir de 1924. Quelques mois plus tard, il entre au quotidien Le Vingtième Siècle, dont il devient rapidement l'homme providentiel grâce aux Aventures de Tintin. Celles-ci débutent le 10 janvier 1929 dans un supplément du journal destiné à la jeunesse, Le Petit Vingtième. Importateur de la bande dessinée américaine à bulles, il est souvent considéré comme « le père de la bande dessinée européenne ».

Durant les années 1930, Hergé diversifie son activité artistique (illustrations de journaux, de romans, de cartes et de publicités), tout en poursuivant la bande dessinée. Il crée tour à tour Les Exploits de Quick et Flupke (1930), Popol et Virginie au pays des Lapinos (1934) et enfin Les aventures de Jo, Zette et Jocko (1935). Après l'album les "aventures de Tintin en Russie" où il entraîne son personnage de jeune reporter à affronter les embûches du monde soviétique, il produit "Tintin au Congo" puis "Tintin en Amérique". Ces albums sont en noir et blanc. En 1934, il fait la rencontre de Tchang Tchong-Jen, jeune étudiant chinois venu étudier àl'académie des Beaux-Arts de Bruxelles. Cette rencontre bouleverse la pensée et son style d'Hergé. Il commence à se documenter sérieusement, ce qu'il ne faisait pas jusque là, et créée "le Lotus bleu" toujours en noir et blanc. Après la Seconde Guerre mondiale, le personnage de Tintin lui confère une renommée européenne, puis internationale, bien qu'il ait dû rendre compte d'accusations de collaboration avec l'ennemi pendant l'Occupation allemande pour des dessins jugés parfois racistes, uniquement pour avoir publié dans le journal belge "le Soir", alors contrôlé par l'occupant allemand, ce qui entache sérieusement sa réputation. Il sera cependant remis en selle par un ancien résistant, Raymond Leblanc, devenu éditeur qui lance, en 1946, le journal Tintin dans lequel Hergé crée un de ses meilleurs sujets "le temple du Soleil" qui est colorié au contraire des dessins parus dans "le Soir". C'est une brillante démonstration de la ligne claire, style propre à Hergé qui fera école et qui est déjà représenté, en 1943, par l'apparition der la couleur dans les albums "le Crabe aux pinces d'or", puis "le secret de la Licorne" et "le Crabe aux pînces d'or". Durant les années 1950 et 1960, perfectionniste et visionnaire, Hergé développe cette technique graphique dans le journal Tintin sans oublier de reprendre "Jo et Zette" et, surtout "Quick et Flupke", gamins de Bruxelles qui occupent dans l'imaginaire belge une place comparable à celle qu'ocupent, en France, les Poulbots. Hergé dirige alors un studio où travaillent Bob de Moor et Edgard P.Jacobs. Outre leur apport à l'exécution des aventures de Tintin, ces brillants créateurs continuent à développer leur production personnelle, "Bob et Bobette" pour le premier et les multiples aventures de "Blake et Mortimer" pour le second. Au fur et à mesure des années, des hommages internationaux monteront vers Hergé puis, en 1981, après d'ultimes retrouvailles avec Tchang, qui avait miraculeusement traversé guerres et révolution, il meurt d'une leucémie en 1983. Depuis sa mort, il est considéré comme l'un des plus grands artistes contemporains et a vendu plus de 230 millions d'albums, traduits dans une centaine de langues. Aujourd'hui, l'œuvre d'Hergé est gérée par sa veuve Fanny Rodwell via la société Moulinsart et la Fondation Hergé.

____________________________________________________

Georges Prosper Remi (22 May 1907 – 3 March 1983), known by the pen name Hergé, was a Belgian comics writer and artist. His best known and most substantial work is the 23 completed comic books in The Adventures of Tintin series, which he wrote and illustrated from 1929 until his death in 1983, although he was also responsible for other well-known comic book series such as Quick & Flupke (1930–1940) and Jo, Zette and Jocko (1936–1957).

