Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid, is staying with her parents for Christmas whilst Lettice visits her own family in Wiltshire. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith. What is especially exciting is that Edith's younger brother, Bert, is home for Christmas too. He is a dining saloon steward aboard a passenger ship, so he is lucky to be on shore leave just in time of Christmas!
The kitchen has always been the heart of Edith’s family home, and today it has a particularly festive feel about it, as it is Christmas Morning and not only are there strings of brightly coloured paper chains strung around the room, draped over the old Welsh dresser, across the mantle of the kitchen range and across the room from corner to corner, hanging in jolly festoons, but the kitchen table is covered in Christmas cards and presents. Edith, her parents and brother all sit around the table, arrayed in pyjamas and robes, exchanging Christmas gifts in the warmth of the old kitchen range, before they get ready and begin preparations for a very special Christmas Day lunch.
“Oh thank you, Edith love!” George gasps as he tears away the paper around a stack of books. “Conan Doyle.” he purrs in delight as he appraises the covers. “How delightful.”
“Merry Christmas, Dad.” Edith says joyfully. “I hope you haven’t read them.”
“Even if I have, Edith love,” her father replies with unbridled pleasure. “They aren’t as fine as these copies,” He runs his fingers lovingly along the spines. ‘Especially if I only borrowed them from the local lending library. Now I shall have my very own copies to go back to time and time again, whenever I please.”
“Three volumes!” gasps Ada as she places a freshly refilled pot of tea into the centre of the table, where there is just space to put it amidst the piles of presents, collection of cards and discarded wrapping. “You spoil your dad, Edith love!”
“And why shouldn’t I be spoiled, Ada?” George asks rhetorically. “After all, it is Christmas.” Then without waiting for a response from his wife he faces his daughter and says, “Merry Christmas, Edith love. I think you’ll like your gift from your Mum and me.”
“I’m sure I will, Dad.” Edith assures him with a smile. “And you will get your own share of spoiling, Mum.” she adds, glancing at her mother, who pulls a face and flaps her hand dismissively at her daughter.
“I’m looking forward to seeing that, chortles George as he takes up an old Edwardian edition of ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’* with a beautiful blue leather binding with gilding on its cover and spine.
“How did you manage to afford three volumes of Conan Doyle for Dad, Edith?” Bert whispers to his sister.
“Well,” she hisses quietly back. “Miss Lettice uses a bookseller down Charring Cross who happens to do a brisque trade in well priced second-hand volumes from old country house libraries.”
“Clever big sister.” Bert nods his approval as he and his sister see how happy their father looks as he thumbs his new edition lovingly.
“Now it’s your turn, Edith love.” Ada says, pushing a present across the table over the tablecloth to her daughter. “From your dad and me. Merry Christmas, love.”
“Merry Christmas, Edith love.” adds George, putting his book aside as he pays attention to his daughter sitting across from him at the table.
“Bookends!” gasps Edith as she opens the bulky and heavy Christmas gift from her parents. “Oh, how did you know Mum and Dad?”
“Call it intuition, Edith love.” Ada remarks with a happy smile from her comfortable seat in her Windsor chair next to her daughter.
“Or careful eavesdropping from your Mum.” George adds with a chuckle.
“You’ve got some crust, George Watsford!” Ada turns to her portly husband wrapped up in his deep red and green chequered robe in his seat at the table and gives him an admonishing wag with her finger. “Whose idea was it to get these for Edith? Eh?” She cock an eyebrow knowingly at her husband.
“Mine.” he admits quietly.
“And why did we settle on these bookends as a gift, may I ask?” Ada continues before he can add anything else.
George’s cheeks flush bright red. “Because I overheard Edith talking about getting some from the Caledonian Markets** to Frank one Sunday when they were both here for tea.” George admits guiltily.
“Now who’s been eavesdropping, eh?” Ada crows triumphantly with a cheeky smile as she watches her husband squirm in his seat, before bursting out laughing and gently giving his hand a loving squeeze.
“Oh Dad!” laughs Edith. “You are a one!”
“Do you really like them, Edith?” Bert asks from his seat next to his sister.
