Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today is Tuesday and we are in the drawing room of Lettice’s flat where Edith, her maid, and Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s charwoman*, are giving the room a good early morning spring clean whilst Lettice lies abed. Edith is grateful that Mrs. Boothby comes every Tuesday, every third Thursday of the month from her home in Poplar to do all the hard jobs. Unlike her previous positions, Edith does not have to scrub the black and quite chequered kitchen linoleum, nor polish the parquetry floors, not do her most hated job, black lead the stovetop. Mrs. Boothby does them all without complaint, with reliability and to a very high standard. She is also very handy on cleaning and washing up duty with Edith after one of Lettice’s extravagant cocktail parties, and is also handy with the dusting cloth.
“I bet this fing ‘as been riningin’ off the ‘ook, ever since that article in that fancy toff magazine, Edith dearie.” Mrs. Boothby remarks to Edith as she lifts the telephone off the small square table where it stands and wipes it over with her damp cloth.
“Oh that infernal contraption!” replies Edith with irritation as she turns around from dusting a tall vase of flowers. “It’s the constant bane of my life! Miss Lettice tells me I have to get used to answering it because any household I work in is likely to have it these days.”
“Well,” the old Cockney char answers, carefully putting the telephone on the carpet. “I have to agree wiv Miss Lettice there. They’s poppin’ up like mushrooms up ‘ere in the West End nahdays.”
“They are unnatural if you ask me.” Edith mutters. She pauses her cleaning and glares at the sparking silver and Bakelite** contraption with contempt. “Miss Lettice might be fine talking with duchesses and grand ladies, but I’m not used to it.”
“Remember, Edith dearie,” Mrs. Boothby says cheerily as she runs the cloth over the surface of the black japanned table, lifting a vase of yellow roses and lilies indispersed with Gypsophila***as she does. “No matter ‘ow ‘igh ‘n mighty they may be, they’s still gotta use the privy. Lawd knows I clean ‘em.” She winks cheekily at Edith.
Edith laughs lightly at the old woman’s remark.
“Well it’s true. They’s still ‘uman’ bein’s, even if they do fink themselves better than some of us.” A steeliness crosses her face. “You and me, we does the fings they think themselves too grand ta do, and we deserve a bit ‘a respect for that.”
“You sound like Frank, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith says with a gentle and wistful smile. “He thinks the changing times mean that our class is on the way up, and Miss Lettice’s is on the way down.”
“Lawd I ‘ope not!” gasps Mrs. Boothby. “I’ll be out of a job then. If they’s comin’ dahn, they won’t be able ta afford ta employ me no more. Then what’ll I do wiv meself?”
“I think Frank is dreaming too, Mrs. Boothby. We’ll always have haves and have nots.”
“I don’t mind the ‘ave nots servin’ the ‘aves meself. Nah! I just mean that we works ‘ard for a livin’, and we should get a bit more respect. Miss Lettice is a good employer, but some of them ladies I clean for look down their snooty nose as though I was made a dirt.” The old woman starts dusting the gilded edge of an ornate picture frame. “Actually,” she adds. “Its them what’s not so far removed from us what’s often worse.”
“Who do you mean, Mrs. Boothby?”
“Its them middle-classes what’s often the worst snobs. They’s managed to keep their ‘ands nice and clean finally, and they won’t lower theyselves no more to gettin’ ‘em dirty again.” She screws up her nose and nods knowingly to Edith.
“Yes, that’s certainly true.” Edith agrees as she moves towards the Chippendale china cabinet containing all of Lettice’s fine Limoges china collection, thinking of old Widow Hounslow, her parents’ landlady in Harlesden, whom Edith worked for when she first went into service. The old woman was most certainly middle-class, and mean to boot, treating poor Edith very shabbily throughout her tenure as the woman’s cook and maid-of-all-work. “I’m certainly glad to be employed by Miss Lettice. She’s a very nice employer as far as I’m concerned.”
Edith carefully opens up the black japanned Chippendale style china display cabinet and begins to dust the dainty pieces of Limoges porcelain on its glass shelves. As she lifts an elegant jug, she admires its fine, almost translucent qualities, the finely painted bunch of flowers depicted on its bulbous side and its finely gilded lip. She sighs.
“That’s a deep sigh, dearie.” remarks Mrs. Boothby as she runs a wet cloth across the surface of Lettice’s blanc de chine vase to the left of the Chippendale cabinet. “Are you alright.”
“What?” Edith asks distractedly. “Oh, oh, yes I’m fine, Mrs. Boothby. Just daydreaming.”
“Well, we all gotta dream of somefink, don’t we, dearie?” the old Cockney woman muses with a kind smile. “Is it young Frank Leadbetter you’re dreamin’ of then?”
Edith smiles at the mention of her beau. “Actually no, Mrs. Boothby.”
“Lawd if I were you, ‘e’s all I’d be daydreamin’ about.”
“Mrs. Boothby!” Edith gasps, blushing.
