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. Lettice’s beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, had organised a romantic dinner at the Savoy* for he and Lettice to celebrate his birthday. However, when Lettice arrived, she was confronted not with the smiling face of her beau, but the haughty and cruel spectre of his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia. Lady Zinnia, and Selwyn’s Uncle Bertrand had been attempting to marry him off to his cousin, 1923 debutante Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lady Zinnia had, up until that moment been snubbing Lettice, so Selwyn and Lettice arranged for Lettice to attend as many London Season events as possible where Selwyn and Pamela were also in attendance so that Lettice and Selwyn could spend time together, and at the same time make their intentions so well known that Lady Zinnia wouldn’t be able to avoid Lettice any longer. Zinnia is a woman who likes intrigue and revenge, and the revenge she launched upon Lettice that evening at the Savoy was bitterly harsh and painful. With a cold and calculating smile Lady Zinna announced that she had packed Selwyn off to Durban in South Africa for a year. She made a pact with her son: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with Lettice, if he comes back and doesn’t feel the same way about her as he did when he left, he agreed that he will marry Pamela, just as Bertrand and Lady Zinnia planned. If however, he still feels the same way about Lettice when he returns, Lady Zinnia agreed that she would concede and will allow him to marry her.
Leaving London by train that very evening, Lettice returned home to Glynes, where she stayed for a week, moving numbly about the familiar rooms of the grand Georgian country house, reading books from her father’s library distractedly to pass the time, whilst her father fed her, her favourite Scottish shortbreads in a vain effort to cheer her up. However, rather than assuage her broken heart, her father’s ministrations 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: keep designing interiors, keep shopping and most importantly, keep attending social functions where there are plenty of press photographers. “You may not be permitted to write to Selwyn,” Lady Sadie said wisely. “But Zinnia said nothing about the newspapers not writing about your plight or your feelings on your behest. Let them tell Selwyn that you still love him and are waiting for him. They get the London papers in Durban just as much as they get them here, and Zinnia won’t be able to stop a lovesick and homesick young man flipping to the society pages as he seeks solace in the faces of familiar names and faces, and thus seeing you and reading your words of commitment to him that you share through the newspaper men. Tell them that you are waiting patiently for Selwyn’s 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 in the lead up to the festive season. However, even she could only keep this up for so long, and was welcomed home with open and loving arms by her family for Christmas and the New Year. On New Year’s Eve, Lally, sitting next to Lettice, 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, and at Dorrington House with her sister and brother-in-law, she enjoyed quiet pursuits, spending quality time with her niece and nephews in the nursery, strolling the gardens with her sister or simply curling up in a window seat and reading.
However all this changed with a letter from her Aunt Egg in London, summoning 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 parties at Gossington in Scotland: the country residence 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.
Tonight we are in Lettice’s Mayfair drawing room where she is joined by Dickie and Margot so they can make plans together to drive up to Gossington for the weekend. As they settle down around Lettice’s black japanned coffee table in her Art Deco barrel tub armchairs and the Hepplewhite chair from her desk, the clatter of dishes echoes from the adjoining dining room as Edith, Lettice’s maid, clears away the plates from the light four course mid-week dinner she has just finished serving them.
“Now!” Dickie says matter-of-factly as he withdraws a canvas folder and places it on the table. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“Autocar Map for Motorists, England and Wales on card sections.**” Lettice reads aloud from the folder’s label.
“Oh not yet, Dickie darling!” Margot pleads. “Not until after Edith has served us tea and coffee. Then you can bore us with your new toy.”
“New toy?” Lettice queries.
“From Daddy.” Margot elucidates as she snuggles back into the white figures fabric of the tub chair she has commandeered, cradling a highball glass containing the remnants of her favourite tipple, a gin and tonic.
“Yes!” Dickie exclaims with a satisfied sigh as he sits back in the Hepplewhite chair. “Thank god for Daddy de Virre!”
“How so?” Lettice asks.
“Well, not only did Daddy organise for a monthly allowance for Dickie to be able to fill the motor as a Christmas gift,” Margot begins.
“But he also gave me this fantastic set of maps on card sections so that Margot and I can go on motor tours with the petrol he affords us.” Dickie interrupts his wife excitedly.
“Thus the new toy,” Margot says with a languid wave towards the folder on the table. “Dickie has done nothing but badger me about taking a motoring tour through the Cotswolds since we saw Mummy and Daddy at Hans Cresent on Christmas Eve.”
“What’s wrong with that, my love?” Dickie asks with a gormless grin as he looks lovingly towards his wife.