“Oh yes, Bert! Don’t you think they are beautiful?” Edith replies enthusiastically. “I’ve been wedging my books between my sewing box and my sewing machine on the chest of drawers at Miss Lettice’s. Every time I go to do some sewing, all my romance novels fall down.” She admits. “Now I won’t need to worry.” She pauses. “Why, do you want them, Bert?” She suddenly looks down protectively upon the gaily glazed bookends of cottages painted a bright yellow with red roofs.
“Oh no, Edith!” Bert assures her, holding his hands up in defence. “I’ve got nowhere to put them when I’m aboard ship, and anyway they could get broken in some of the stormy seas we go through en route to Australia and back.” Then he adds, “No, I just hope you won’t find my gift a disappointment after them, is all.”
“Oh Bert!” gasps Edith. “How can you even think such a thing?” She reaches across to him and tousles his unruly bed hair lovingly. “You always put such thought into my nice gifts. Just look at that wonderful picnic basket you brought me back from Australia. Whatever you give me, I know I shall love!”
“Alright then,” Bert says, suitably reassured. “Open my gift up next then.”
“Not until you’ve opened up yours from me first, Bert.” she replies.
“Oh, alright then.” Bert agrees. “Card first though.”
“Good boy! Cards are always first,” agrees his mother from across the table as she tops up her favourite gilt edged teacup featuring a bright yellow sunflower with more tea from the Brown Betty*** sitting amidst the cards and Christmas wrapping detritus quickly covering the kitchen tabletop.
Bert admires the bright old fashioned Victorian lettering spelling Happy New Year intertwined with Christmas garlands on Edith’s card to him. He reads her season’s greetings written inside in his sister’s neat copperplate writing. “Thanks awfully, Edith.” he says at length.
“Merry Christmas Bert!” Edith replies cheerfully. “It’s so wonderful to have you home this Christmas.”
“Here! Here!” agrees their father as he takes a sip of morning tea from his own blue and white teacup. “Edith missed you so much last Christmas, didn’t you love?”
“I did, Dad.”
“We all missed him.” Ada remarks, joining her daughter in an agreeing nod.
“Yes we did. And it’s especially grand you’re here,” adds George. “Considering that this will be an extra special Christmas this year, what with Edith’s young man, Frank, and his gran joining us for Christmas tea later on.”
“Best you crack on with opening your gift then, Bert!” urges Edith, indicating with widened eyes at the rectangular parcel wrapped up in brown paper and tied with twine before him. “Or else we won’t have exchanged gifts before they arrive.”
“Well,” remarks Ada, patting the sides of her head where her mousey brown hair streaked with silver greys has been wound up in curling papers. “I certainly don’t want Mrs. McTavish to find me sitting here in my robe and curling papers. So yes, hurry up and unwrap your gift, Bert!”
Bert gasps as he tears the brown shop paper away to reveal a smart copy of ‘The Eye of Osiris’***. “Oh hoorah Edith! What a spiffing big sister you are to be sure!” He jumps up from his seat and enfolds his sister in a warm embrace.
“Merry Christmas, Bert.” she says again as he holds her closely to him and she inhales his sleep accented scent intermixed with Lux Flakes***** and Sunlight Soap******.
Sitting back in his chair again, Bert remarks, “I’ll get into trouble for falling asleep waiting table in the dining saloon if this is as good as ‘The Red Thumb Mark’, Edith. I didn’t want to put that down and turn out the light at night. I kept getting growled at by the other stewards I was sharing a cabin with when I was reading it, because all they wanted to do was kip, and all I wanted to do was read ‘The Red Thumb Mark’.”
Edith and Bert laugh happily together at Bert’s anecdote.
“I told you we should have bought him a torch******* for Christmas, Ada,” George chuckles from his chair. “Rather than a diary.”
“Oh no, Dad!” exclaims Bert. “I needed a new diary for 1924.” He picks up the brown leatherette********* diary from beneath the cream and brown Richard Austin Freeman mystery novel and holds it proudly aloft. “I need something to record my adventures on the high seas in.”