“Well,” the old woman says matter-of-factly, hanging her damp cloth on the edge of the stand of the blanc de chine vase and putting her hands on her hips as she groans and stretches. “You’re a woman, and ‘e’s a dishy young man.” She winks cheekily and smiles. “Why shouldn’t yer dream of ‘im? They’s worse fings to dream ‘bout.”
“I’ll have you know,” Edith says, holding the Limoges jug out in front of her, between she and the charwoman. “I was just thinking how lovely it would be to have such a beautiful piece of china.”
Mrs. Boothby looks at the jug in Edith’s hand and screws up her nose. “It’s a bit to fine an’ fancy for me own tastes.”
“But you have lots of lovely china at your house, Mrs. Boothby. I’m in awe of how many pretty things you have, like my Mum does.”
“Well, I do like me pretty bits ‘n pieces, but I like ‘em all bein’ odd pieces of bric-a-brac: not all matchin’ like that.” She waves a finger, worn with hard graft and gnarled with arthritis at the open china display cabinet. “This ‘ere looks too much like a museum if youse asks me, all perfect and perfectly displayed.”
“Well, I suppose this is a bit of showroom for Miss Lettice.” Edith replies as she looks around. “Especially now that her work is so sought after, since her interiors appeared in Country Life. So, I suppose things have to look perfect and be well displayed, so that her clients can know that she will do a good job designing their rooms.”
“It’s all a bit too formal for my taste.” the old woman counters. “I like it when everyfink’s a bit of a hotch-potch. It’s more ‘omely, you know what I mean?” Edith nods. “Besides, that way, if somefink gets broken, it don’t matter so much. Lawd knows plenty’s been broken ‘round my house.”
“Yes, I suppose the way Ken lollops about, accidents happen.” Edith remarks, noting Mrs. Boothby’s disabled adult son who resides with the old Cockney woman at her home in Poplar.
“’E can’t ‘elp it, Lawd love ‘im.” Mrs. Boothby says with the beatific smile of an indulgent mother. “’E tries so hard ta do the right fing, but ‘e’s a clumsy one, and there’s a fact. ‘E knows not ta touch that nice blue ‘n white tea set what you drank out of when you came to my ‘ouse. I don’t mind ‘im droppin’ a bowl or plate ‘n such, but I can’t have me guests drinkin’ out of odd cups ‘n’ saucers.”
“My Mum’s the same, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith laughs as she puts the jug back and picks up the next piece to dust with her feather duster. “When it’s just Dad, or me, or my brother at home, we drink out of all the odd teacups and eat off the non matching plates she has bought from various places over the years. Yet when she has guests, she brings out the best china.”
“I should fink so, dearie!” Mrs. Boothby agrees. “It’s always ‘bout puttin’ on the very best show.”
“Yes, I suppose so, like when our awful landlady, old Widow Hounslow comes to call, or more recently when Frank came and had a Sunday roast with us for the first time. Mum pulled out all the stops for him: white tablecloth, the special gilt dinner plates that we don’t even get to eat off on Christmas Day.”
“Well, she probably wanted to make a good impression on your young Frank.”
“She certainly did that, Mrs. Boothby. The kitchen table looked beautiful, all decked out.”
“And what impression did Frank make on yer mum ‘n dad then? Are they gettin’ along?”
“Well, Dad likes him, especially since he managed to get tickets for us all to go to the White Horse Final**** at Empire Stadium*****.” Edith starts dusting the teacups on the second shelf.
“’E’s a dark ‘orse, that Frank Leadbetter!” gasps Mrs. Boothby. “’Ow did ‘e manage that, then?”
“It’s all above board, Mrs. Boothby, I can assure you. He knows someone who’s lady friend works for the ticketing office, and she supplied us with the tickets.”
“Well, if I were your Dad, I’d like Frank too, then. What about your Mum?”
“She’s less certain of Frank.”
“Why? Ain’t she ‘appy that ‘er only daughter got ‘erself a chap. They’s plenty of girls, maybe not as pretty as you, but nonetheless, what don’t ‘ave no beaus.”
“Yes,” sighs Edith, depositing a clean cup and saucer featuring a russet rose painted on them back onto the glass shelf from where they came. “Like my best friend Hilda who works for Mr. and Mrs. Channon in Hill Street.”
“Oh yes! I clean for ‘em. I knows your ‘Ilda.”
“I made her a lovely new dance frock from some russet art silk****** we bought from Mrs. Minkin’s for when Frank, she and I go to the Hammersmith Palais*******, but it doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference as far as young men taking an interest in her.”
“I’m glad that sewin’ machine my Ken found ya is bein’ put to good use, Edith dearie. As for young ‘Ilda.” the old Cockney char pauses for a moment, running her tongue alongv the inside of her cheek, thinking about how to say what she wants. “She’s nice, a bit on the ‘efty side if you’ll permit me, but nice nonetheless. I suspect she likes ‘er custard buns a bit too much.” She arches an eyebrow knowingly.