“What’s right about it, my love?” she retorts. “The Cotswolds are so… so…”
“Beautiful? Picturesque?” Dickie prompts her hopefully. “Charming?”
“So country, Dickie!” Margot responds with an irritated sigh.
“Well of course it’s the country, Margot my darling.” Dickie laughs. “That’s the point of a motor tour around the countryside.”
“But Dickie, you know I hate the country.” Margot replies. “It’s all dirt and mud,” she adds in disgust. “You can’t wear anything but sensible shoes and country tweeds or hard wearing fabrics in the most unflattering shades of brown or moss green at best.” She cringes in horror. “And it’s full cattle and bovine women with ploughman’s lunches, all with rosy cheeks and freckled faces brough on by too much country air and clean living.”
Lettice and Dickie both burst out laughing at Margot’s wry observation of the English countryside.
“But you like Penzance, Margot darling.” Dickie pipes up.
“That’s the seaside, Dickie,” Margot counters. “Besides, at least Penzance has shops, a picture theatre tearooms and other distractions.”
“The villages of the Cotswolds aren’t without the occasional tearoom, Margot darling.” Dickie assures his wife. “It’s how some country folk make their livings.”
“You didn’t just say that, did you Dickie?” Margot decries.
“What? There are tearooms in the Cotswolds. They aren’t without couth. I’m sure they have indoor plumbing too!”
“Not that, Dickie!” Margot hisses, flapping her hand at her husband. “I can’t believe you called them ‘country folk’.”
“Well, what’s wrong with that? They are country folk.”
“Are you completely feudal, like your father, Dickie darling?” Margot laughs mildly, shaking her head.
A clearing of a throat breaks into the conversation momentarily, causing all three friends to look away from each other to where Edith stands, patiently waiting to intrude. “Shall I serve tea now, Miss?”
“Oh,” Lettice says, contemplating for a moment. “Oh yes please, Edith.”
“And coffee too, if you can manage it, old girl.” Dickie adds.
“Since when did you develop a preference for coffee, Dickie?” Lettice asks with a quizzical look.
“Ever since he started spending time with Georgie Carter, the American dry goods heir.” Margot explains.
Silently Edith remembers the Sunday she and Frank went to collect her friend Hilda, who works as the Channons’ live-in maid, to take her to the Hammersmith Palias de Danse*** on their shared afternoon off. Hilda couldn’t leave until she had ground some coffee beans for Georgie Carter, the wealthy American married to Lettice and the Channons’ friend Priscilla. The Channons had been invited to dine at the Café Royal**** at the expense of Georgie, since the Channons seem perpetually to have financial difficulties, and as a result, the Channons invited the Carters back to their Hill Street flat for after supper coffee. This meant that Hilda had to do one of her most hated jobs: grind coffee beans to make real coffee for Georgie Carter, who is particular about his American style coffee. In the end, Frank helped her make the coffee grinds.
“It isn’t usual.” Lettice says seriously as she ponders the situation. She turns to her maid. “Do we have any coffee, Edith?”
“Of course, Miss.” Edith replies, having purposely ground some coffee beans earlier in the day, knowing that Mr. Channon had a penchant for coffee.
“Not that Camp Coffee*****, muck I hope, Edith!”
“Dickie!” Margot chides, giving him a glare. She looks apologetically up at Edith. “Please excuse my husband’s boorish manners, Edith. He’ll have whatever coffee you have at hand.”
“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Channon. I have coffee beans freshly ground especially for Mr. Channon.” Edith responds with a polite smile.
“Oh, you are a brick, Edith!” Lettice exclaims, clasping her jewel clad fingers, her bangles clanging together as they tumble down along her forearm. She beams her a sheepish smile as she adds, “What would we do without you.”
“I couldn’t say, Miss.” Edith replies, looking down, feeling the warmth of a blush fill her cheeks. “Will that be all, Miss?”
“Yes, thank you, Edith.” Lettice replies.
The maid bobs a quick curtsey, turns on her heel and walks back through the dining room to the green baize door that leads to the service area of the cavendish Mews flat.
“Really Dickie!” Margot hisses after Edith disappears through the door.
“Really what?” Dickie asks. “I was only asking for coffee.”
“Dickie!” Margot utters his name again. “This is Lettice’s flat we’re in. She would never serve you Camp Coffee!” She looks apologetically at Lettice for her husband’s inadvertent slight. “Would you Lettice darling?”
“I didn’t know whether we even had any coffee, Margot darling.” replies Lettice. “That’s more Edith’s domain as housekeeper, than me.”
