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 not in Lettice’s flat. Rather we are out down London’s busy Oxford Street at Selfridge’s department store where Lettice, accompanied by her old childhood chum Gerald Bruton, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, have come to hear the reading of the chapter from a newly released romance novel. Through her social connections, Lettice’s Aunt Egg contrived an invitation for Lettice to an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Caxton, who are very well known amongst the smarter bohemian set of London society for their weekend parties at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, 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. Over the course of the weekend, Lettice was coerced into accepting Lady Glady’s request that she redecorate the Bloomsbury flat of her ward, Phoebe Chambers. When Lettice agreed to take on the commission, Lady Gladys said she would arrange a time for Lettice to inspect the flat the next time Lady Gladys was in London. Now the day has arrived. The pair will go to Phoebe’s flat directly after Lady Gladys gives a reading from her latest romance novel at its launch in Selfridge’s book department with its floor to ceiling shelves full of books. Wanting company, and thinking he might enjoy the outing, Lettice has invited Gerald to join her.
Now the pair stand at the back of a large crowd made up entirely of middle-class and lower middle-class women sitting about on bentwood chairs or standing about when no more chairs were left. In their centre Lady Gladys stands, elegantly reciting from her novel to the rapturous group, who hang on her every word. Aside from Lady Gladys’ voice and the quiet hubbub of the busy department store outside the book department, not a word can be heard as everyone listens in reverent silence. Occasionally a gasp, or quickly muffled cough from amongst the audience punctuates the air, but nothing more.
“And Miranda fell into the arms of Lord Percy Shoebridge, her chest above the décolleté of her bodice betraying the emotions she felt for him, as she melted into him.”
“Oh lord!” Gerald hisses underneath his breath. “What a load of melodramatic mush.”
Evidently his criticism of Lady Glady’s latest literary exploits is not as silent as he thinks, as a middle aged woman dressed all in black, save for a wide white collar trimmed with lace, turns her cloche clad head and gives Gerald a hard, critical stare through her gold pince-nez*. She raises a black leather glove clad finger to her bloodless, thin lips before turning back to the authoress standing amidst her audience. Once he knows it’s safe, Gerald sticks his tongue out at the back of the berating woman’s head.
“Gerald!” Lettice hisses. “Behave.”
“I thought, Lettuce Leaf,” Gerald whispers in his friend’s delicate ear, using her most hated of childhood pet names. “When you asked me to accompany you to Selfridges, that we might be doing something fun, like picking out some new lipsticks or rouge** for you: certainly not listening to this,” He gesticulates towards Lady Gladys as he struggles to find the right word to describe the romantic adventures of Miranda the poor governess as she falls under the spell of Lord Percy Shoebridge. “This drivel.” he finally spits.
“Don’t call me that Gerald!” Lettice hisses back with a scowl. “You know how I hate it! And I’m shocked you would think I would buy my cosmetics from Selfridges, like a common shop girl.”
“Well, there are plenty of them here.” Gerald murmurs back, nodding his head in sneering amusement at the sea of cloches, toques and picture hat covered heads of the enraptured all female audience. “Look at it: a sea of middle and aspiring class mediocrity, clad in black and shades of muddy mushroom, with Lady Gladys Caxton… err….” He purposefully corrects himself. “Madeline St John standing in their midst like a wilting hothouse flower.”
“Oh, you are awful, Gerald.” Lettice replies, stifling a giggle at Gerald’s wry observation.
Gerald eyes Lady Glady’s outfit critically, looking her ruffled lavender floral patterned silk de chiné frock up and down, noting the clash between a diamond necklace at her throat and several strands of faceted bugle beads cascading down her front. “I thought you said Lady Gladys was a Fabian***.”