Born into a middle-class family in Etterbeek, Brussels, he took a keen interest in Scouting in early life, something that would prove highly influential on his later work. Initially producing illustrations for Belgian Scouting magazines, in 1927 he began working for the conservative newspaper Le XXe Siècle, where he adopted the pen name "Hergé" [ɛʁʒe], based upon the French pronunciation of "RG", his initials reversed. It was here, in 1929, that he began serialising the first of the Adventures of Tintin, Tintin in the Land of the Soviets.

The notable qualities of the Tintin stories include their vivid humanism, a realistic feel produced by meticulous and wide ranging research, and Hergé's ligne claire drawing style. Adult readers enjoy the many satirical references to the history and politics of the 20th century. The Blue Lotus, for example, was inspired by the Mukden incident that resulted in the Japanese invasion of Manchuria. King Ottokar's Sceptre could be read against the background of Hitler's Anschluss or in the context of the struggle between the Romanian Iron Guard and the King of Romania, Carol II, whereas later albums - for example, The Calculus Affair - depict the Cold War. Hergé has become one of the most famous Belgians worldwide and Tintin is still an international success.

Hergé is a prominent national hero in his native country, to the extent where he has been described as the actual "personification of Belgium". The long-awaited Hergé Museum was opened in Louvain-La-Neuve on 2 June 2009. Designed by Pritzker Prize-winning architect Christian de Portzamparc, the museum reflects Hergé's huge corpus of work which has, until now, been sitting in studios and bank vaults. His work remains a strong influence on comics, particularly in Europe. He was inducted into the Comic Book Hall of Fame in 2003.

 

All shots are made with Sony A850 & Minolta 100 Macro 2.8 D

 

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Half-page shot of David Peace in this Saturday's El Pais colour supplement. I shot this a couple of years ago when David was still living in Tokyo. This was under the railway bridge in Yurakucho. Big thanks to Ceri in Cadiz for grabbing the newspaper and shooting a pic of it.

 

Nikon D300

85mm f/1.4 AF-D

One SB-800, camera-right, bounced off the wall of the bridge. Was assisted by Harold Godsoe on this shoot.

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Pregnancy is known to be the most delightful stage of femininity. Keep you as well as your baby healthy with Feel Good Gold's Resveratrol! Made out of naturally healthy ingredients.

 

A Mother-to-be has varying feelings all through this delightful adventure and doesn't have the suitable words to express them. The moments when being pregnant was dis-associated with being stylish is a subject put to rest. Several beauticians and professional photographers have declared that women look really stunning when they are currently pregnant. Today, women are even more aware when it comes to their looks because looking great is associated with a being the ultimate positive personality. It is time to get rid of those baggy and frumpy clothing that do not compliment your body; rather go for trendy, sophisticated and comfy clothes that make you an alluring mother-to-be.

 

This short article will enable you to find out more facts pertaining to the maternity items one should certainly take into consideration in order to appear stunning and feel relaxed too.

 

- First things first, definitely pick the best fabric according to the weather. Silk and flowy clothes look truly fantastic but they are slightly uneasy for a long term. As a replacement, one can opt for chiffon; they aren't only flowy but allow skin to relax.

 

- Secondly, flaunt your curves. Feel very proud of your pregnancy and flaunt your over-sized belly. Decide on apparels which are comfy and not tight or body-hugging.

 

- Thirdly, select outfits of right size. It's noticed that women decide on outfits that are loose and a lot more baggy for them but it's suggested to decide on outfits that fit you well because it's better to look wise compared to shabby. Select clothing that give assistance to your body especially to your spine and shoulder which in turn provides you correct posture.

 

- Fourthly, simplicity is most likely the trick. A Mother-to-be does not have to be a fashionista. Dress simply but elegantly. Comfort is the best key so, do not cover yourself by using hefty fashion accessories and so on. make it simple and classy.

 

- Lastly, pick clothing that are elastic. They're identified as clothes which grow together with you. All of us fully understand that as the month moves the size of the belly increases so, choose a cloth which is elastic and fits your body perfectly each time you wear it. Through this, you may wear them for a lot more months during your pregnancy period.