“Not too high, I hope,” mutters Ada in mild concern. “Or too adventurous, or too many, Bert love.”
“Never, Mum.” Bert assures her. “Haven’t I always come home to you?”
“Yes,” agrees his mother. “And I want you to keep doing so.” She wags her finger warningly at him. “So make sure you do, Bert love.”
“Well, keep giving me ripping presents, Mum,” he replies cheekily. “And I will! You can save the torch for me for my birthday.” He laughs good-naturedly.
“Oh you are an awful tease, Bert.” chuckles Edith.
“Right!” he says in return. “I’ve opened my gift. Now it’s time to open yours Edith, and then we can all see what you and Frank are giving Mum, since you made such a fuss about it and all.”
“Alright Bert.” Edith acquiesces as she picks up the creamy white envelope with her name written on it in her brother’s messy hand. “I love the card.” she remarks after opening it, smiling down at the portly Father Christmas standing with a sack full of toys with the jolly face.
“Oh, fie the card, Edith.” Bert says, gently nudging the white tissue paper wrapped gift. He then looks apologetically at Ada’s aghast face. “Sorry Mum, I know that flies in the face about what you taught us about cards, but I had to nurse this home on the voyage and it nearly got broken along the way.”
“What on earth is it then?” laughs Edith.
“Open it up and you’ll see, Edith.” Bert replies softly as he holds his breath in anticipation.
Edith’s dainty, careworn fingers tremble as she carefully unwraps the white tissue from around the misshapen bundle, revealing first a pink and then a yellow gilt edged flower. She gasps.
“What is it, Edith love?” Ada asks, intrigued as she cranes her neck to see what sits within the frothy froufrou of tissue paper.
“It’s a trinket box in the shape of a flower basket!” Edith exclaims, lifting it carefully out of its protective nest and holding it aloft so that her parents can see the dainty piece of creamy white pottery with hand painted flowers. “Oh it’s so pretty! Thank you Bert!”
“You’re welcome Edith!” Bert replies. “Merry Christmas!”
“I say, Bert old chap,” George declares in admiration of his son’s thoughtful gift to his sister. “That’s a fancy little box and that’s a fact!”
“Where on earth did you get it, Bert?” Ada asks in an adulated whisper.
“Well, as you know, we stop in Cobh on the voyage to Australia.” Bert begins.
“Where Bert?” George asks, perplexed, his forehead furrowing as he asks.
“Cobh, Dad… err Queenstown.”
“Oh, Queenstown in Ireland? Well, why didn’t you just say so**********.”
“Oh hush, George!” Ada hisses, waving her left hand distractedly at her husband. “Bert doesn’t need you interjecting into his story.”
“Well,” George exclaims open mouthed in mock horror. He folds his arms akimbo as he snuggles into the sagging cushions wedged behind him. “Pardon me for breathing on Christmas Day in my own house.”
Ada gives him a momentary wry look before returning her attention to her son, leaning forward towards him as she speaks. “Ignore your father, Bert love, and go on with your story.”
“Oh yes, do, Bert! I’d love to know where this pretty trinket box came from.” Edith says, running her fingers admiringly over the dainty painted flowers.
“Well, when we docked in Cobh… err I mean Queenstown, to take on passengers for the voyage to Australia, a few bumboats*********** came up alongside the Demosthenes************ and Irish tinkers came aboard to sell their wares to the waiting first and second-class passengers. Anyway, I was off duty and was wandering down to the stewards’ lounge for a cup of tea, when I saw a few of the stewardesses clustering around a tinker who had come below decks to sell her wares. We don’t often get the pleasure of someone selling stuff to the crew, so I joined them to see what she had. They were oohing and aahing over all the lace she had, but I spotted the trinket box for Edith.”
“I hope she didn’t fleece you, and you got a good price for it.” Ada says. “It’s awfully pretty, but those Irish can be rogues.”
“I can’t tell you, Mum.” Bert replies, blushing as he does. “It’s a Christmas gift, so there is to be no talk as to its cost.”