“She is Gerald,” Lettice quietly replies. “And when you meet her, you mustn’t call her Lady Gladys. She doesn’t like it. Call her Gladys, or today call her Madeline. Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s just that I thought Fabians claimed to be proponents of ‘clean, simplified living’. I was expecting her to be dressed as dourly and as simply as her audience. There’s nothing simple about her gown. That’s a Lucile**** dream dress if I’m not mistaken.”
“Their eyes met, and Miranda knew that her beating heart was his for now and forever,” Lady Gladys reads aloud from her book in her well modulated and highly elocuted voice.
“God spare me from any more of this rot.” Gerald mutters, more carefully this time, so as not to gain further ire from the bespectacled black clad woman before him. “Jane Eyre this, unfortunately, is not,” He shudders. “Charlotte Brontë would be horrified by the exploits of Miranda the governess.” He shakes his head in disgust.
“Come on, Gerald.” Lettice replies, taking pity on her friend and nudging him in the ribs. “Let’s wait for Gladys over there by the display table. We’ll be far enough away so as not to disturb the orator, or her audience.”
The pair carefully slip away, weaving behind the standing component of the female audience until they are outside of the circle and outside of earshot enough for them to be able to speak in less hushed tones.
“Well, I can well understand why Lady Glad… I mean, Gladys, chose Selfridges to launch her newest ghastly romance.” Gerald remarks as he peruses the romance titles set out in an elegant display on a circular presentation table, with ‘Miranda’ – lady Gladys. newest work – proudly on display.
“What do you mean, Gerald?” Lettice queries.
“Well,” he nods again towards Lady Gladys standing in the centre of the large circle of standing and seated women. “She obviously enjoys the limelight and célébrité as much as Harry Selfridge***** does.”
Lettice looks over at Lady Gladys in her wide, romantic picture hat of black straw, covered in silk wisteria flowers dyed to match her frock. “Yes,” She sighs. “I think you may be right.”
“You don’t actually read this guff, do you?” Gerald takes up the copy of ‘Miranda’ and waves it accusingly at Lettice.
“No, but Edith does.” she replies.
“I seem to remember you reading quite a few romance novels with rather gushing titles, not all that long ago, Lettuce Leaf.” Gerald pursues, good-naturedly. “Are you sure that there weren’t any Madeline St John titles amongst their number?”
“I said, don’t call me that, Gerald!” she replies, taking up a copy of another of Lady Glady’s many popular romance novels from the surface of the table and playfully hitting her friend’s elbow with it. “You know I don’t like it! We aren’t children any more.”
“But you did used to read her books, didn’t you?” Gerald persists.
“Alright,” Lettice sighs. “Yes, I used to read them, but I don’t now. Margot helped me broaden my reading choices.”
“Good for darling Margot.” Gerald says. “What she suggests yiu read must be a hundred times better than these!” He glances down at the rather Edwardian looking cover of another of Lady Gladys’ novels, ‘Jewel Weed’. Swathed in an old fashioned Edwardian toque like those worn by Queen Mary, the Gibson Girl****** looking face of the heroine peers out of layers of black veil. “I…” he begins a little awkwardly. “I don’t suppose… thinking of romance…” he looks up at his best friend. “I don’t imagine you’ve heard from Selwyn?”
“No.” Lettice answers plainly, her voice cracking as she does, betraying in the single syllable uttered how heartbroken she is. “You think he might have smuggled out one little letter addressed to me.”
Gerald walks around the edge of the table and puts an arm comfortingly around his oldest friend and pulls her into his side, rubbing her upper arm just below the capped sleeve of her pale blue frock. “I shouldn’t mind too much, Lettice darling. The rules around your separation from him are very strictly enforced by Lady Zinnia.”
“That horror!” Lettice spits.
“Now, now, Lettice darling! Careful. That could be your future mother-in-law you are speaking of.” He cautions her. “It’s her spiderweb you are entangled in. Tread carefully!”
“Future mother-in-law or not, Gerald, she’s a beast, and no mistake! Keeping us separated like this.” Tears well in her eyes, making their blue hue all the more brilliant. “It’s torture.”