“Ahh!” Margot sighs. “And of course, our Hilda is your Edith’s friend, so of course she must have told her of your penchant for freshly ground coffee, American style, Dickie!”
“Oh, off course!” Dickie exclaims. “Anyway, back to this country touring.”
“Oh not that ghastly business again!” Margot drains her glass before dropping it rather noisily onto the black japanned surface of the coffee table as an extension of her irritation.
“Yes that ‘ghastly business’ again, my love.”
“Dickie darling,” Lettice giggles as she shakes her head at her friend. “I think you are fighting a losing battle. Margot was born and bred in this city, as were her parents. You should know that the bright lights of London are always going to be more appealing than the meandering country lanes of the counties.”
“That’s exactly right! Thank you Lettice darling!” Margot exhales. “I hadn’t ever been to Cornwall before I married you, Dickie darling, so I’m hardly likely to want to go to the Cotswolds, am I?”
“You don’t know what you’re missing out on, my love.”
“Mud and… and what did you say, Margot darling?” Lettice begins. “Oh yes, bovine women!”
The three friends burst into laughter.
“Well,” Dickie says as he recovers from his joviality. “Margot darling you’re going to have to force yourself to like a country drive if we are going to go to Gossington for the Caxton’s Friday to Monday.”
“Oh well!” Margot enthuses. “That’s different, Dickie darling! An amusing weekend party with Sir John and Lady Caxton in Scotland will be worth driving through mud and seeing cattle…”
“And bovine country women.” adds Lettice cheekily.
“And bovine country women!” Margot agrees with a guilty smile. “Invitations to Gossington are few and far between. We can’t pass up this wonderful opportunity to enjoy the glittering company, and the generosity, of Sir John and Lady Gladys.”
“Which of course we have you to thank for, dear Lettice.” adds Dickie.
“Oh not so much me, as my Aunt Eglantyne.” Lettice clarifies.
“God bless Aunt Egg for managing to obtain the three of us invitations to one of the most exclusive of events. It’s harder to get to visit the Caxtons at Gossington than it is to meet the King and Queen at Buck House******!” exclaims Margot. “My question is, how did she arrange it, Lettice darling?”
“Well, that’s a good question. Having only arrived home this afternoon, I haven’t had a chance to ask her yet. I suppose the artistic connection is how Aunt Egg knows the Caxtons, although, I didn’t actually know that they were acquainted at all.”
“Well she must be more than acquainted with them if Aunt Egg could arrange for all of us to go.” Margot says.
“Yes, much to Lally’s disappointment.” Lettice adds.
“Lally?” Dickie queries.
“Yes, she had her nose put quite out of joint after Aunt Egg’s letter arrived at Dorrington House. She had all these plans for us.”
“Beastly boring country plans, no doubt.” Margot states.
“Hhhmmm… more pleasant, relaxing country pursuits,” Lettice corrects her friend politely with an arched eyebrow. “Which had to be curtailed because of this invitation. I think, even though she has no idea who Sir John and Lady Caxton are, Lally would have enjoyed being included in the party to Gossington.”
“I didn’t know Lally was particularly literary, or artistic, Lettice.” Margot notes.
“Oh she isn’t particularly.” Lettice admits. “I mean, she does enjoy painting, and Dorington House has a wonderful library that she and Charles have built up, however I wouldn’t say she is literary, nor artistic, not like Aunt Egg is.”
“That’s more you, Lettice darling.” Dickie remarks.
“Well, I was lucky. As the second daughter, and I think somewhat of a surprise child, my presence caught Mater somewhat off guard, so Pater was far more involved with arranging my education. He made sure I had governesses and tutors to teach me classic literature, and Aunt Egg appraised him of my artist talents early on to ensure that she could help cultivate them. Whereas Mater controlled every part of Lally’s education to ensure that she could arrange flowers, embroider, engage staff and run a household. In short she made her perfect to do just what Mater thinks all women should do: marry well. I think one of the few academic things Lally ever learned was to speak French.”
“Poor Lally.” Dickie opines.
“Oh I think all in all, Lally is quite happy with her lot in life, Dickie. Charles is a good husband, even if Lord Lanchenbury is a bit of a ghastly old lecher, what with his Gaiety Girls*******. Charles provides a beautiful home for Lally and the children, and she seems to enjoy playing the role of the local squire’s wife, opening fetes, chairing charities and attending the local Women’s Institute****** meetings. She’s doing exactly what she was brought up to do, and she doesn’t know a great deal beyond that.”