“She fleeced you, then,” Ada declares with an indulgent smile. “Well and truly! You always were a soft touch.”
“Oh enough about me, and my gift for Edith.” Bert flaps his hand at his mother. “I want to see what Edith and Frank have bought you in that big box.”
“So do I,” agrees George, his interest piqued by the box wrapped up in butcher’s paper and tied with red and yellow twine. “It’s been intriguing me ever since Edith brought it out this morning.”
Ada glances up at the old ticking kitchen clock hanging on the wall. “Well, I really don’t know if we’ll have time. I mean, Edith and I have so much to do before Frank and Mrs. McTavish get here for their Christmas tea.”
“What nonsense, Ada!” George balks. “You’ve plenty of time.”
“And two spare sets of hands,” pipes up Bert. “What with Dad and me here.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Mum,” Edith pleads. “I know you don’t like to be the centre of attention…”
“You’re not wrong there, Edith love.” Ada agrees, tugging her worn but comfortably cosy russet coloured robe more tightly across her chest.
“But Frank and I did find these for you, especially.” Edith adds pointedly.
“Then I should wait until Frank gets here then, before opening my gift shouldn’t I?”
“No you shouldn’t, Mum. Frank was quite insistent that you were to open our gift on Christmas morning! You can thank him when he gets here for Christmas lunch. Now, open it up!”
“Christmas lunch.” Ada scoffs lightly a she shakes her head. “It’s Christmas tea in this house, my girl.”
“Christmas lunch, Christmas tea - who cares? Just open the box up, Mum!”
With trembling fingers Ada tugs at the knot in the string and shudders in surprise as the box lid springs up slightly after being freed of the restraint of the twine. Delving into the protective layers of paper noisily, Ada withdraws a beautiful, white gilt glazed teapot featuring a portrait of Queen Victoria.
“Oh Edith, love!” gasps Ada. “It’s beautiful!”
“I knew you’d love it, Mum, as soon as I saw it!” Edith sighs happily. “Merry Christmas!”
“Oh thank you, and merry Christmas to you, love.”
“I know exactly where that is going!” chortles George knowingly.
“In the front room with all the rest of my royalty ware.” Ada admires the well proportioned teapot. “Where else would it go?”
“Nowhere else, Ada love. You chose well, Edith love.” her father says approvingly. “I only wish I could get such enthusiasm from your mum when I give her my Christmas gifts.”
“A box of lace hankies and a pair of new leather gloves for church services on Sunday can hardly compare to this, George.” Ada purrs in delight as he holds the creamy porcelain up to the light.
“You don’t know what a personal risk I took buying them for you from Bishop’s up in the High Street.” George mutters. “If any of my workmates at McVities caught me buying lace hankies and gloves, I’d be a laughingstock, and that’s a fact!”
“Haven’t I thanked you enough, George Watsford?” Ada asks, leaning over to her husband as he proffers her his puckered lips and kisses him lovingly.
“Never enough, Ada love.” George replies as their kiss breaks.
“Greedy.” she giggles girlishly in reply.
“Since you won’t let me give you some of my wages, Mum, just like Dad I may as well buy you some nice things and spoil you.” Edith says.
“Oh this must have cost a fortune!” Ada appraises the transfer image of Queen Victoria flanked by all the flags of the Empire on the pot. “For shame, Edith! You shouldn’t have spent your money on me.”
“Nonsense Mum! Frank and I bought it together at the Caledonian Markets one Sunday. It was so reasonably priced that we were able to buy you something else too.” Edith indicates to the inside of the box with anxious eyes.
“What? More! You really do spoil me, Edith love.”
“You deserve to be spoiled Mum!” Edith insists. “Now keep going!”
With more rustling of paper, Ada takes out a matching jug featuring the same image of Queen Victoria.
“Do you like it, Mum?” Edith asks, holding her breath.
“Like it, Edith? Oh, I love it!” Ada throws the empty box to the flagstone floor, gets up from her chair and hugs her daughter, batting her eyelids as she attempts to keep back the tears of appreciation and joy. “How lucky am I to have such a wonderful daughter to spoil me like this.”