 

There are many maternal pieces that a person should own within their pregnancy. They're:.

 

1. Summer Maxi outfit - These are flowy, comfortable and does not make you appear shabby. Rather maxi clothing normally accentuate your body.

 

2. Designer Denims - They grow with you and have a comfy waistband. These denims are comfy and give you very good assistance. It guarantees that one does not miss their beloved set of denims even when they are currently pregnant.

 

3. Cross-over t-shirts - These tops are comfy and produce a drape effect. Easy to wear, these tops most definitely flatter your curves and enable you to look wonderful.

 

4. Winter coats - Seeing that winters are coming, long coats may be a truly great choice to cover you.

 

5. Comfy Pajamas - Pajamas and yoga pants are normally nice to wear plus they appear great for a laid-back look.

 

These are definitely some little guidelines that you may remember and write it on your listing. Pregnancy is all about feeling good and being spoiled. Even if you're currently pregnant still do not fail to remember to make heads turn. www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTxneHWSXhY_player

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Sunday Supplement Playlist: December 16th 2012

 

Steve played~

Arabesque- Tomita

Canticles Of The Sun & Moon- Anne Dudley

God Rest You Merry Gentlemen- Amy Mann

Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall- Robyn

I'll Keep My Light In My Window- Alice Russell

Rebel Rebel- Rickie Lee Jones

Farther Along- Spin It

The Ride- Juan As Policewoman

Never The Same Again- Work Shy

Spinnin' & Spinnin- Syreeta

Life On Mars- Kings Singers

Sleigh Ride- The Ronettes

Stormy- The Supremes

Take 5- Al Jarreau

 

Dom played~

Wanderin' Star- Lee Marvin

King In A Catholic Style- China Crisis

Don't You Know- Jan Hammer

Got To Be There- Michael Jackson

Over The Ocean- Here We Go Magic

Do U Lie?- Prince

What A Fool Believes- The Doobie Brothers

Iceblink Luck- Cocteau Twins

The Ghosts We Leave Behind- Furiku & Ty Jeffries

Sorrow- David Bowie

Stars- Dubstar

After The Goldrush- Prelude

In Denial- Pet Shop Boys & Kylie

Something In The Air- Thunderclap Newman

Chanson D'amour- Manhattan Transfer

She Won't Be Home- Erasure

When The Thames Froze- Smith & Burrows

Portsmouth- Mike Oldfield

 

Steve played~

Au Cinema- Lianne Le Havas

Winter Wonderland- Goldfrapp

You Keep Me Hanging On- The Supremes

Hands Off The Man- Barbra Streisand

Do My Thing- Estelle

I'm Not The Same- Donald Fagen

God Only Knows- The Beach Boys

All I Do- Tammi Terrell

You're Gonna Miss Me When I'm Gone- Madeleine Peryoux

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town- Jackson 5

With The Radio On- Erin Bode

Johnny Too Bad- The Sticklers

I Can't Go For That- Hall & Oates

Music Of Life- Cerrone

(Take Me To) Aruanda- Astrid Gilberto

I Can't Go On Without You- Dorothy Morrison

Esta Noche- Azalia Banks

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year- Andy Williams

What He Can Do- Celestial Choir

 

..& Dom played

Oom Pah Pah- Nancy from Oliver!

Hide & Seek- Howard Jones

Love Of My Life- Queen

Always- Steve Lawrence & Eydie Gorme

Ghetto Child- Detroit Spinners

Teardrop- Elbow

Gay Pirates- Cosmo Jarvis

Harley Davidson- Brigit Bardot

Like An Angel Passing Through My Room- Madonna [William Orbit demo]

Just My Imagination- Detroit Spinners

Louise- The Human League

That's Me- ABBA

Run For Home- Lindisfarne

Your Silent Face- New Order

Things Fall Apart- Christine

Since Yesterday- Strawberry Switchblade