“I know, darling.” Gerald pulls her a little closer. “But Selwyn’s probably wise not to try and cross Lady Zinnia. The stakes are high, and you know it. If he is found to be corresponding with you, she may not be able to force him to marry someone else like she thinks she can, but she can certainly prevent Selwyn from marrying you.”
“It’s not fair.” Lettice sulks, running her manicured nail along the edge of a novel on display on the table. “Surely he could get a letter to me.”
“How?”
“Through a friend. Lady Zinnia’s spies and minions can’t possibly open ever piece of correspondence that goes through the Durban post office.”
“But who can he trust, Lettice darling? He hasn’t any friends there. That’s one of the reasons Lady Zinnia sent him there. Not only was he a world away from you, but a world away from all his friends. She can control who he sees, or more importantly for her, who can befriend him and spy for her, and try and influence him away from his affections for you.”
“She really is despicable, Gerald. I hate her, and I won’t ever forgive her for this separation between Selwyn and I, even when we do get married.” Lettice sighs despondently. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him, have you? You’re not forbidden to write to him, surely?”
“No, I’m not, and as a matter of fact, I did write to him, and he replied.”
“Gerald!” Lettice gasps.” “You never told me that! What does he say?”
The look of hope suddenly ignited in his best friend’s face pains Gerald as he answers, “There’s nothing really to tell. He’s well. He is designing some houses for a few South African sugar merchants and a few holiday houses for members of what passes for civilised society out there. He goes to the D’Urban Club******* regularly.”
“Does he ask about me?” she asks anxiously, her hands squeezing his forearm through his blazer jacket. “Does he mention me?”
Gerald’s eyes cloud with sadness. “No, he doesn’t Lettice.” He feels her grip quickly loosen and the sudden burst of vibrant energy around her dissipate, replaced with an air of despondence. “But then he wouldn’t dare in a letter to me, would he?”
“Why wouldn’t he, Gerald? You’re his friend, of sorts.”
“You know perfectly well that even in its most oblique form, that would be deemed as communication with you, which would make your marriage prospects with him null and void, Lettice darling. And,” he continues dourly. “May I, at this moment, point out that the letters I receive in reply to my own letters have always been tampered with. The gum on the envelopes is loose, which suggests that they have been steamed open and read by Lady Zinnia’s spies in Durban, and any contents meticulously copied out, down to the last punctuation mark, and reported back to her.”
“This really is interminable, Gerald.”
“I know it is, Lettice. If anyone knows about the travails of love, it’s me, oh and our resident expert Madeline St John, of course.” He indicates again to Lady Gladys as she nears the end of her reading.
“Oh how selfish of me, Gerald.” Lettice gasps. She winds her hand through the crook of his arm. “Here I am, wallowing in self-pity. Forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive, Lettice darling.” Gerald pats her hand with his own. “You just have to be patient. It’s been six months now already. Just keep yourself engaged with entertainment and designing, and the next six months will be gone in the blink of an eye, and he’ll be back, and he’ll take you in his arms, just like Sir What’s His Name does with Miranda.” He looks with revulsion at the garish cover of the novel featuring the heroine riding atop a coach bound for London from the provinces.
“Yes,” Lettice sighs. “I suppose you are right, and I have more than enough work ahead of me with Gladys, I suspect.”
Their conversation is broken by applause as Lady Glady’s reading of an excerpt of ‘Miranda’ comes to an end.
“Ms. St John will be autographing copies of ‘Miranda’ bought here at Selfridges today just over there.” a male Selfridges sales assistant announces, indicating to a small desk set up in a discreet corner of the book department, surrounded by floor to ceiling shelves of books.
A burst of excited chattering fills the air as women start to gather their umbrellas and bags, stand up from their seats stretching, and move towards a second display table near where Lettice and Gerald are standing covered in copies of the novel. The pair quickly move aside as a throng of ladies hurriedly start snatching up copies of the brightly jacketed book.