“Ahem!” Bert clears his throat.
“Oh, and son, of course, Bert.” Ada quickly amends her statement as she glances at her beloved younger child.
“It’s alright, Mum. My floral teacup for your collection is nothing compared to those two pieces.” He looks admiringly at the teapot and jug, before turning to his sister and giving her an approving nod.
“Nonsense!” retorts Ada. “I love my beautiful cup and saucer. I’ll find a spot for it here on the dresser after we’ve had Christmas tea.”
“I agree, with Bert.” adds George. “They are beautiful pieces you bought your mum, Edith love.”
“And well worth the wait to see.” Bert agrees.
“You’re very generous to both your mother, and me.” George pats his stack of Arthur Conan Doyle novels contentedly. “And it’s very good of Frank to pitch in and help you buy us such nice Christmas gifts.”
“Yes it is,” adds Ada in agreement. “Your young Frank is growing on me, Edith love. He’s a generous spirit, and not just because of the gifts you and he can give me or your dad. He has a generosity that comes from the heart. Generosity counts for a lot in my books.” Ada nods sagely. “Now, thinking of young Frank, we should all get cracking on with our day. Christmas tea won’t cook itself, will it, Edith love? There’s much to do, and here we still all are, in our robes and pyjamas. Let’s get these gifts out of the way so they don’t get damaged or in the way. We’ll have plenty of time to indulge this afternoon and tonight, after we’ve had tea.”
“Yes Mum!” agrees Edith with a happy smile. “Merry Christmas everyone!”
“Merry Christmas!” George, Ada and Bert reply cheerfully in unison.
*’The Hound of the Baskervilles’ is the third of the four crime novels by British writer Arthur Conan Doyle featuring the detective Sherlock Holmes. It was first published in March 1902. Originally serialised in ‘The Strand Magazine’ from August 1901 to April 1902, it is set in 1889 largely on Dartmoor in Devon in England's West Country and tells the story of an attempted murder inspired by the legend of a fearsome, diabolical hound of supernatural origin. Holmes and Watson investigate the case. This was the first appearance of Holmes since his apparent death in ‘The Final Problem’, and the success of ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ led to the character's eventual revival.
**The original Caledonian Market, renown for antiques, buried treasure and junk, was situated in in a wide cobblestoned area just off the Caledonian Road in Islington in 1921 when this story is set. Opened in 1855 by Prince Albert, and originally called the Metropolitan Meat Markets, it was supplementary to the Smithfield Meat Market. Arranged in a rectangle, the market was dominated by a forty six metre central clock tower. By the early Twentieth Century, with the diminishing trade in live animals, a bric-a-brac market developed and flourished there until after the Second World War when it moved to Bermondsey, south of the Thames, where it flourishes today. The Islington site was developed in 1967 into the Market Estate and an open green space called Caledonian Park. All that remains of the original Caledonian Markets is the wonderful Victorian clock tower.
***A Brown Betty is a type of teapot, round and with a manganese brown glaze known as Rockingham glaze. In the Victorian era, when tea was at its peak of popularity, tea brewed in the Brown Betty was considered excellent. This was attributed to the design of the pot which allowed the tea leaves more freedom to swirl around as the water was poured into the pot, releasing more flavour with less bitterness.
****’The Eye of Osiris’ is a detective mystery novel originally published in 1911 by Richard Austin Freeman. A pioneer of the inverted detective story, in which the reader knows from the start who committed the crime, Richard Austin Freeman is best known as the creator of the "medical jurispractitioner" Dr. John Thorndyke who was first introduced in ‘The Red Thumb Mark’ in 1907. The brilliant forensic investigator went on to star in dozens of novels and short stories over the next decades, including ‘The Eye of Osiris’ in which he made his second appearance.
*****Up to the end of the Nineteenth Century, washing clothes at home usually entailed the tedious task of cutting chips off of large hunks of laundry soap to use in creating sudsy water. A Monsieur Charpy employed at Lever Brothers in England developed a technology that allowed production of a very thin sheet of soap that then could be flaked. The company began selling what they first named "Sunlight Flakes" in England in 1899, though the name was changed to "Lux" in 1900. As a trade name, Lux had multiple advantages. The name is short and easy to remember; in Latin it means "light" (and so is related to Sunlight); and by association it suggests luxury.