“Yes, Hilda has always had a sweet tooth, spending some of her wages on lollies and chocolate. I think Hilda’s mum used to dip her dummy in treacle to get her to take it as a baby, or so Hilda tells me.”
“Well, I don’t like to say it ‘bout your friend, Edith dearie, but I think she may be dreamin’ a bit if she thinks a frock, ‘owever pretty and well made by you, is goin’ ta ‘elp her find a young man.”
“Oh, please don’t say that, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith defends her friend with a fierce sense of protectiveness. “She’s such a lovely person.”
“I know she is, dearie, but its those young men what ‘ave their pick of beauties like you, what won’t see ‘ow lovely she is.”
“Looks aren’t everything, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith replies seriously as she crouches down and starts dusting the bottom shelf of the Chippendale cabinet.
“I know, dearie.” Mrs. Boothby starts running her damp cloth through the nooks and crannies of the ornate back of the Chippendale chair next to the cabinet. “But they do ‘elp. Anyway, goin’ back to me question: don’t yer Mum like Frank?”
“Oh she likes him well enough, Mrs. Boothby, but she doesn’t like some of his ideas about classes coming up or going down, but he’s learning to temper his attitudes before Mum, and I think we’re slowly winning her over.”
“That’s good to ‘ear, Edith dearie.”
The two continue cleaning in companionable silence for a short while, the sound of Mrs. Boothby’s cloth slapping against the black japanned wood of the chair and the tickimng clock the only sounds breaking into the early morning quiet of the drawing room.
“Anyway, goin’ back to that china what youse love so much.” Mrs. Boothby says at length. “Who knows whatcha goin’ ta get when you get married to young Frank. I got a lovely floral dinner set from me old Mum and Dad when Bill and I got wed.”
Edith pauses her dusting. “You’re as bad as my Dad, Mrs. Boothby! He keeps going on about Frank and I getting married. We’re not making any plans just yet. I want to keep working and saving, and Frank wants to save money too so he can give me a nice home. That will be ages away yet.”
“Well,” Mrs. Boothby mumbles knowingly. “We’ll see ‘ow long it actually takes. The power of love ‘as a way of speedin’ fings up a bit, dearie.”
“Now I think it’s you who is dreaming, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith laughs good-naturedly as the clock on the mantle chimes half past seven in the morning.
*A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.
**Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.
***Gypsophila is a genus of flowering plants in the carnation family, Caryophyllaceae. They are native to Eurasia, Africa, Australia, and the Pacific Islands. Turkey has a particularly high diversity of Gypsophila taxa, with about 35 endemic species. SomeGypsophila are introduced species in other regions. Commonly known as baby's breath, it has been a popular gift for baby showers for years now, which is where some say its name originates from. However, alternative perspectives suggest that because they're small and delicate, the name Baby's breath reflects their use as a small whisper of an accent amongst other flowers.
****The first football match to be played at the newly opened Wembley Stadium in April 1923 was between the Bolton Wanderers and West Ham United. This match became known as the White Horse final, and was played just a few days after the completion of the stadium.
*****Originally known as Empire Stadium, London’s Wembley Stadium was built to serve as the centerpiece of the British Empire Exhibition. It took a total of three hundred days to construct the stadium at a cost of £750,000. The stadium was completed on the 23rd of April 1923, only a few days before the first football match, between the Bolton Wanderers and West Ham United, was to take place at the stadium. The stadium's first turf was cut by King George V, and it was first opened to the public on 28 April 1923. Much of Humphry Repton's original Wembley Park landscape was transformed in 1922 and 1923 during preparations for the British Empire Exhibition. First known as the "British Empire Exhibition Stadium" or simply the "Empire Stadium", it was built by Sir Robert McAlpine for the British Empire Exhibition of 1924 (extended to 1925).
******The first successful artificial silks were developed in the 1890s of cellulose fibre and marketed as art silk or viscose, a trade name for a specific manufacturer. In 1924, the name of the fibre was officially changed in the U.S. to rayon, although the term viscose continued to be used in Europe.
*******The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.
This 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:
Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden china cabinet with its mirrored back is a Chippendale design. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child. All date from the 1950s and have green backstamps on them. They come from various Limoges miniature tea sets that I own.
The high backed back japanned chair next to the china cabinet is Chippendale too. It has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric.
Edith’s feather duster leaning against the china cabinet door I made myself using fledgling feathers (very spring) which I picked up off the lawn one day thinking they would come in handy in my miniatures collection sometime. I bound them with thread to the handle which is made from a fancy ended toothpick!
The vase of yellow lilies and roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium, whilst the tall vase of flowers to the right of the china cabinet has been made by Falcon Miniatures, who are well known for their lifelike floral creations.
The small green painted lidded urn on the understorey of the round table to the right of the photo is in reality a tiny antique Chinese incense burner with several ornate holes in the lid to hold the incense sticks. I bought it at a flea market some fifteen years ago.
To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase.
The green glass comport on the coffee table is an artisan miniature made from hand spun glass and acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. The geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