“Whereas you, our darling Lettice,” Margot reaches her hand across the table, encouraging Lettice to extend her own, grasping it tightly when she does. “You are one of London’s Bright Young Things********, and are destined to be more than the local squire’s wife.”
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Margot realises what she has said, and its implications in Lettice’s current circumstances. The broad smile falls from her expertly painted lips as she feels Lettice’s hand withdraw from her own as though she had been burn by the flames of the fire cracking in the grate.
“Oh I’m so sorry, Lettice!” Margot raises her elegant painted hand to her mouth. “I didn’t… err, I mean, I…”
“Its quite alright, Margot darling!” Lettice replies brightly with false joviality. “Perhaps Lady Zinnia is right. A love match between Selwyn and I wouldn’t work.”
“What tosh!” Dickie bristles awkwardly, looking accusingly at his wife. “Of course it will work.”
“You just have to stay the course, like Lady Sadie said.” Margot adds, hoping to cover her social gaffe with genuine care and concern for her best friend.
“I’ll never be like Lally and play the role of the happy squire’s wife.” Lettice admits.
“Selwyn wouldn’t love you the way he does, if you were, Lettice darling.” Margot assures her friend. “And he does love you. We’ve seen it, haven’t we Dickie.” She looks to her husband, who nods his ascent. “And we should know what a love match is, darling.” She pauses momentarily and licks her lips. “That was rather clumsy of me, Lettice. Please forgive me.”
Lettice stretches out her hand to Margot again. “There is nothing to forgive, Margot darling. It was an accident, and I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”
Just at that moment, Edith arrives with a silver tray laden with Lettice’s best Art Deco Royal Doulton tea set featuring geometric falling leaves in green and gold and a silver coffee pot. “Tea, and coffee, Miss.” she says as she starts to set the tray down.
The trio of friends fall silent whilst Edith stoops and unpacks all the cups, saucers and panoply of tea and coffee serving pieces. Standing up again, she bobs a curtsey and then retreats.
“Right!” Dickie says. “Now that we have tea and coffee, can I unpack my new toy, my love?”
“Only if you must.” Replies Margot as she takes up an empty cup and moves it closer towards her on the coffee table. “And so long as you promise not to talk about the bucolic charms of the Cotswolds ad nauseum to me.”
“I promise.” Dickie agrees hurriedly as he opens the canvas folder and starts to pull out the rectangular numbered cards which slap the surface of the coffee table. “Now. Let’s see…” he mutters as he begins sorting. “Now if…”
The two ladies watch with interest as Dickie compares the numbers printed in a black circle on the top right-hand corner of the reverse side of each square with the master map printed below it.
“Dickie,” Lettice says, gently interrupting his muttering. “Dickie.”
“Hhhmmm?” Dickie murmurs distractedly in reply.
“Dickie, this won’t work.” Lettice replies.
Dickie glances up from the jumble of cards, letting the one in his fingers fall as he says, “Now don’t you start, Lettice darling. Don’t tell me as one of London’s Bright Young Things, you’ve suddenly developed an aversion to a country drive like my wife.” He glares at Margot, who merely shrugs lazily as her kohl********* encircled eyes close slightly.
“No, I mean these maps won’t help get us to Gossington, Dickie.” Lettice replies, her voice calm and well modulated.
“Don’t be ridiculous! What do you mean, Lettice darling?” he queries. “Of course they will! The roads and topography of England and Wales haven’t changed since this was printed earlier in the year!”
“But that’s my point exactly, Dickie.” Lettice replies. “These maps are for England and Wales. Gossington is in Scotland.”
“Scotland?” Dickie asks before looking down at his jumble of map squares. “Scotland!” he says, registering what Lettice has just said.
“Yes, the maps will get us to the Scottish border, but what do you propose we do after that?” Lettice asks.
“Oh blast!” Dickie exclaims.
Lettice and Margot start laughing, and Dickie joins in, reluctantly at first, and then more wholeheartedly as the girls’ peals lift his suddenly deflated spirits again.
*The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D’Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte’s family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte’s most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London’s most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.
**Produced in the early 1920s, The Autocar map for motorists of England and Wales (plus some of Scotland and the Isle of Man) was printed on twenty card sections – featuring contour colouring and mileage intervals, boasted – at a scale of eight miles to an inch. It could be bought from “leading bookshops” or by post in 1921 for fifteen shillings and sixpence (about £54.00 by today’s standards), plus a “stout and attractive” leather envelope could be had for six and six (about £23.00).
***The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management – and later that of his wife – the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.