Through the burbling female crowd, Lady Gladys strides proudly, rather like Moses parting the red sea, graciously accepting the accolades and words of thanks from her toadying fans as they kowtow about her with a gracious smile, extending her hand here, pausing and nodding there.
“Ah! There you are, Lettice!” Lady Gladys calls, gliding towards Lettice and Gerald. “How are you, my dear?” she asks as she reaches Lettice’s side, placing a light air kiss on both cheeks.
“Very well thank you, Glad… err, Madeline.” Lettice quickly corrects herself, remembering the telephone conversation she had with Lady Gladys at Cavendish Mews the other day, when the authoress told her to use her nom de plume of Madeline St John when she attended the reading, prior to their visit to Pheobe at her Bloomsbury pied-à-terre******** to assess what the redecoration of it might include. “It appears your launch of ‘Miranda’ here at Selfridges has been a great success.”
“Eat your own heart out*********, Elinor Glynn**********, I say!” Lady Gladys chortles in delight as she watches copy after copy of ‘Miranda’ eagerly snatched up by pairs of dainty hands. “Look at how popular ‘Miranda’ is already! Remind me later, that I must give you an autographed copy to gift to your maid. I’m sure she’ll enjoy it.”
“I don’t doubt it, Madeline. Edith is a great fan of yours.”
Gerald coughs as he tries to muffle his chuckle at Lettice’s remark.
It is then that Gladys suddenly notices Gerald standing at Lettice’s side. She eyes him up and down, appraising him in much the same way that he had done to her not long ago, appraising him.
“Well, it isn’t often I get gentlemen at my book readings,” Lady Gladys remarks with a sly smile. “Especially not such handsome, roguish ones.” Gerald blushes at the compliment. “Are you wanting an autographed copy of my book too, young man?”
“Me?” Gerald splutters. “Ahh, no, no… I.”
“Perhaps you’d like to be my next Sir Percy Shoebridge, young man? I’m sure we could come to some… arrangement.” Her smile broadens and she gives him a conspiratorial wink.
“Madeline, this is my oldest friend and childhood chum, Gerald Bruton,” Lettice quickly pipes up to save her friend from any awkward embarrassment. “Gerald, may I present the highly successful novelist, Madeline St John.”
“Charmed, I’m sure, Ms St. John.” Gerald plays the part of the fawning young man Lady Gladys obviously expects him to be by taking her proffered lavender kid glove hand and almost kissing it like she were a queen. She smiles graciously, and doesn’t notice his own smirk of amusement at her obvious pompous egotistical self-importance.
“Bruton… Bruton…” Lady Gladys ruminates, her mouth screwing up like a sponge as she does. “You’re the frock maker!”
“Yes, Ms. St John, I’m the fashion designer.” Gerald corrects her pointedly.
“I say, how terribly tiresome.” Lady Gladys replies, causing a surprised look on both Gerald’s and Lettice’s faces. With her interest in him as a mere maker of gowns, rather than a wit or literary man, immediately extinguished, she turns her head away from him and focuses upon Lettice. “I shouldn’t be too long, my dear Lettice. I’ll just sign copies of my books for my most ardent of fans here, and then you and I,” She gives Gerald a dismissive glance and a downturned mouth. “Can be on our way to Pheobe’s. I’ve ordered the car for one, and my driver will have picked up something delicious from Harrods for us to eat. I can’t rely on my ward to cater for us, so wrapped up in her studies as she is.” She gives Gerald another disapproving look. “It will give you time to say goodbye to your friend, Mr. Buttons.”
“Mr. Bruton, I think you mean, Madeline.” Lettice says anxiously, her face flushing with embarrassment at Lady Gladys’ obvious snub of Gerald.
“No, I mean Mr. Button, Lettice dear.” She deigns to cast another appraising sideways glance at Gerald. “It suits him better with his chosen profession.”