******Sunlight Soap was first introduced in 1884 by William Hesketh Lever (1st Viscount Leverhulme) and introduced to the market in 1904. It was produced at Port Sunlight in Wirrel, Merseyside, a model village built by Lever Brothers for the workers of their factories which produced the popular soap brands Lux, Lifebuoy and Sunlight.
*******The inventor of the modern torch as we know it was the British naturalised American, David Misell. He did so on March the twelfth, 1898 (US Patent No. 617,592). In the year 1899 he ceded the patent to the American Electrical Novelty and Manufacturing Company.
*********Synthetic leather came onto the international fabric scene with the invention of Naugahyde in 1920. This substance was formulated by U.S. Rubber Company, which had been founded in 1892.
**********First called “Cove” in 1750, the Irish port of Cobh was renamed by the British as “Queenstown” in 1849 to commemorate a visit by Queen Victoria to Ireland. In 1921 when the Irish Free State was established the name was changed to Cobh, in its Irish form. Being a relatively recent change, this explains why George wasn’t sure where Bert was speaking of. Cobh would have known as Queenstown all of George’s life up until 1921.
***********A bumboat is a small vessel carrying provisions for sale to moored or anchored ships in port. The term originally denoted a scavenger's boat in the Seventeenth Century, removing ships' refuse, often also bringing produce for sale.
************The SS Demosthenes was a British steam ocean liner and refrigerated cargo ship which ran scheduled services between London and Australia via Cape Town. It stopped at ports including those in Sydney and Melbourne. She was launched in 1911 in Ireland for the Aberdeen Line and scrapped in 1931 in England. In the First World War she was an Allied troop ship.
This cluttered, yet cheerful Christmas scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On the table the Christmas presents are scattered. The cards are from husband and wife artistic team Margie and Mike Balough who own Serendipity Miniatures in Newcomerstown, Ohio. Edith's stylised Art Deco bookends are hand painted by an unknown miniature artisan. I acquired them from a seller on E-Bay. Edith's pretty basket jewellery box has been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. Ada's jug and teapot featuring Queen Victoria were made by miniature artisan Rachael Munday. I acquired them through Kathleen Knight's Dolls House Miniatures. The parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine I acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The books on the table 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 beautifully illustrated. 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. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just one of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!
The paper chains festooning Ada’s kitchen I made myself using very thinly cut paper. It was a fiddly job to do, but I think it adds festive cheer and realism to this scene, as fancy Christmas decorations would have been beyond the budget of Edith’s parents, and homemade paper chains were common in households before the advent of cheap mass manufactured Christmas decorations.
In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table, the Windsor chair and the ladderback chair to the left of the photo, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery and silver pots on them which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. There are also some rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and a bread tin in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces I recently acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom. There are also tins of various foods which would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutinised domestic cookery. Amongst other foods on the dresser are jars of Marmite and Bovril. All these items are 1:12 size artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with great attention to detail paid to their labels and the shapes of their jars and cans. Also on the dresser on the pull out drawer is a Christmas cake from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. Also from them is the cranberry glass cake stand, made of real glass, on which the cake sits. Next to it stands a cottage ware teapot. Made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson, it has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Teapot’ counterparts. The top part of the thatched roof and central chimney form the lid, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.
Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.
Bovril is the trademarked name of a thick and salty meat extract paste similar to a yeast extract, developed in the 1870s by John Lawson Johnston. It is sold in a distinctive bulbous jar, and as cubes and granules. Bovril is owned and distributed by Unilever UK. Its appearance is similar to Marmite and Vegemite. Bovril can be made into a drink ("beef tea") by diluting with hot water or, less commonly, with milk. It can be used as a flavouring for soups, broth, stews or porridge, or as a spread, especially on toast in a similar fashion to Marmite and Vegemite.
The large kitchen range in the background is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water).