****Camp Coffee is a concentrated syrup which is flavoured with coffee and chicory, first produced in 1876 by Paterson & Sons Ltd, in Glasgow. In 1974, Dennis Jenks merged his business with Paterson to form Paterson Jenks plc. In 1984, Paterson Jenks plc was bought by McCormick & Company. Legend has it (mainly due to the picture on the label) that Camp Coffee was originally developed as an instant coffee for military use. The label is classical in tone, drawing on the romance of the British Raj. It includes a drawing of a seated Gordon Highlander (supposedly Major General Sir Hector MacDonald) being served by a Sikh soldier holding a tray with a bottle of essence and jug of hot water. They are in front of a tent, at the apex of which flies a flag bearing the drink’s slogan, "Ready Aye Ready". A later version of the label, introduced in the mid-20th century, removed the tray from the picture, thus removing the infinite bottles element and was seen as an attempt to avoid the connotation that the Sikh was a servant, although he was still shown waiting while the kilted Scottish soldier sipped his coffee. The current version, introduced in 2006, depicts the Sikh as a soldier, now sitting beside the Scottish soldier, and with a cup and saucer of his own. Camp Coffee is an item of British nostalgia, because many remember it from their childhood. It is still a popular ingredient for home bakers making coffee-flavoured cake and coffee-flavoured buttercream. In late 1975, Camp Coffee temporarily became a popular alternative to instant coffee in the UK, after the price of coffee doubled due to shortages caused by heavy frosts in Brazil.
*****”Buck House” is the diminutive name for Buckingham Palace. Buckingham Palace is a royal residence in London and the administrative headquarters of the monarch of the United Kingdom. Located in the City of Westminster, the palace is often at the centre of state occasions and royal hospitality. Buckingham Palace has 775 rooms. These include 19 State rooms, 52 Royal and guest bedrooms, 188 staff bedrooms, 92 offices and 78 bathrooms. In measurements, the building is 108 metres long across the front, 120 metres deep (including the central quadrangle) and 24 metres high.
******Gaiety Girls were the chorus girls in Edwardian musical comedies, beginning in the 1890s at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in the shows produced by George Edwardes.
*******The Women’s Institute (WI) is a community-based organization for women in the United Kingdom, Canada, South Africa and New Zealand. The movement was founded in Stoney Creek, Ontario, Canada, by Erland and Janet Lee with Adelaide Hoodless being the first speaker in 1897. It was based on the British concept of Women’s Guilds, created by Rev Archibald Charteris in 1887 and originally confined to the Church of Scotland. From Canada the organization spread back to the motherland, throughout the British Empire and Commonwealth, and thence to other countries. Many WIs belong to the Associated Country Women of the World organization. Each individual WI is a separate charitable organisation, run by and for its own members with a constitution agreed at national level but the possibility of local bye-laws. WIs are grouped into Federations, roughly corresponding to counties or islands, which each have a local office and one or more paid staff.
********The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London.
*********Cosmetics in the 1920s were characterized by their use to create a specific look: lips painted in the shape of a Cupid’s bow, kohl-rimmed eyes, and bright cheeks brushed with bright red blush. The heavily made-up look of the 1920s was a reaction to the demure, feminine Gibson Girl of the pre-war period. In the 1920s, an international beauty culture was forged, and society increasingly focused on novelty and change. Fashion trends influenced theatre, films, literature, and art. With the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb in Egypt, the fashion of kohl-rimmed eyes like Egyptian pharaohs was very popular in the early 1920s.
This 1920s upper-class drawing room is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures including items from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Central to our story is The Autocar map for motorists of England and Wales on card sections which is spread out across Lettice’s low black japanned coffee table. It is a 1:12 size artisan miniature made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Ken Blythe was famous in miniature collectors’ circles mostly for the miniature books that he made: all being authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection. However, he did not make books exclusively. He also made other small pieces like amazing set of maps. What might amaze you, looking at these maps is that they are all numbered on the back and piece together to show a topographical map of England Wales, just like its real life equivalent! To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a real 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 and through his estate courtesy of the generosity of 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 black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out.
Lettice’s “falling leaves” tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era.
The Vogue magazine from 1920s sitting on the side table beneath lettice’s teacup was made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States.
Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The Art Deco tub chair upholstered in white embossed fabric is made of black japanned wood and has a removable cushion, just like its life-sized equivalent. The Hepplewhite chair to the right of the photo features a hand woven rattan seat and has been hand painted with floral designs across its back and along its arms.
The Chinese folding screen in the background I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.
Posted by raaen99 on 2024-02-04 05:25:00
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