And without another word, she slips away, and glides across the room to the desk, where she takes a seat, pushed in for her obsequiously by the Selfridges sales assistant, and taking up a pen proffered to her by him, begins to sign copies of her books handed to her by her patient fans who have just purchased it from a nearby register.
“Oh Gerald!” Lettice gasps. “I’m so sorry!”
“Don’t you be sorry, Lettice.” Gerald replies, kindly. A far away look fills his face as he appears to steel himself. “I’ve suffered far worse snubs than hers before, I can assure you.”
“I know you have, darling, but that doesn’t excuse her behaviour. I shall have stern words with her when we leave, Gerald.”
“Oh no you won’t, Lettice.” Gerald counters.
“But she blatantly snubbed you, right in front of me!”
“Nevertheless, you won’t say anything about it to her.”
“But she should be berated.”
“Should and are, are two quite different things, Lettice.” Gerald cautions her. “Lady Gladys is very influential, and she knows it. Her star is still on the rise, and hasn’t waned yet. If you berate her, however much I would appreciate you doing it, the only thing you will succeed in doing is causing your own reputation irreparable damage. That woman obviously has a most spiteful tongue, which could do you a lot of harm. Be cautious. Be polite. Be obsequious. Accept her praise when she gives it, and any good publicity and good fortune she brings you.”
“Oh Gerald,” Lettice mewls. “It’s so unfair.”
“Never mind!” Gerald says breezily, shaking off the snub. “Let’s not let her spoil things. You’ll be done with her for the day in a few hours. Shall we have supper at the Café Royal*********** tonight? My treat!”
“Oh Gerald! But how?” Her question as to how her usually impecunious friend can afford to offer to shout them both dinner at such a fine restaurant.
“I may only be a frock maker, according to some, but I’m a very good one, and I’ve just been commissioned by Lady Loughborough************ to make her two suits two opera capes, three frocks and some Lido pyjamas*************.”
“Oh Gerald!” Lettice gasps. “That’s wonderful news.”
The pair look over at Lady Gladys as she smiles beatifically at a young woman in a moss green velvet frock with ratty red hair poking out from under a wide brimmed hat as she hands her an autographed copy of ‘Miranda’.
“What have I let myself in for, Gerald?” Lettice asks quietly.
“Well, remember when I said before that you were in Lady Zinnia’s spiderweb?” When Lettice nods, Gerald goes on. “Well, you may have just become entangled in an even stickier web with Lady Gladys.”
*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"
**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.
***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.
****Lucile – Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon was a leading British fashion designer in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries who use the professional name Lucile. She was the originator of the “mannequin parade”, a pre-cursor to the modern fashion parade, and is reported to have been the person to first use the word “chic” which she then popularised. Lucile aimed to make an art of beautiful dressing, and her ‘Dream Dresses’ were faerie tale creations of shimmering silks, gossamer laces, and delicate rainbows of ribbons in soft pastel shades. Influenced by her early designs for lingerie and tea gowns, Lucile’s dresses, which she also referred to as “Gowns of Emotion” were given suitably romantic name, like “Happiness”. Lucile is also infamous for escaping the Titanic in a lifeboat designed for forty occupants with her husband and secretary and only nine other people aboard, seven being crew members.
*****Harry Gordon Selfridge, was an American retail magnate who founded the London-based department store Selfridges. His twenty-year leadership of Selfridges led to his becoming one of the most respected and wealthy retail magnates in the United Kingdom. He was known as the 'Earl of Oxford Street'. Selfridge promoted the radical notion of shopping for pleasure rather than necessity, and his success lay in his ability to draw crowds through heavy promotion, theatrical displays and calling upon famous people of the day to feature in publicity stunts, the likes of which had never been seen in London, or England before.
******The Gibson Girl was the personification of the feminine ideal of physical attractiveness as portrayed by the pen-and-ink illustrations of artist Charles Dana Gibson during a twenty-year period that spanned the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries in the United States. The artist saw his creation as representing the composite of “thousands of American girls”.
******* On 14 June 1854, twenty prominent Durban residents signed an agreement to form the first D'Urban Club, named after Sir Benjamin D'Urban, Governor of the Cape Colony. The newly formed club was to be used for the playing of billiards, chess and as a reading and newsroom. From very humble beginnings, and two earlier club buildings, the present building housing what is now known as the Durban Club was started in 1900, and completed in 1904, in grand Edwardian Baroque Revival style, which was very popular at that time. The building was then described as being “one of the Town’s most exquisite buildings”. The Durban Club building is a listed building and a famous landmark in the city today. Having passed through the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879, the First (1889) and Second (1899-1902) Anglo-Boer Wars, the Zulu Rebellion (1906), the Great War of 1914-1918 and the Second World War (1939-1945) the Durban Club has hosted more than its fair share of famous people, including George Cato, Prince Louis Napoleon, Thomas Baines, Cathcart Methven, Lord Chelmsford, Sir Garnet Wolseley, General Sir Henry Evelyn Wood, General Sir Redvers Buller, General Lord Roberts, General Sir Robert Baden Powell, Sir Winston S. Churchill, the Right Honourable Lord Milner and Field Marshal Earl Douglas Haig.
********A pied-à-terre is a small flat, house, or room kept for occasional use.
*********The idiom to “eat your heart out” meaning to feel bitter anguish, grief, worry, jealousy, or another strong negative emotion, derives from around the 1580s. T he most common origin story states the phrase was “eat one's own heart” – a term that meant to “suffer in silence from anguish or grief”. The eating part is thought to have come from the Bible phrase “to eat one's own flesh” – which meant to be lazy.
********** Elinor Glyn was a British novelist and scriptwriter who specialised in romantic fiction, which was considered scandalous for its time, although her works are relatively tame by modern standards. She popularized the concept of the it-girl, and had tremendous influence on early Twentieth Century popular culture and, possibly, on the careers of notable Hollywood stars such as Rudolph Valentino, Gloria Swanson and, especially, Clara Bow. She was also the sister of Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon, the leading British fashion designer in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries who use the professional name Lucile.
***********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.
************Margaret Sheila Mackellar Chisholm (1895 – 1969) was an Australian socialite and "it girl" in British high society during and after World War I. Known as Sheila, she married three times: Francis St Clair-Erskine, Lord Loughborough (heir to the 5th Earl of Rosslyn); Sir John Charles Peniston Milbanke, and Prince Dmitri Alexandrovich of Russia. Sheila also had close relationships with brothers Edward, Prince of Wales and Prince Albert of York, both future Kings of the United Kingdom. Sheila’s romantic liaison with Albert ended when his father, George V, told him to leave "the already-married Australian" and find someone more suitable. Known for her striking beauty, she is likely the inspiration for the Australian phrase "a good-looking sheila".
*************In many ways, Lido or beach pyjamas were seen as pragmatic garments. The introduction of the tight-fitting knit swimsuit, popularized by Annette Kellerman in the first decades of the 20th century, was a far departure from the baggy, figure-concealing bathing costumes previously worn. Pyjamas, with their loose fit and versatile layers, were easily slipped on over a swimsuit and provided modesty, warmth on winter beaches, and protection from the sun. More and more women adopted the fashion, and by 1925, “beach pyjamas” were being advertised in Vogue.
These books might be the kind of romance novel you wish to read, but if you do, you may need a magnifying glass, for these are all artisan pieces as part of my extensive 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The books on display here, and in the shelves behind are all 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, this selection of romance novels are not designed to be opened. What might amaze you in spite of this fact is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books 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 them all miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just two of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!
The round display table on which the books stand tilts like a real loo table, and is an artisan miniature from an unknown maker with a marquetry inlaid top, which came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom.