IN A SEASONAL HOME - Autumn Magic

September 30, 2014, 9:42 am

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Nothing like an Autumn Bonfire

We've had a busy summer visiting new and old places and friends and gathering bright and shiny treasures along the way. Some will need a gentle hand to mend them before they can be sold and find new homes.  And some will stay with us as we cannot bear to part with them!



A beautiful Moss Agate bracelet we found which reminds us of the season.

Burleigh ware Harvest jug from the 1930s

Carved oak Dragon panel

The gardens around us and our small community have needed a lot of work and we have become the 'Godparents' to the ancient churchyard where we trim and nurture the hedges and trees and take a few moments to linger over the old headstones. Many churchyards near us have become nature reserves and we hope that ours can also be a little less manicured and more wild. There is something reassuring about living things dwelling amongst the spirits of the departed.

This is my favourite time of year. I never think of Autumn and Winter as being dark seasons. I see a different colour palette to Spring and Summer, but still fiercely bright. It's a time for richly coloured velvets and tapestry, calico cats and glass vases in jewel like hues. 

Isabella

I love the feel of the change in the air and the light, and relish the cooler weather. I was California born but I never fitted into the sun and sand lifestyle and it was one Autumn day a long time ago that I moved to England. It is a special season for me, with some happy and some sad anniversaries bringing out the nesting instinct as the days shorten and the nights become chill. I love the thought of stacks of blankets, hot chocolate with marshmallows,  and the cats curled up by the fire. Grab a good book and relax after the activity of the warmer months. Or, like me, borrow a neighbour's dog and go for a long walk in the woods letting it channel it's inner Wolf. 

We are going on one last trip before we settle in for the year, this time to France. When we return we will be decorating for the harvest and Halloween. And we will be sharing a sad but interesting ghost story we have with you. 

 

* The luscious brights and darks shown in two of our photographs are from a magical visit we had with Hannah and Rachel of Velvet Eccentrics. Read about them HERE:

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GHOST STORY - The Haunted Bedroom

October 30, 2014, 2:36 pm

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It's nearly Halloween. In folklore this is a time when the veils between the worlds grow thinner allowing us to feel the presence of the other side. When the spiritual and material worlds touch and a potential exists for magical events to occur. I like a ghost story at Halloween, and I share one with you now. It is a sad tale, but it happens in such a lovely house.

"What's that in the mirror, and the corner of your eye?

What's the footstep following, but never passing by?"

Dr Who, Series eight, episode 4/12: 'Listen' (Saturday 13th September 2014  BBC1)

Have you ever had that feeling that you are not alone? It's impossible to describe, but once felt rarely forgotten. Like a shadow falling across your path, a cool breeze blowing over your shoulders from behind, when there is no open window. You may shrug it off, especially once back in the sunlight, and yet …. something remains. You feel changed.

It was a rainy Autumn day a few years back. I had recently moved to a new county in the English countryside and I liked exploring it without plans. Taking unexpected turns from main roads while out on errands. I'd been researching the area and had a raggedy folder stuffed with historical notes, clippings of places of interest, country homes and village pubs and shops. It would take me a very long time to get through my list of visits – but I was in no hurry.  

Especially on that grey afternoon when the rain was coming down so hard that I could hardly see the road let alone follow it. I meant to visit the medieval Littlecote House, but not that day, not in that rain. Instead of taking my normal route home, following the road around the corner by that enchanting thatched cottage on the edge of the woods I found myself going straight on, on a road I had never traveled. I have no idea why.

It was misty with fog and very little light filtered through the trees lining the road. The thought crossed my mind how quiet it was, except for the sound of my windscreen wipers. I realised that I had turned the radio off, as if I needed to hear better, as I could not see well, there in the woods. 

The road meandered down and at the bottom the front of Littlecote  House came into view. It was magnificent, accented by the creeper that adorned it in a rich ruby red. There was no mistaking the antiquity of the house. I barely had time to admire it before the road swept around behind it. There I was, in a car park by the back gate to the gardens of Littlecote House.

I bolted through a tall wrought iron gate up the garden path with my head down to shield from the still falling rain. I found myself there, at the back door, past another gate, and through it into a hall.  

 

The house was eerily quiet, like it had been in my car. I felt I was in a different world, had gone through some threshold either driving, or running. Littlecote House has stood for a very long time. I do not think that the house is evil, but it has seen many lives pass through it in the hundreds of years which it has stood there proudly surrounded by it's woods.

If ever there was a house which was inhabited by ghosts,  watched over by The Fae, Littlecote House with it's Gothic windows and ancient oak and stone - must be just such a place.

Fairies looking through a Gothic arch, in original frame

This painting by the Victorian artist John Anster Fitzgerald is one of my favourites, appropriate for a midsummer night or for Halloween. I think it captures the ethereal quality of Faerie spirits so well. Beautiful free characters, magical but also  mischievous and unpredictable. Littlecote House has this kind of magic about it and you can imagine coming upon a Faerie troupe gazing through one of the Gothic arches there.
ArtMagick describes the painting thus:

"This painting shows a night-time scene where a small troupe of fairies has arrived at the entrance to a Gothic ruin. Through the arch a brilliant light shines, illuminating the fairy group. One of them carries a wreath and a chain of flowers. In its original frame, this is one of Fitzgerald's most haunting and tantalising fairy paintings. The fairies are certainly acting with intent and may, indeed, be up to no good - which would be characteristic of Fitzgerald. If this painting is based upon an actual myth or story, that myth has yet to be unearthed."

Littlecote House is run as a hotel today but much of the house remains as it might have been centuries ago when Henry VIII, Elizabeth I, King James II, William of Orange or Charles II visited. It's said that Henry courted Jane Seymour here after the demise of Queen Jane. One of the owners was a champion of Oliver Cromwell and his campaign to rid England of it's monarchy, then abruptly changed sides and had Charles II and his French Catholic Queen to dinner for which he kept his head and became a Knight of Bath.

A suit of armour beckoned me into the Great Hall.

The history of the house lays across it, like a fog permeating my sight and thoughts. The hotel was full of guests and yet I encountered no one. It was as if they had all just stepped out and would return at any moment. 

There was a half finished jigsaw puzzle upon the enormous heavy oak sideboard. 

Unfinished tea lay on a side table by the high backed raspberry velvet chairs. Light through the ancient stained glass window flickered and danced multi-coloured patterns upon the stone floor.

How long I stood there in the shadows I do not know. The day was near end as something led me through a heavy door and up the stairs. Littlecote House is known to be one of the most haunted houses in England. A sign on the stairs points you towards The Haunted Bedroom and The Long gallery, also haunted according to local tradition. The last light of the day illuminated angels in an  ethereal stained glass window on the stairs. 

The bedroom is through an outer hallway with lush red carpeting and dark wooden panelling. 

The room itself looks out over the gardens otherwise it is in semi darkness. The first thing which you see are two figures, of a man and a woman. You start  - as they look so lifelike that you believe you are not alone in the small room. Or maybe it is just a feeling that you have. The man is dressed as if for travelling, in tall boots, a cloak and gloves. The woman is dressed modestly and she holds a bundle in her arms. You feel as if you have intruded upon some drama which you cannot understand.

Fantastically carved faces on the stark plaster mantel over the fireplace glow against dark wood panel of the walls.   

A small Elizabethan oak canopy bed is simply dressed. In the dark corner by the fireplace is a side table, upon it a man's hat with a feather on it.

An explanation of the scene which you witness is well known in these parts but has passed into legend so that details are impossible to confirm and there are many variations on the story. It is supposed to have occurred in 1575 during the reign of Elizabeth I. The man is Lord of the Manor, 'Wild' William Darrell, well known for his dark character.  The woman a midwife known as Mother Barnes, who was brought to the house blindfolded by an agent of the Lord, sworn to secrecy to deliver an unidentified lady of a child she was carrying. A horrific scene ensued in which William Darrel himself snatched the new-born infant and threw it upon the blazing fire, and held it there by a boot until it had died. The true identity of the man, the lady and the poor child remain unconfirmed but many tales abound with various substantiation available. He was never tried for this crime although it was investigated after the midwife told authorities.  But his story did not end happily. William Darrell made many enemies and accrued great debt. There must not be many who mourned him when he broke his neck in a fatal fall from his horse in 1589 while riding on the estate. We will never know for sure what spooked the horse, but locals like to believe that the ghost of a lady carrying a baby crossed his path. It is said that he haunts this room, the spot on the grounds where he died and the church at Ramsbury, two miles away.

Sir Walter Scott heard tell of this tale and used it for his poem 'Rokeby'

Although this manor is now a hotel, no one ever sleeps in this bedroom. 

 

~  ~  ~

 

I had been taking photographs of the house throughout my visit there and had found that I was having trouble focussing the camera. I put this down to the hour of the day and the lack of light causing difficulty. I quickly recorded this room. As the day grew darker yet I realised how late it was and I hurried through the house and out into the gardens towards my car. Outside Littlecote House seemed different. Had it shared a secret with me?

Months passed with little thought of that afternoon. One day I came upon the photographs from my first visit there and The Haunted Bedroom. All the images from that day are clear, throughout the house. But in the corner of the bedroom where the hat of the man lay on the old table there is a strange blue light, in every photo that I took.

I often visit Littlecote House. I  have  noticed that there are strange lights and shadows throughout the house, and in the gardens. Especially at this time of year, and particularly at twilight.

You never really feel alone at Littlecote, as if ancestors cling to a place they once loved.  

There are faces everywhere, wax figures of past inhabitants, in paintings, tooled into the paneling, in the over mantels and on the furniture. The eyes of angels watch from stained glass windows, and darker beasts from carved oak.

The house itself has a melancholy air yet parts of the gardens are joyous even in winter, and in the mornings you may glimpse a Deer and hear the birds singing in the woods. But there are dark places and spirits here too.

I would not like to wander too far in the woods after nightfall. You may well meet with spirits there. It is said that should you stray close to  "Wild Darrell's Leap," you might encounter him riding a half wild black stallion.

Arthur Rackham, master illustrator

 

NOTES:

In another twist to this tale, the Popham family who owned Littlecote House after William Darrell owned a Derby winner who they named Wild Dayrell. Wild Dayrell was retired to their stud at  Littlecote, and according to the site Thoroughbred Heritage, " he remained "an especial pet" for the rest of his life. He died, "of apoplexy," probably a heart attack, in his stall at Littlecote a few hours after finishing a hearty breakfast on November 27, 1870, age eighteen."


Thank you to Haunted Wiltshire, please see their website for wonderful images and information on Littlecote House.    Read more HERE:

Littlecote House has a Wiki page, HERE:

The page on 'Fairies looking through a Gothic Arch' on ArtMagick, a most useful source for research can be found HERE:

 

GIVING THANKS

November 26, 2014, 3:11 pm

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Myott England's Countryside platter, edge detail a treasured pattern of mine

As we do not have Thanksgiving in England we are tipped straight from 'back to school' to  Christmas, with a small stop between for Halloween and Guy Fawkes, or Bonfire Night. I love the little Trick or Treaters which visit us on Halloween, and on Bonfire Night our village hold a communal bonfire with fireworks.

But I miss the Thanksgiving holidays I had with family and friends when I lived in California, or the early years after I first moved here when we would all meet up at the family home. I like the way that so many people decorate their homes and yards for Fall with pumpkins, scarecrows, primitive dolls and the multi coloured flags. Windows alight each night with scented candles. As if joining in the show that nature provides for us before the dark and cold of winter.



There is something very special about a house full of people of all ages sharing a meal prepared with love. It's worth the early rising to get the turkey in the oven and prepare the mounds of vegetables which need to be washed, peeled, cooked and often mashed by hand. One Thanksgiving the black Labrador who lived on the top of the hill above our house came down to join us. She was quite old and it was raining but she was determined. We were honoured and suspect that she had a second dinner when her owner took her home.

Showing gratitude for what we receive is something I try to make a permanent part of my life.  Autumn seems the perfect time to take a moment and remember the year before retreating indoors and preparing our homes for the Winter. It's a time to thank those who have helped us and shared our lives through the golden times, and the bad times.

Although from California our family scattered across America, as so many do today so this get together in November was precious to us all. As our family Elders passed on this also became a time to remember them, and to do our best to make a meal as good as they had once done for all of us. Our family were not well off and they made the most of whatever they could afford to buy or grow. We are more fortunate than they were and grateful for the guidance they gave to us to assist us in our lives.

Time has diminished my family numbers, big houses were sold, we downsized and we are now the Elders ourselves. The truth is that we will have no more Thanksgivings together and as the youngest I am left with the memories of those days.

I still like to dress the house for the seasons and have a small collection of what I call winter and summer china and ornaments. Because I moved here when I was a young free spirited girl having a big adventure I traveled light and was unable to bring my china with me. In those days few of us owned a camera and sadly I did not record my surroundings but I  remember fondly some of the transfer ware and patterns. Once it was clear that I was settled here I began my collection again and tried to find some of what I had left behind. For me it is a way of remembering my family.

Funny enough I realised most of the things I cherished as a child had been made in England. I love brown transfer ware for it's simplicity and there is something comforting about the mellow shades and delicate designs.

Many of my pieces have chips or hairline cracks but I still use and enjoy them, carefully!

I am very nosy about china and always like to take a peak when visiting stately homes. I love it when the houses have kept their collections. On a recent visit to the National Trust property Tyntesfield I fell in love with a huge glass mold in the shape of a turkey.

It was used as a jelly mold, or as we called it in America, a 'jello' mold. I would love to borrow it !

One of my favourite  pieces I own is this vintage Wood and Sons Burslem jug, 'Woodland' pattern, hand coloured transfer ware, English Staffordshire. I  love the shape and the detail in the design. The border around the rim is so beautiful and it also has a pattern down the handle. The big house set in the country scene reminds me of the stately homes in the landscapes around England, and in some parts of America.

I wish all of my friends across the water a Happy Thanksgiving from our little cottage here in Wessex where we will take time to remember.

TO WULF HALL

March 2, 2015, 8:33 am

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BBC production of Wolf Hall Claire Foy as Anne Boleyn, Damien Lewis as Henry VIII

Life often does not go according to dreams - or plans, no matter who that we are.

Losing friends and loved ones, or having a serious illness serves to remind us how precious that each moment is and how, whatever our own personal circumstances we need to make the most of what we have and enjoy the good times.

It is a new year and time has flown by once again, including Christmas, while I recovered from illness. I was born with an immune disorder which was not correctly diagnosed until adulthood by which time it had left me with permanent damage. It is why I took early retirement from my corporate employment, and began to turn my leisure activity of collecting and selling vintage items into my full time job. I often struggle to make plans for the future, near or far. Deadlines spin past while I rest and I worry about the inconvenience to others when I must cancel an event or meeting. I acutely feel the distress that not being quite well causes to those close to me. Even a slight cold can keep me from doing anything for several days.



our woodland themed Christmas tree

I love celebrating the seasons and I managed to get the Christmas tree up and the cottage decorated before taking to my bed. We have three different size and shape faux trees which we alternate. I love the scent of real trees, which reminds me of the pine forests of my childhood but I have always felt a close bond to trees and feel guilty that they must die so we can decorate our homes for a few weeks. I fully understand why so many people chose to have a real tree at Christmas, it is an age old tradition to bring greenery into the home in winter. I have a live tree in the garden which we decorate with fairy lights, but indoors I use trees which have been made of wrapped paper, painted sticks or driftwood.  When we lived in the big house we had all three trees up on December 1st. Wherever that I live I always have one tree, even a tiny one,  with animal decorations only. Sometimes I use fantasy ornaments which I call 'The Bestiary Tree'. This year I did a woodland theme on a prelit berry tree with deer, owl and bear ornaments.



One of my collection of Tudor houses

The decorations did not come down until end of January because I was still so ill. I was sad to miss the celebrations of Christmas and New Year but the green baubles and fairy lights cheered the cottage.

Feverish, in my dreams I wandered in the woods and encountered all kinds of beasts.

Grimms Fairy Tales illustration by Vladimir Stankovic

It was a good excuse to catch up on books. I spent it re-reading books which seemed to compliment one another, Grimms Fairy Tales, and Wolf Hall / Bring Up The Bodies.

I have always felt as if I belonged in the past and none more so than in Tudor times and architecture. When I moved to England I relished visiting, and lingering, in Tudor and Elizabethan buildings and gardens.  My family were not close, scattered across America, and none of us had much knowledge of our family history. That is until my Aunt Grace began to write a book about it and she sent me a copy of some of the pages of her manuscript to ask if I would be able to visit locations in England where our ancestors had lived and take some photographs for her. It was an eerie moment when I read the paragraph that proclaimed that my Mother's family were descended from Henry VIII through Mary Boleyn, that other Boleyn girl, sister of ill fated Anne. That Mary's two children were borne of the King, and not her husband William Carey has never been proven, but the idea continues to intrigue historians and often surfaces in novels and films. The Carey's were a large dynasty, we have a very many relatives out there somewhere!

Mary Carey (nee Boleyn) played by Charity Wakefield  in the BBC production of Wolf Hall

The Carey family had a long link to British royalty, over the years being in and out of favour, beheaded or bequested lavish properties only to have them snatched away in the following generation. One of the sons, probably fleeing further loss of fortunes and their head fled to America and any titles and lands which were once associated with them were lost from them forever.

It was with renewed interest that I read about and visited Tudor locations. In a final twist to the personal connections to me when I met my future husband his Mother ran a hotel in a property which had been built by members of the Carey family. Once upon a time they owned the fairytale like village of Cockington and Torre Abbey which were nearby.

Torre Abbey, Devon, once home to the Carey family.

When Hilary Mantel's book Wolf Hall came out I was living in a remotely located rambling Devon long house with several feral cats and one tame kitten for company.

 My husband worked near London during the week and travelled a lot abroad. Without distractions of set meal times or human company I was able to give my uninterrupted attention to reading Wolf Hall.

a Devon Long house

As anyone who has read it will know, it is a heavy book. I could not put it down once began and for three days and late nights I read on bewitched by it's astonishing power. Often repulsed but unable to look away. I awoke one morning after a particularly fitful night of phantoms to find that I had fallen asleep, open book and snarling cats playing by my side.

We often had power cuts, but this did not stop me reading - the candle light added to the atmosphere wrought by Hilary's vision and skill.

I had read enough real history not to have harboured any romantic pretensions of Tudor times but Wolf Hall plunged me directly into the dangerous and dark (but lustrously bejewelled) world, making the day to day risks of ordinary folk and Lords and Ladies very real. It was a scary time to live, extremely so for any common folk but also if you lived in the circle of the court.

BBC production of Wolf Hall The Masque

And, it could be said that if you didn't then you did not really live at all. Like a moth to flame, such was (and still is) the power and attraction of Kings in general, and Henry and his court.



BBC production Wolf Hall Damien Lewis as Henry VIII

When we left Devon and our much loved ancient cottage I felt as if I was leaving Wolf Hall behind too. But then I found it again in the area in which we now live as the real Wulfhall was nearby as are several places which Henry visited.  “…we shall visit the Seymours.’  He writes it down.  Early September. Five days.  Wolf Hall.”

Often when historical novels are brought to film they are unable to capture the essence of the book and the better the book the worse the film. I was thrilled to hear that Wolf Hall would be filmed by the BBC. The production has not disappointed. The cast are superb, even though perhaps one or two of the ladies playing the parts are a little prettier than the real women were. It has fully imparted the spirit of the book, and that is the hardest thing to convey. It shows us the lavish clothes the court wore, the jewels and the splendid dwellings, while all the time a foreboding feeling lurks in the shadows. And many shadows there are. I think using period locations rather than studio sets has made all the difference. Some complained about how dark it has been shot, as Director Peter Kosminsky used candlelight in the night scenes, but it just takes me back to when I was reading it, in the beamed cottage by candlelight. The book was astonishing, and so is the film production.

The many stunning locations used for Wolf Hall are well worth a visit and most are open to the public. One of my favourites is the National Trust owned Lacock Abbey in Wiltshire which
stands in for Wolf Hall, home of the Seymour family and where Henry meets Jane while at a hunting party (the real Wolf Hall sadly fell into disrepair and the last of it was pulled down). Laycock Abbey itself has a long and interesting history, founded in the 13th century as an Augustinian nunnery. After Henry had dissolution the monasteries he sold Lacock Abbey to one of his courtiers, Sir William Sharington, who developed it as his family home.

The medieval cloisters of Lacock Abbey were used for the interiors of Wolf Hall. The Great Hall was also used to portray Henry VIII’s bedroom and a banquet room at his lodgings in Calais before he married Anne.

Lacock Abbey in Wiltshire

Cranford, Harry Potter and The Other Boleyn Girl were also shot at Lacock Abbey.

Why 'Wolf Hall'? The Seymour family seat was named with a nod to the Latin saying 'homo homini lupus est': ‘man is a wolf to man’. It is appropriate. Like the Boleyns the Seymours were a family bent on power and more than willing to sacrifice their own to get what they wanted. In part 6, chapter I of Wolf Hall Thomas Cromwell recalls the phrase whilst reflecting on the Duke of Norfolk's hounding of Cardinal Wolsey.

There is no surviving picture of Wolf Hall as King Henry saw it. Wulfhall was a medieval manor house, most likely timber framed with a double courtyard and a tower (which was demolished in 1569), a long gallery and a chapel. Wulfhall was "derelict and abandoned after 1571" as the family had moved out to nearby Tottenham Park. It was used as servant accommodation until seriously reduced in size in the 1660s and finally demolished in 1723.  Some ruins survived until the beginning of the 20th century, but nothing now remains of the once great house. The famous barn, where King Henry and Queen Jane supposedly celebrated their marriage, burnt down in the 1920s. After Queen Jane died, Henry visited the house again in 1539 – and on that occasion Wolf Hall’s great barn (with an inside space 172 feet long by 26 feet wide) was decorated for a banquet. You can pass the spot where Wulfhall was, and a farm of the same name lies near the road.


Hilary in an interview says this about the title and the writing of the book, "The title arrived before a word was written: Wolf Hall, besides being the home of the Seymour family, seemed an apt name for wherever Henry's court resided. But I had no idea what the book would be like, how it would sound. I could see it, rather than hear it: a slow swirling backdrop of jewelled black and gold, a dark glitter at the corner of my eye. I woke one morning with some words in my head: "So now get up." It took a while to work out that this was not an order to get the day under way. It was the first sentence of my novel."

I am not here to judge those times, or anyone who lived in them. There was not a lot of freedom whether you were Catholic or Protestant, and just one of the many shocking aspects of life then is that the common people could have no access to the Bible because it was written in Latin, and translation to English was punishable by death. It always saddens me that so many wondrous architectural treasures were destroyed when Henry dissolved the monasteries, but the church at that time was all powerful and a lot of ordinary people must have felt abandoned by them. 

The story of Anne Boleyn will forever fascinate people, and it is a sad tale to be sure. That these two people who created the greatest British monarch in Elizabeth I could not have known what their union had forged.

A Tudor Princess by L.M Mackenzie

The final scene of the BBC production of Wolf Hall is extremely moving. The often sharp, pouting and spoiled Anne reduced to shivering in the cold giving her death speech. Was she guilty of all accused? Very unlikely.

Credits: BBC/COMPANY PRODUCTIONS LTD throughout for images from their production of Wolf Hall.

National Trust, Lacock Abbey

National Trust information of locations used in Wolf Hall


 

THE FIRST BUDS OF SPRING

March 17, 2015, 12:20 pm

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The First Buds of Spring watercolour, 25 x 16 inches, signed and dated 1885 Lionel Percy Smythe

It is still very cold here but the first buds of Spring are opening bringing us hope that soon winter really will pass. It has been a mild Winter overall, with snow only coming in small amounts in January and February.

Countryside Info website

 

I've been in the Cotswolds for a week with friends. Driving through the villages and up Cleeve Hill the hedgerows were dotted underneath with the pale creamy blooms of wild primroses. I love seeing this wild flower and much prefer them to the more vibrantly coloured hybrids which people put in baskets. According to the excellent website, 'Countryside Info', "The Primrose (Primula vulgaris) is native to Britain and Europe. It  is a small plant, typically no more than 10 cm (4") high. It produces flowers which generally vary in colour from pale cream to deep yellow." There is also a pale pink variation which is rarer than the yellow. 

Blackbirds are everywhere gathering food for their young, when we drove at dusk we slowed right down for them because they fly very low from hedge to hedge across the road.

Before our holiday I visited one of my favourite art galleries and came across a catalogue from 2000 which caught my eye. The cover had the most exquisite watercolour on it, of a young girl in a wood with a blackbird in the bush beside her. The composition is soft and luminous and somehow conveys an air of melancholy. I found it quite poignant, the young girl perched on the brink of womanhood, and the Spring, both poised to bloom.

I'd been shopping all day and my bags and baskets were full but I had to have this. It was only a few pounds. I set off weighted down with my captures of the day towards the car.

Royal Albert Primrose Hill teacup

Once home and fortified by a cup of tea in a pretty cup I looked more closely at the catalogue and read the entry about this watercolour. The painting is called, 'The First Buds of Spring' and is by Lionel Percy Smythe (1839-1918). Lionel was the son of the 6th Viscount Stratford. He spent his early years in France before his family returned to settle in London in 1843. He trained in London and some of his paintings were exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1863. Smythe and his wife made their home in Normandy, first at Wimereux (where the artist had spent his summer holidays as a child) and, from 1882 onwards, at the Château d’Honvault, between Wimereux and Boulogne. 

 

Lionel was a student of nature and he often portrayed the woods and fields of the countryside where he lived. His work was popular with a small following of collectors in England and became associated with 'The Idyllists',  a group of Victorian artists and illustrators which included Frederick Walker and John William North.  His work is represented in the collections of the Tate and the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.

 

This piece is one of a series which Smythe painted using the woodlands around his home as a backdrop to a young girl pushing through a thicket in Spring time. The model was his daughter Norah, known as Noe. One of the compositions, 'A Wood Nymph' was exhibited in 1884. I have been unable to find an image of that painting, with that name, but the catalogues states that it is, 'surely close in composition to the present picture with its 'silver velvety bud of the willow palm' and 'a blackbird preening itself'. I wondered if this could have also been named 'Springtime', as this painting is so similar to the description and Noe is also the model here.

 

Lionel Percy Smythe  'Springtime', possibly also known as 'A Wood Nymph'

And there is one other painting which I located, entitled 'Bramble' which has the same composition but the girl is dark haired.

Lionel Percy Smyth Bramble

His paintings of farm and seashore workers and children picking flowers and playing have magic about them although they often portray quite common circumstance. Stephen Ogden Fine Art sums this up in their bio entry of the artist when they say that, writing in 1910, one scholar noted of the artist that ‘Mr. Smythe proves plainly that a man may be as realist and still retain his poetic sense; that he may record the life about him faithfully and convincingly and yet miss none of its poetry, none of its imaginative suggestion, and none, certainly, of the beauty it may happen to possess.’

 

The Chris Beetles catalogue entry ends thus, "Its suggestion of melancholy is given poignant emphasis by the knowledge that Noe developed pleurisy in 1897, and died of tuberculosis a year later, before her 13th birthday'.

I have fallen in love with his work, and with this beautiful girl who lit up his paintings.  I hope to see some of his pieces in galleries when I am feeling better and can travel again.

Lionel Percy Smythe Playmates (love the flower collar on the dog)

Credits :

Stephen Ongpin Fine Art HERE:

Chris Beetles Art Gallery

Royal Albert China

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April 1, 2015, 11:37 am

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Beautiful Easter shoot by Green Wedding Shoes. See their work Here:

I like papier-mâché and used to have a collection of Easter egg boxes. I've no idea how or why I began to collect them, like so many things I have, they just happened. And then they just disappeared, probably during one of many moves in either a pre clear out, or a mislaid box. I used to give and receive them filled with chocolates, and tied with a ribbon. I don't miss them, but I wish I would have owned a camera and photographed them, and I hope that wherever that they are, they found a good home.



A charming Easter egg box

Papier-mâché boxes and eggs always remind me of both Easter and Alice in Wonderland.  Our cottage is adorned with several Alice vignettes. One of my Grandmothers was named Alice and I was given the name as one of mine too, after her.



Mad March Hare from Graham & Green Here:  Alice cloth ornament from Alice's Shop in Oxford. Here:

Although the Easter egg boxes are gone, I have a small collection of hand painted papier-mâché boxes from Kashmir in which I keep pieces of jewellery on my dressing table.



This box is quite large and the lid is painted in an exquisite pattern of  mille fleurs. I keep another collection in it - Miracle jewellery.

This little papier-mâché rabbit came from a shop in one of the fairy tale cottages in Carmel by the Sea, 20 years ago. I love the cat shaped box, adorned with bright flowers.

As March ends you would expect Spring to be in full bloom, but it is not so here. I have seen no Deer in the woods, and few Hares, being mad or not. We have had very high winds (we do live on a hill) and rain with hail. It is a bitter biting wind as if the Snow Queen has grabbed hold of you with icy fingers and a sharp nail has pierced your skin.

 

Kelly McMorris, Snow Queen book cover, for Stephen Player's Fantasy Illustration class Published: February 02, 2013 Her website: Here:

 

This weekend is a Bank Holiday in England. The church school behind our cottage is very quiet without the children, and the cats have been playing in the wild woods of the church amongst the daffodils and primroses.  This time of year I like to wander in the gardens of English Country houses and ruined abbeys where you feel as if you may at any moment come upon a Mad Tea Party or you could have your own. Alas, I think that the Easter Bunny may even need to don a long tweed coat and a rain hat prior to bringing children their treats.

 

The Mad Tea Party Alice illustration by John Tenniel. The March Hare is wearing straw in his ears, a sign of madness!

 

Even in this weather, and whatever that we believe,  this is a time for rejoicing in the life that is beginning all around us, and giving thanks for each day we are here to see it.

 

I think I will wrap up warm and venture out to see if I can find some March Hares and then curl up by the fire with a book and the cats. Oh, and chocolate. That diet will just have to wait for a few more weeks until the sun comes back.

 

I love this painting, but do not know who created it. Please leave me a comment if you do!

BLACKTHORN AT BELTAINE

April 28, 2015, 9:15 am

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Of all the trees that grow so fair,
Old England to adorn,
Greater are none beneath the Sun
Than Oak and Ash and Thorn.
(Puck of Pook’s Hill, by Rudyard Kipling, 1906)



Munchkin our Main Coon avoiding getting the snow in his furry paws

Trees in the wood just beginning to have leaf

Trees are late to come to bud and some parts of England remain snow dusted. It has been a hard fight here to shake off the icy arms of Winter from round the neck of Spring. Cold winds pull us back into our woollens. The bramble and the thorn have thrived while we all slept. 

 

 

 

Arthur Rackham

I really adore the work of Lionel Percy Smythe. His gentle use of colour and light is exquisite. Here  'Spring' is cloaked in pale clothes with her green mantle lined in violet. The Blackbird held close. They are one of the first to nest, as early as January.



Caught in the arms of icy Spring Lionel Percy Smythe, 1918

The woods are silent but for a few bird songs, but the hedges are strewn with Blackthorn blossom, those tiny flowers dropped during Faerie revelries. 

Blackthorn is one of my favourite harbingers of Spring. The thorn, with it's black stems,  is associated with darker nature, being the branch which made the crown of thorns for Christ. Yet it also reminds us that after darkness comes the light. I love the William Morris fabric with the thorn blossoms bright against the dark green background, the sweet violets and the fritillaries, and the thorns long and sharp, clearly visible. When we bought our cottage a small built in wardrobe was completely papered in this wallpaper. It is beautiful dense paper with a raised design. I found curtains in the same fabric at a flea market. I enjoy having a seasonal home. We call this small bedroom 'The Winter Room', decorated in dark and icy blues, smokey green, grey and silver with a nod to Narnia. The  Blackthorn reminds us that the White Witch will be gone soon.  

 

I have long been obsessed with tangled woods, briar roses and the thorn. But even I grow weary of Winter after awhile. I feel like a long sleep is passing, the Prince has come with May.

Thorn Rose, 1975 by Errol Le Cain

There is a feeling of magic in the air as Nature comes to life again and the flora and fauna which slept or hid through Winter come out into our view. It is not the full blown heady feeling of Midsummer, which is dreamy and sleepy - this is a joyous awakening and a celebration of life following another Winter.

The perfect May Queen Rapturously beautiful Evelyn Nesbit Age 16, by Gertrude Käsebier

It is easy to understand why it was that our ancestors danced and crowned a May Queen.

 

Queen Guinevere's Maying by John Collier

The chill remains upon us but sun shines brightly, and birds are nesting. House Martins have returned to tend their little homes on our cottage, always a welcome sight each year. The Snow Drops and Daffodils are now faded and the Bluebells are just coming into blossom with our Apple Trees, soon the Blackthorn flowers will turn to Berry.

Blackthorn Sloes

A lovely vintage Blackberry brooch by Exquisite

There is definitely a bustle in the hedgerow, as Robert Plant once sang. Things are afoot all over the place.  Hopefully if the predicted cold spell does not materialise this weekend we will celebrate May Day with a bluebell walk. We should acknowledge the turning of the seasons, as our ancestors did. But if you stray into the woods remember the Rules of Faerie, do not stray from the path and do not eat or drink anything!

Some of my favourite images of this time of year.

By Arthur Rackham, from Hans Christian Anderson's The Elf Mound



Marc Bolan of T Rex Ride a white swan like the people of the Beltaine .....

The remarkable looking Palmate Newt larvae, from the magical Heligan Gardens. Here:

Abigail Edwards The Bramblewood plate Here:

SUMMERTIME BLUES

June 24, 2015, 7:06 am

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Candle lit sandcastle by the sea, source unknown.

 

Summer is a riot of flowers. This year on clothes as well as in the garden, and every year we are reminded how well Lord Leighton captured the heat of summer in his Flaming June.

But for me water flows through the season and paints it from the blue, green and shimmering palette of the rivers, brooks and seas.

From Here:

Faded blue & green chest of drawers

An Art Nouveau brooch from my collection



Rich blue fringed velvet curtains



Magical shimmering sequinned fishes by Lainey Whitworth Art on Etsy I had to have one. Her Etsy shop is Here:



Buckled sparkly shoes from Top Shop



Raw silk embroidered bag from the magical Medieval Muse on Etsy Medieval Muse Etsy shop Here:

Silver and copper dusted, sea glass, the mermaid's tears, glowing in the sand. Surprising golden, violet or indigo skies. Always.

Strange Tempests gather. Inevitably Mermaids enter my thoughts.

shells & tealights in mercury glass

Edward Arthur Fellowes Prynne

Penelope Tree

A superb John William Waterhouse Mermaid

Dolce & Gabbana, 2014

The Sirens - Edward Burne-Jones

Evening Dress, Mad Carpentier, 1940s

But there is also that Midsummer Night's meeting. Water links summer themes, as does that other element, Air.



Air, elemental leather mask From Fairy Magic on Etsy

Heady scents and potions (and sometimes a spell or two) gently incline all to sleep.

A Midsummer Night's Dream by Chad Gowey

William Morris & Co, The Brook tapestry Here:

Titania by Arthur Rackham

Of Pirates and Pan

Peter Pan and the pirate ship, James Coleman

Johnny Depp, Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean The Curse of the Black Pearl



Galleon topped thatched cottage, image by me

Clothes by Magnolia Pearl

Alice, drowsily beside the Thames, her dreams conjuring a tale from Mr Carroll.

"In a Wonderland they lie,

Dreaming as the days go by,

Dreaming as the summers die;

 

Ever drifting down the stream--

Lingering in the golden gleam--

Life, what is it but a dream?"  

 

Lewis Carroll and the Liddell family image by Lewis Carroll



Bickleigh Cottage reflected in the river



Alice illustration by Amber Alexander

Swallows gathering mud for their nests



Alice's Cottage, the pale blues

My Cheshire cat apothecary bottle

And when she is grown, will Alice remember?

Meanwhile, Ophelia is gathering flowers for her watery grave.

Spring collection Dries Van Noten

Ophelia by Kirsty Mitchell

Ophelia, Theodore von der Beek

Somewhere a woman waits, while a Tempest brews.



Miranda, John William waterhouse

The French Lieutenant's Woman

From  The witch's curse by W. S. Gilbert.  illustrations by William Russell Flint. Published 1912

Marikka Nakk Velvet Princess Coat

Colours of a tempest by Fired Earth

Shhhh! We must be still now, Faerie Revels and sweet potions have overpowered all and they lie sleeping.



Arthur Rackham

Potent potions in tiny Czech apothecary bottles

 

 

 

Velvet robe by Toast

 

Sleeping Beauty, Henry Meynell Rheam



Titania Sleeps, by Frank Cadogan  Cowper

Alice Liddell asleep by Lewis Carroll

Undine, Arthur Rackham

CREDITS** 

LIFE IS BUT A DREAM
by: Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

I have tried to find the source of any images I have used but some remain unknown. I will be pleased to credit should someone tell me.

---

Two Doors Down From The Witch

October 28, 2015, 12:20 pm

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Two Doors Down

Once upon a time in the 1980s I lived in an ordinary looking house in a terrace, (especially on a bright sunny day as this), in East Twickenham, by the river Thames, two doors down from The Witch.

June was a good Witch. She lived in the biggest house on our street, on the corner of our terrace. A large Edwardian with leaded glass winking in the windows and a little attic dormer. Suitably distressed it had a lovely porch with gingerbread pillers and red clay roof tiles. The entry hall was so large that there was a fireplace on one wall. The room was painted violet.

In those days I did not own a camera so sadly the images used here are borrowed, or from much later after June had died.  Even then, looking sad without it's Witch it was still charming to me for I knew what enchanting times this house had known.

The Witch's house, taken by me much later

I know that many people believe that we do not hold to Halloween and Trick or Treat here in England - but that was not true of that road in Twickenham where The Witch had lived for those many years. I do not know just how many years that June lived in the house by the river, but each Halloween she opened her home to all the trick and treaters of the neighbourhood and she had thrilled (and scared) generations of local children.

She spent many days before All Hallows decorating the house, especially the old porch where there would be a skeleton and frightening music when you rang the bell. A specially prepared Halloween feast awaited those who dared to enter.

June had pointy toed lace up boots and always wore a long black dress with a cape or interesting cloak. And, of course, a pointy hat. She could cackle too, but usually just got a fit of giggles.

pointy toed Witch boots

I was young when I first celebrated Halloween at the Witch's house and I had to buy a black hat to be allowed inside. Many years later I would dress up my Godson and take him to meet June and play with her Grandchildren. It was inspiring to see that children who grew up returned with their children. Looking back I'm not sure that I knew then what June meant to all of us. She had a bit of Bell Book and Candle, Bewitched, The Aunts in Practical Magic, and Minerva McGonegal in her. But most of all she was pure June. She was The Witch, the local storyteller of many tales.

She was The Witch

I met June, and ended up living two doors down due to my then boyfriend having once lived in that very street with his parents. He had been one of June's charmed children and then officially a Godchild of hers. His Mother had died when he was young and returning there, two doors down, was like coming home for him.

June's middle initial was E and the names of her four children all began with 'E'. I never did find out why. She loved children and always said that had her 4th pregnancy not been a difficult one she would have carried on having them for who knows how long. The thing she wanted more than anything was Grandchildren, and she did get them. One of her children had given her a framed photograph of Margaret Hamilton as The Wicked Witch in Oz. I gave June my little felt mouse dressed in a Witch costume which was one of my most treaured possessions brought with me from San Francisco.

Visiting June's house felt like coming home. The Practical Magic house.

June took me under her broom and she was the first person who made me think that perhaps I too was a Witch. One of my own first memories of Halloween, when I was about 5, was dressing as a Witch to trick or treat our small Californian neighbourhood. June did not have a cat as a familiar. She did have a Tortoise in the walled garden whose name escapes me but I recall them putting it away for winter to hibernate and one year when it broke out before anyone thought it was time to awake.  I had four cats who all used to walk along the top of the terrace and visit June's house. One cat, a ginger tabby named Macavity, climbed to the very top of the house which was the office of June's husband and we spent hours trying to talk it off the roof through the attic window.  

The house endlessly fascinated me. The top floor was known as the nursery and was mostly given over to the children who had a train set which covered a vast area, always set up ready to play. Who would not love a house with both a cellar and an attic? It had French oak floors and the staircase rail was beautifully carved and twisted.  Things were always being revealed to me there. One day we decided to enquire what was in the garage. It turned out to house a very old, very beautiful Alvis.

Along with Halloween and Margaret Hamilton, June also loved The Day of the Dead. On the top of a bookcase in the dining room sat a skeleton scene, arranged around a dining table at a meal. She loved Toucans and we marvelled at how she could drink Guinness even though she was a tiny Witch.

A good cook, as you would expect of a Witch, she liked collecting mushrooms and made the best mushroom soup I have ever tasted.

June was not the only magical being in the house at the end of the terrace. Her husband was a word wizard. He knew all sorts of things most people had forgotten. He could quote from Wilde, Shakespeare, Lewis Carrol and many obscure writings. He was an editor and a man well known for his charm and wit. During his working life he made magic for The Sunday Times, World of Interiors, and The Church Times. It was he who first introduced me to Edward Lear and to an antique/junk shop in St Margaret's called Cheney Galleries. I mostly kept a carved oak chair I bought there to remind me of him. On one visit there we found a small sketch which we believed was an Edward Lear. Alas, I do not know what became of that. He was a perfect host and loved having people over for drinks on New Years. On Halloween he stayed out of the way of all the Witches and Ghoulies. He could usually be found in a corner in an old chair, his glasses perched upon his nose behind a newspaper. When anyone was talking a bit of nonsense he had this way of raising one eyebrow and looking at them from over his glasses.

It was a wonderful community to live in and I miss those days. Sundays were spent at a local pub, a walk across the river over Richmond Bridge.

My boyfriend and I moved away from Twickenham and we parted ways. I did not see much of June but I kept in touch. I am very glad that June was still alive when Practical Magic, Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings were made into films. I hope that she was able to see them all, she would have loved knowing that the magic of storytelling was alive and had been handed to a new generation of children.  The last Halloween she sent me a note to tell me that she was grounded due to being unwell. I meant to but I am not good at saying goodbye and I never saw her again.

I noticed a few years ago that the house came up for sale once more. It had been 'developed' by someone and all of the charm hidden behind the persistent trend for black and white kitchens, knocked through rooms, endless white and parking spaces.  The photographs sadddened me.

all white and neat now

a reminder of the once leaded glass windows

One of the ornate fireplaces survived the modernisation

I often think of June when I see little enchanting things and know that she would like them. In our village I am The Witch. I dress our cottage with pumpkins, spiders, bats and lanterns for the small ones who make their way to our door. Each year there are more and I find June's pointy toed boots a hard act to follow, but I will try.

 

I suspect that every now and then I will go past the house where The Witch and The Word Wizard lived two doors down. Just to check on it. Maybe one day it will transform itself back to how it once was, how I remember it. Like this.

And Then There Were Three

November 4, 2015, 11:55 am

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Minerva and Morpheus Black

Mrs Black and her naughty kitten Isabella

We have been a family of two cats since November two years ago when Mrs Black, missing both her late husband Morpheus, and their much loved kitten Isabella,  decided to take in a lodger. He turned out to have quite a tale to tell. He was a distant relative of her late husband who had fallen on hard times when his elderly owner died and his old house was sold from under him. He had lived by various names but he explained in his letter to Mrs Black that his true name was Monsieur Munchkin Lestrange.

 

He very much regretted that the reputation of his ancient family had been tarnished by the behavior of cousin Bellatrix made famous when J.K Rowling collected the lore and wrote those Harry Potter books.

Mssr Lestrange potrait by celebrated Dutch artist Marie Cecile Thijs website HERE:

Munchkin had endured being cat napped from his home whie his mistress was gravely ill and bustled off to a new home 10 miles away. Desperate to return to his beloved mistress he escaped and wandered the miles between until some 6 months later he came home. Sadly his mistress had died. Cast out of his home by the new cruel owner who sent the dogs out to kill him, he took up residence in the gardens and solicited the assistance of a neighbour who had long admired the handsome half Maine Coon. Despite her family being allergic to cats, she fed him and helped him find Mrs Black. Nearly three years after the death of his mistress Munchkin finally came indoors to a life of total comfort.

Mssr. Munchkin Lestrange

Mrs Black adores him and is ever hopeful of some tale of his travel adventures, but he dislikes other cats preferring to spend his time in my studio at the bottom of the garden writing his memoirs, or overseeing the maintenance of the 13th century Norman church behind our cottage. Obviously after such tragic times he can be a little tetchy and cuddles must be kept to a minumum. He has been known to bite the hand that feeds! Two winters living outside in snow took their toll and he suffers arthritis but takes his medicine well, as long as there are treats to hand. He has a fierce hiss and growl (cat swearing) but thankfully there has been no sign of the dark spells which cousin Bellatrix was famous for.

Mssr Lestrange in the graveyard

Not being as companionable as Mrs Black had hoped she continued to long for a kitten to brighten her old age. One day, out of the blue, she said that if Munchkin were to pass on before her she would like, more than anything, to have a completely black kitten named Puff. I pondered this confession, and thought how typically considerate of her, knowing Munchkin hated other cats, she would wait until he had passed on. I mentally made a note to warn the husband that a black kitten may be in our future somewhere.

At the end of August while admiring the blood moon from a field at the bottom of our lane the husband and I noticed a young black cat catching a mouse. A bit startled by us she nevertheless carried the struggling mouse out of the field but she lost it in the lane. As I looked over towards her she meowed piteously and ran towards some old sheds which were once field shelters.

We then saw her about the village and in particular underneath our bird feeders at the front of our cottage. She was timid and would always run away. In mid-October things came to a head. Leaving the house to go out I saw the black cat jump onto the bird table to eat the fat balls which I had put out for the birds.

I put down a bowl of cat food. And so it began.

Cat shelter made from old compost bin, newspaper 7 straw.

Two weeks later after building a cat shelter from an old bin and feeding twice a day, we enticed the cat into our cottage with a bowl of food and shut the door. Since then it has lived in our spare bedroom in order to determine it's state of health before introducing it to Mrs Black and Munchkin.

The black cat is a she, between 6-9 months and absolutely, completely, black. Everywhere.

Her name is, of course, Puff. It seems that Mrs Black has been doing some conjuring and the magic of the season helped her to guide this poor homeless waif to her.

Puff passed initial vet checks but we anxiously waited the blood test results to be certain that she was clear of Feline Leukemia (FeLV) and Feline Aids.  Both Mrs Black and Munchin have compromised immune systems and very heartbreakingly were Puff to have one of the fatal cat diseases she could not stay with us. It would be too much of a risk to them.

Introducing Puff.

There was much celebrating when our vet rang to give us the all clear. Puff is not micro chipped, and we have no history for her. She is timid and frightened of people and although she will cuddle and purr she hides under the chest of drawers when we are not in the room and shies away when you first extend a hand. She has probably been lost or abandoned since a small kitten, but must have at some point been handled and loved for she is not completely feral. We are quite sad that whoever may have owned her before will not know that she is safe and loved not just by us but by Mrs Black.

The vet is unable to be sure if she has been spayed so we must wait and watch to see if she comes into heat. She could even be already pregnant, if she is, it is too early to tell. She is underweight and infested with parasites from the birds and mice which she ate to survive. She must be a very brave and remarkable cat to be able to look after herself from such a young age. But she will be fine and soon introductions can take place between her and Mrs Black. Munchkin no doubt will be completely unimpressed and insist this young cat has no access to 'his' studio in his garden.

We will need to hone our photography skills in order to get good images of Puff, she is so dark.


We are very grateful for being able to help this beautiful homeless cat.

in the Company of Wolves

December 16, 2015, 2:10 pm

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A mystical version of Santa Claus from Arthur Rackham's Book of Pictures published in 1913. This painting was done in 1907, pen, ink & watercolour on paper, and is in a Private Collection. Photo © Chris Beetles Ltd, London / The Bridgeman Art Library

I've long been fascinated by the symbolism of the colour red in folklore and how this permeates into our daily life, often without us realising.  At this time of year if we think of red, it will be Santa Claus whose red costume springs to the mind of a lot of people.

Stag hook with red stone and red + blue wool blanket. From Plumo.

There is something comforting about red in the dark winter months. The glow of a fiery hearth warming our homes and soft wool blankets and throws. And who does not love a red winter coat? Bright red ribbons tied around lovingly given Christmas presents. Shiny red glass ornaments hung on a tree, and the lush red berries of holy in wreaths, and dropped in the snow. If we are lucky enough to live where they do we may even see the Red Cardinal. Here in England we are charmed by the tiny but fierce Robin with it's red breast and he adorns many a Christmas card as well as being England's national bird.

Robin and holly

Red is a complex colour and has another, more dangerous side and many associations with myth and magic. As Autumn turns to Winter and the trees shake their colourful leaf cloaks to the ground my thoughts always turn to the woods. I love the architectural shape of bare trees and the idea that you may just glimpse something magical there in the woods which at other times of the year would be hidden to your view. We may dream of Unicorns, but If we are very lucky we might really see a White Hart. I often see the Deer who live in our local woods and I have seen the White Hart in the New Forest and in the royal hunting park near Hampton Court, Bushy Park. 

The Mystic Wood by John William Waterhouse

 But it is the Wolves which I secretly long for. Or at least a ribbon of red cloth, caught on a tree as if someone who had strayed from the path hurried past.
 

All colours have meanings and the power to change our moods. Red is not a colour for wall flowers, it is primal, capable of elicting extreme reactions. How we feel about red today began in the distant past when red was known as the color of fire and blood, associated with Mars the God of war,  and confusingly, both mahesty and liberty, therefore revolutions. It also symbolised passion as the colour of love, and of sin.

Tudor Rose, Elizabethan lady in red velvet, Robert Dudley Earl of Leicester.

Both majesty and revolutions

Immortal passion. Gary Oldman in the red cloak of Dracula. Terrifying.

Even when used in small amounts it has a potent effect and a deep poignancy. Few colours can evoke such emotion.

This is a celebration of the colour red in a few of it's guises. The history and folklore of red has been academically covered by many and for those who wish to read more serious considerations I have included some links at the bottom of the page and am happy to add more should you know of good sources which I have left out.

I've collected lore about the colour red all of my life and am always delighted when another story appears where red is used. I do love them all.

Alas we have no snow this winter, it is just grey and very wet here in the English countryside. I long for that burst of red against a blanket of white, and this greyness inspired me to share some of my favourite reds.

Little Red Riding Hood Sir John Everett Millais P.R.A. The model is his daughter oil on panel, 1864 35.5 by 25cm., 14 by 9¾in. see bottom of page for details about this painting

Sarah Moon's rendition. An urban black and white tale of dread. The model is her daughter Superb in it's simplicity.

Tribute to Red from Surface View

The Red Hat, Charles A Buchel, 1910

Imagine winter nights in this

The lore of Apples.

Bette Davis wears a red ball gown in 1938 and ruins her reputation as ladies should wear white

Scarlett O'Hara on the red stairs Gone With The Wind 1939

Modern Folklore. David Hemmings drives past the red buildings in Blow Up, 1967. Sammy Hagar pays tribute with his 'Red' album of the same street scene in 1977.

Angela Carter. The Bloody Chamber, 1979  new stories from the base of old ones including In the Company of Wolves which became the Neil Jorden 1984 film

Red Shoes  & Ruby Slippers The Red Shoes (film 1948), The Wizard Of Oz (film 1939) Vianne from Chocolat (2000) & The Lollipop Shoes (2007) by Joanne Harris

For sheer poignancy, a real life story The girl in the red coat Schindler's List 1993

For some it may be difficult to chose a favourite tale which has red at it's heart, but not for me. Thankfully the legacy lives on as new storytellers weave tales of dread and delight around bright red tendrils.

Modern Red, in the Cotswolds

Have you guessed which tale of red might be my favourite? Yes, it is Little Red Riding Hood. I think the reasons that I like it so much are tied to the Arthur Rackham illustrations which I have had since I was a child. And I love the dual nature of red. I always wonder if this is one of the reasons that the French version with it's sad ending, and the Grimm's version with it's happy ending. both work.

Arthur Rackham detail from She Met a Wolf

And, in a twist and colour deviation from the red hood there is another lesser known tale which insists that in fact the hood or cape was golden, and enchanted. Andrew Lang included it in his Red Fairy Book, 1890, and called it 'The True History of Little Goldenhood'. His tale was derived from the earlier work of Charles Marelles. This version claims that before now the story has been incorrectly told. Goldenhood is the girl's name as well as her cloak and she is saved not by the huntsman but by the hood which burns the mouth o the wolf as he tries to eat her. You can read this tale in full, follow the links below.

One version of Andrew Lang's Red Fairy Book bought from Abe's Books Here:

The only known illustration from Golden Hood you can see clearly she is wearing a hood and not cloak with a hood.

I tried to photograph a few of my Red Riding Hood pieces which I have collected for years, but Puff the half kitten rather got in the way. She likes to lay amongst them and because she is a magic cat the camera always focusses correctly upon her and not other subjects.

Puff with my Red Riding Hood figures.

This is a detail of the small Staffordshire figure. The Wolf seems rather shy as he is hiding under Red's skirt. This figurine is quite old and has a crack running through the bottom. 

Small Staffordshire 'Red' detail

I like to display a Parrish Relic on the large Parian figure of Red. Jen Parrish uses antique images in her beautiful creations. This one has nothing to do with the tale of Red Riding Hood but I like to combine pieces of Wolf lore with that of Red Riding Hood. Parian is a soft clay and delicate. This piece is missing a paw and a handle of Red's basket. I still love her.

Parian Ware 'Red' adorned by a Parrish Relic of Wolves

My little Red

And a favourite of mine. Tortoiseshell and Calico cats are brave and fierce and like to play in the  woods, real or metaphoric. This little painting was a tribute of the artist to her own Calico who she lost, and to mine. It is very precious to me.

Further reading and sources:

Obviously any self respecting fan of Red, and of Wolves needs to read the tale as recorded firstly Charles Perrault, and later told and retold in different versions by the Brothers Grimm.  The earliest known printed version was called Le Petit Chaperon Rouge, by Charles Perrault and may have had its origins in 17th-century French folklore.  It is believed that it was he who introduced the red hood or cap, but it is not known whether this idea was his own, or came from folklore.

For the alternative tale, The True History of Little Golden Hood from The Red Fairy Book, read more on Tales Of Faerie  Here:and the complete tale on Sur La lune Fairytales Here:

I love the writing of author Joanne Harris and have read, and re-read all of her work. She weaves an intoxicating tale with subtle under and overtures. Her own website is Here:

Being a city girl originally I was immediately struck dumb (and captivated and frightened in equal parts) by the urban depiction of Sarah Moon's Red, Here:

Terri Windling who does not just write about the land of Faerie but embodies it has written so many informative and wondrous pieces on her blog, her article about Red, Here:

Kristin's wonderful site Tales of Faerie and her piece about Red. Here:

Article about Sammy Hagar's Red album and the Blow Up connection,
Here:

The Girl in the red coat, the real story, Here:

Parrish Relics own website, Here:

Surface View who offer wonderful art for your walls and home in all kinds of mediums,
Here:

Red Riding Hood by Sir John Everett Millais P.R.A.

This was sold at Sotheby's in a sale of British and Irish Art, 19 November 2013,for the amount of 98,500 GBP  including the hammer price with the buyer's premium.  

This note is from their catalogue of that sale.

"Painted in 1864, Red Riding Hood depicts the artist's eldest daughter Effie (later Mrs James), aged six, carrying a basket of vegetables and wild flowers, at the door of Grannie's house. It is one of a series of charming portraits of Effie, dressed in various costumes, including My First Sermon and My Second Sermon painted in 1863 and The Minuet of 1866 (private collection). He often used his daughters as models and Effie's sisters Mary and Carrie appear in Waking (Perth Art Gallery) and Sleeping (private collection) of 1865. As has been pointed out, 'With child models readily available Millais was able to give free expression to feelings of parental pride and joy, as well as offer comment on the growth of his offspring, with an eye on the market for endearing images of children.' (Jason Rosenfeld and Alison Smith, Millais, 2007, p.172) Millais was probably inspired to paint Red Riding Hood following the success of James Sant's Little Red Riding Hood of 1860 which had been printed in 1863 in the Illustrated London News as a large chromotype which resulted in the sale of vast numbers of the magazine. The subject was also painted by Watts and Landseer. The moment depicted by Millais captures the tension as Red Riding Hood is about to enter the house to find the wolf dressed in her grand-mother's clothes. However the horror and danger of the story that had been first told by Charles Perrault and retold by the Brothers Grimm, is only implied."

The Kindness of Strangers

February 6, 2016, 9:17 am

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'Catching Butterflies' by Colleen Parker HERE:

I don't publish blog posts as often as I mean to. I have a folder full of subjects and images which whisper to me, spinning their stories like dream catchers. I continue to be delighted at the kindness of strangers (and friends) who read my little pieces and who take the time to comment, and in many cases to share information with me which had thus far eluded me.

The Dyng Year, Albert Klingner

We are well into the New Year, and although I do not like to commit to resolutions I think it is not a bad thing to just try harder to finish those things which mean something to us and enhance our lives, and possibly the life of someone else too.

People often ask me why that I write. I think most people who do so would agree with me that it fills some need. I simply must.

HERE:

Butterfly gloves by Tiny Owl Knits HERE:

I almost always have thoughts floating round my head and must capture them and put them to paper or page before they fly away. I dislike things being forgotten whether that be people, places or words and images.

The past is full of wisdom and the older that we get we become full too. Where does it all go when we die? It is the ordinary folk who are often forgotten, and with them volumes of stories. So I think I write to share those stories.

from the things we say

The Storyteller, Albert Anker (1850-1899)

When I was little I was often sat enthralled by the old storytellers in my family, little did I think that one day it would fall to me to tell their tale along with those of many others, and my own.

I usually begin each new year looking backwards at the old one. Just briefly. I am not very good at goodbyes and I like to linger for a little while before moving on.

Joan Crawford in an art deco revolving door

The past to me is not a door which you shut firmly behind you. For me it is a revolving door which goes both ways. Always.

Like most of you, last year I said farewell to many familiar people and places. My world is less certain without the guideposts they provided and it will take more time for me to find my balance again. Over the next few weeks I want to try, very hard, to do them justice in putting a little of their stories to the page and sharing this with you so that hopefully, somewhere, sometime, someone will find them again.

Of course this year began with the death of two best beloved storytellers, David Bowie, and Alan Rickman. The loss is felt greatly by many, myself included, but then there are all of the little people who told stories quietly in smaller worlds and yet released them just as well.

Lost things often do become found and in so doing they are new again. If things such as us are remembered I believe we never completely die. Only a part of us does.

Lizzie Riches more HERE:

I posted last Spring about paper mache eggs and boxes (which I collect) and ended the post with a lovey painting that has haunted me for sometime. I asked readers to leave me a comment should anyone know whose artistic hand had created this piece. The original post is HERE:

Woman by the fire Lionel Percy Smythe

And, someone did. Thank you very much to Paresh Dholakia! It was especially interesting for me to have the name of this artist, Lionel Percy Smythe, because this time last year his work touched me quite deeply when I accidently came across it on a gallery catalogue. I posted a bit about him, and the story of the painting in the catalogue, 
HERE:

I had not guessed at all that this too was by his hand and without the kindness of strangers I may have never known.



I have always depended on the kindness of strangers, is a line from Tennessee Williams'A Streetcar Named Desire (1947)

David Bowie ~ The Stars Line Up

April 6, 2016, 6:51 am

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Bowie fans lay flowers at the mural created in 2013 by Australian street artist James Cochran. The wall of Morley’s department store, in Tunstall Road, Brixton. It was commissioned as part of the exhibition, 'The Many Faces of Bowie', at Opera Gallery.

David Bowie,

January 8, 1947 ~ January 10, 2016

"For God’s sake let us sit upon the ground

 And tell sad stories of the death of kings"

~ Act 3, Scene 2, Richard II, William Shakespeare

David Bowie by Bab Webbs

The path out of the woods, just as the path in, is littered with mysterious things,  wondrous adventures, and confusing signposts. As I grew up and began to leave what others declared were childish pastimes behind me, I thought I was turning the page upon those fairy tales, dark towers, haunting characters and glass slippers. But as is often the way, the path which I stumbled upon taking me out of childhood was as strewn with potent magic as all of those tales the Brothers Grimm collected and I cherished.

Gareth the Goblin King ~ Bowie in Jim Henson's  Labyrinth Fantasy designer Brian Froud says he drew on inspirations such as Marlon Brando in The Wild One and vivid scenes from Brothers Grimm fairy tales, like the knight "with the worms of death eating through his armor."

Some would imagine that modern culture - rock music, art and fashion would not offer much in the way of education. But this would not be at all true. I was a teenager in the days before the internet, the days when households had one tv, no PC and music had to be bought at record shops and played on record players which were likely shared with the whole family.


A real treat was to record favourite songs onto a rickety cassette player so that you could turn it up as loud as you liked out of range of your parents.

We often listened to the music which meant the most to us on very poor quality recordings, but it did not matter. It was thrilling. Music, art and fashion were all linked and because we were so young most of us middle class teenagers had not encountered any of this before.

How worldly the rock stars seemed to us, though in fact they were just a few years older. The subjects contained in their lyrics intrigued, and we investigated. It opened doors to new worlds we may not have discovered by ourselves.

Maybe we could be anything. (We could be heroes, just for one day)

source unknown

I lived in California in the 70s where I got to see and even speak to several rock stars who lit up the local concert venues as they passed through. All were fascinating to us,  the music, tales of far away places and the fashions. Especially the British musicians who dressed and spoke quite differently than the local bands. 

At home in Beckenham, early 70s

Singers stick in the mind since they are centre stage. Marc Bolan, a minature perfectly formed member of the Faerie, Freddie Mercury, stunningly beautiful, elegant and graceful with a huge presence, Bryan Ferry, very masculine, handsome and charming. Robert Plant, as he himself proclaimed, 'a Golden God'. Mick Jagger, mesmerising and in command.
 

The Winterland poster for David Bowie October 1972

My friends and I did not meet, or even speak to David Bowie. But we did have the pleasure of watching him at close quarters. Because we knew the support band we were backstage when Bowie headlined in San Francisco in October 1972, at Bill Graham's Winterland.

Bowie puts on his Ziggy Stardust face

Unbeknownst to us, sunbathing and still revelling in the long lost 'summer of love' on the shores of the San Francisco Bay, Bowie already had a musical and performing past before he released two albums in 1971, 'The Man Who Sold The World' and 'Hunky Dory'.

The Ziggy Stardust album followed in 1972.

We could only read in the English musical press how that Ziggy hysteria was in full swing in London where fans attended a show at The Rainbow dressed like Ziggy.

In the summer of 1972 he produced Lou Reed's Transformer which included the dark tale of Candy Darling taking her 'Walk On The Wild Side'.He had co-produced Iggy and The Stooges Raw Power. But that was New York, and we were San Francisco where things had a different sound and look. It took awhile for news of this extra terrestial with his Spiders From Mars to be beamed cross the hinterlands of America and land in laid back California. He was a fascinating enigma. Here was this other worldy being, somewhat ethereal, holding court over much harder edged creatures, sounds, looks and words.

He played two nights, October 27th and 28th and spent his days off in San Francisco where Mick Rock shot a promotonal film for The Jean Genie. The song was composed while travelling across the US on a chartered Greyhound bus, recorded in New York and released that November. The promo was filmed at an infamous flop house of a hotel called The Mars. It was located at 192 Fourth Street, corner of Howard, but has been demolished for some years. The location was already part of Northern California folklore, Jack Kerouac had stayed there. Bowie's presence added another layer. Later, in 1974 The Grateful Dead recorded "From the Mars Hotel" at the nearby Automatt. I can remember waiting for a bus in that part of the city and scurrying past The Mars fast. You did not wish to linger there.Although the seedier side of life in a metropolis has always fascinated me. An urban Grimms.

The Mars Hotel, San Francisco

David and Cyrinda Foxe shooting the promo film by Mick Rock for The Jean Genie

The support band Sylvester and his Hot Band were fronted by a cross dressing boy with an amazing voice and great dance moves. The audience was small, and comprised of many local gays who followed Sylvester about dressed up in their best finery and full make up.  When Sylvester played it was always a party. We were all dancing, girls with boys, girls with girls and boys with boys.

Sylvester

Bowie's visionary manager Tony DeFries had insisted that concert promoter Bill Graham have a temporary wall built so that no one could actually see Bowie as he ascended to the stage, and the full impact would only be apparent once he was in front of us. This was an audacious request for those days but something was done so that the entrance of Bowie was quite dramatic. (It would have been anyway). Having been involved with the San Francisco Mime Troupe Bill appreciated theatre.

Ziggy Stardust

The Bowie entourage was growing at each concert venue as the tour progressed. It had a mood - slightly intimidating,self assured and almost as interesting as he. RCA had invested a lot of money to promote Bowie. Tony DeFries told the entourage that if they acted like stars people would believe them. (Which nealy fits with Andy Warhol's," Everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." quote. Bowie's tour group included bodyguards, an official photographer, a hairdresser / wardrobe mistress and administrative staff, plus all of the friends and fans who tagged on. In those days before the internet, before mobile phones and digital cameras few people took photos of everyday life as we do today. I can find no photos of him onstage there. Bowie's management MainMan banned photographers at the Ziggy Stardust concerts other than those sanctioned by them.

We sat backstage and watched. He and the band wore amazing clothes, and there were costume changes during the set. He was hauntingly pale, this red haired vision, so beautiful. We knew next to nothing about him but we did know that this creature who had lit amongst us was not one of us.

Ziggy Stardust

Michael Collins Morton wrote a wonderful review of these shows in 2009 on his blog 'Nonfiction'.

"The show at Winterland began late, but finally commenced in an impressive manner, with the flicker of a strobe light slowly increasing in speed, and the glorious sound of the "Ode to Joy" from the Symphony No. 9 in D minor by Ludwig van Beethoven, played on a synthesizer, booming out from the speakers. Although the attendance at the show was scant, it was quite clear to me, once David Bowie had taken over the stage, that the imaginative songs and alluring bisexuality of the fey Englishman had an unusual appeal. His orange hair (which had an unearthly glow and stood straight up on the top of his head), his artful use of makeup, and his striking garments all gave him the air of an otherworldly being, which he highlighted with a tempting smile and a polished display of nimble gestures. In his eyes there was an alien gleam, hinting at a hidden realm of strange practices and wayward pleasures."

I really love that last sentence. It sums up perfectly the first impression we had of David Bowie, and his alter ego Ziggy Stardust.

You can read the whole post about the night, and Bowie's later days HERE:

Many of us would love to have a time machine to take us to the Hammersmith concert where Ziggy Stardust performed for the last time. I was in another country. I never saw Bowie again, tickets sold out, other events took precedence. I was left with a vision of Ziggy, and how he played guitar. Rumour suggested that Bowie had partly created the character from Jimi Hendrix. Many rockstars were otherworldly in those days. When The Who were on the Dick Cavett show he asked Roger Daltrey where he was from and Daltrey quickly replied, 'Mars'. There was so much stardust about.And I wanted to gather armfuls of it while I could.

gathering stars

As I grew up, moved around and lived my own life David Bowie was part of the soundtrack in the background. I never knew him, but he often touched me. In hard times when I felt out of my comfort zone,a stranger living in a suburban town where I felt I did not belong, I reached for his music.

The man I married confessed that Bowie was his favourite artist and that once in a play he had turned his grey leather bomber jacket with an orange satin lining inside out to be Ziggy. Every album Bowie brought out made it's way to our house and played in the soundtrack of our lives.

Bowie and Cyrinda, San Francisco

Earthling tour, wearing Alexander McQueen, 1997. Maybe, just maybe, my favourite photo of him

Since he has died the press have struggled with words, failing to capture what he was, who he was. All that he was and could be. What a massive legacy he left us.

'Chameleon' has often been used to describe him. It's true he had a changable quality, but not like a chameleon who alters to be invisible in it's surroundings to protect itself from predators.

Bowie was not hiding, he enjoyed being in plain sight, though he teased us with his role playing and his clues. He was storytelling.

He was shapeshifting. He was mercurial.

He knew he could show us things we had not even dreamed of.



I did not love every song or era which Bowie presented to us. But often I would return to it later. I would not have even said that he was my favourite artist, and yet I know that everything that he did was absolutely astonishing. He was not a rock star, he was more, so much more. He was a master of the craft. An Artist who brought so much to his work, who lived in many cultures and places. Shape shifting, shedding skins and taking on new ones.

Mr. Fish's Man Dress, designed by British fashion designer Michael Fish. the cover of the U.K. release of The Man Who Sold The World

It is especially interesting to me to look back now and realise that although "The Jean Genie" spent 13 weeks in the UK charts, and peaked at no. 2, as Bowie's biggest hit thus far, in the US the best it achieved back then was No. 71. It took most of America a very long time to get Bowie, but he still chose to live there. And oh how England missed him.

DCI Gene Hunt, Life on Mars and Ashes to Ashes

Eventually Bowie's music found it's way into many unexpected places and the BBC created the television series Life on Mars and character  DCIGene "the Gene Genie" Hunt, who periodically refers to himself as 'The Gene Genie'. In the episode "A Conflict of Interests" it is playing as they enter the club. Gene Hunt also refers to himself as the Gene Genie more frequently in the sequel series, Ashes to Ashes  and his individual theme music on the latter programme is an instrumental version of "The Jean Genie" (retitled "Gene Genie"), created by series composer Edmund Butt.

A line of his character Gareth, The Goblin King, from Labyrinth

Most people know the story of how Bowie's health caused him to retreat following a heart attack while touring. He may have been out of the limelight for sometime, but his skill did not dim, nor his ability to astonish wane. Bowie was always at least one step ahead of us, but not hurrying away. Looking over his shoulder, beckoning us to follow his riddle strewn path.

We hadn't forgotten about him, we missed him. And then, in January 2013 he returned as quietly as he had gone. And it was as if he had never left us. The single 'Where Are we Now' appeared on iTunes on his 66th birthday, with no explanation, as if we had conjured it. The timing and the method was his own idea. The video has all of his old magic, puppets and snippets from his life. He left Tony Visconti to be what one reporter called, 'his voice on Earth' and field questions from the press.

‘The Stars Are Out’ was the second single and the video for the song appeared in February. It's a beautifully filmed and bizarre story (by Canadian Director Floria Sigismondi)with Bowie and Tilda Swinton as a handsome, immaculately dressed older couple living in a perfect home. For some reason it is fascinating to watch them shopping, perfectly attired and coiffed, bringing their goods home in a plain brown paper bag to the small but classic kitchen. Tilda's stroke of pale blue eyeliner is genius. They do ordinary things so elegantly but watching this confirms your suspicions that David Bowie could never have been ordinary. Their lives are magazine covers until they are 'bothered' by young neighbours who follow, haunt and torment them. The characters slip in and out of each other's roles, the older Bowie meets the younger one, and the perfect Tilda, driven mad by 'the stars' ends up serving raw chicken to her husband.  Andreja Pejic and Saskia de Brauw are 'the stars' who make their life a nightmare. A young Bowie is played in the video by Iselin Steiro. Maybe this was his way of saying how that we never escape the past, it is always a part of us. This must have been great fun to film and I have not yet tired of watching it.

The Stars (are out tonight)

The album 'The Next Day' followed in March with a video, again directed by Floria Sigismondi. It stars Bowie as a prophet like figure in a rock band, Marion Cotillard (who would play Lady Macbeth in 2015) as a gorgeous and beautifully made up Mary Magdalene figure with Gary Oldman as an unreliable, sexy priest.This dark, gothic tale abounds with religious symbols. There are cardinals, Joan of Arc, a virgin figure, and that woman with the crazy eyelashes. It's imagery could be seen as against the church, and there is near nudity which caused youtube to take the video down, but it actually seems to be a moral tale of some kind, which ends on a light note with Bowie thanking the participants and disappearing into thin air. There is a little bit of The Tempest here I think. A visual feast, but this one will take a long time to understand. For me at least.

'The Next Day' video characters gathered

Later in 2013 'The Next Day' was on the Barclaycard Mercury Music Prize list for Album of the year, and Bowie premiered a video to another single he had released from the album, 'Love is Lost'. The footage included wooden puppets of Pierrot and The Thin White Duke created for him by Jim Henson's Creature Shop for an unreleased video in the past. It was Bowie's idea, written, and shot in his New York office just a week before the awards ceremony. Apparently the cost of creating the video was a mere $12.99, the flash drive he bought to be able to save the video onto his camera.

All of the personas which he created remain untouched by time, somehow as fresh as when new, whole for him, and for us, to revisit. Bowie was always comfortable flitting in and out of his past, time travel was easy for him. New generations can wonder. Bowie was a master storyteller in the very best tradition. Each of his fans have their favourite period, but most of us were touched by them all.

Bowie and Twiggy, the cover for Pin Ups, 1973

Diamond Dogs 1974

In 1978 Bowie narrated Peter and the Wolf with the Philadelphia Orchestra

Ashes to Ashes,1980 The Blue Clown, or Pierrot, was made for Bowie by costume designer Natasha Korniloff for his Ashes to Ashes video, and was also used on the cover of Scary Monsters.

The man Who Fell to Earth Nic Roeg's science fiction film

The Thin White Duke, by Norman Parkinson 1976 persona and character, primarily identified with his album Station to Station

Heroes album cover shoot, 1977, photograph by Masayoshi Sukita. © Sukita, courtesy the David Bowie Archive

The Hunger

As Nikola Tesla Christopher Nolan's 2006 film "The Prestige"

Alexander McQueen on the cover of his 1997 album, Eart HL I NG. The year McQueen won the British Designer of the Year award.

It would be easy to say that in his early years, as he came into our atmosphere, he was a raw talent. But this would not be entirely true. He exuded an electricity that was startling, but never raw. He took careful aim and always seemed to know where he was going. He was not an overnight success, he was always on that path. We noticed him when each of us were ready. I am reminded of his words, "there's a starman waiting in the sky, he'd like to come and meet us but he thinks he'll blow our minds" Compared to him we were all absolute beginners.

In mime makeup, 1968 by Ray Stevenson

The Man Who Fell to Earth

Although outrageous when young, Bowie aged gracefully. A rarity amongst rock stars and celebrities. He was unlike others. More than all of that.  He transcended categories. That beautiful bone structure. The fascination in his voice. The straight at us gaze.

Just days after his death, Suzy Menkes from Vogue would say in a tribute to him, "He pushed boundaries that by now have grown into an entire fashion landscape".

Tweeter Center, Tinley Park,IL. August 8, 2002. Photo by Adam Bielawski.

backstage at the Glastonbury Festival, coat designed by Alexander McQueen June 25, 2000

With his daughter, 2000 Camera press, Brian Aris

a ragged suit and scarf in 2004 his last tour

Once barely known the now many recognitions, tributes and celebrations are much deserved. It is said that he was offered a knighthood, which he refused because he said that he did not need one.

Kate Moss channelled Bowie for the cover of French Vogue in January 2012.

Kate Moss

German Vogue also paid homage to Bowie as Daphne Guinness donned Ziggy Stardust makeup and was snapped by photographer Brian Adams.



In March 2012, The Crown Estate unveilled a commemorative plaque to David Bowie’s  creation, Ziggy Stardust, marking the 40th anniversary of his album, ‘The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars’.

23 Heddon Street, just off Regent Street, London, W1 shot by the late Brian Ward in black and white and then hand coloured by artist Terry Pastor.

23 March – 11 August 2013. 'David Bowie is' exhibition spanning his whole career at The Victoria & Albert Museum, London. The David Bowie Archive gave unprecedented access to the V&A who featured handwritten lyrics, original costumes, fashion, photography, film, music videos, set designs and Bowie's own instruments. It was the fastest selling exhibition in the long history of the museum.

The exhibition is now touring internationally.

David Bowie at the V&A, the fastest-selling exhibition in the museum's history

Louis Vuitton's October 2013 advert L'Invitation Au Voyage gives
a nod to the ballroom scene from Labyrinth.

David looks right at home in Louis Vuitton's costumed ballroom scene.

One of three images chosen for Nothing Has Changed 2014 designer Jonathan Barnbrook

Thought to be the last photograph session. For Black Star, by his friend Jimmy King Wearing a Thom Browne suit

David and Iman

I am so sorry that his life was not longer than it was and my heart breaks for his wife,  children and all of those fortunate enough to have known and worked with him. I am glad that he had found haven with his family and that he also found the energy and inspiration at the end to work once more.

Looking back while writing this, listening to his music, watching the videos, reading tributes, remembering. It becomes impossible to include everything, it is so vast. And I did not set out to write a definitive guide to David Bowie. Just to bow before him, say thank you and share some of my own favourite images and times in his life.

He did so very much and also refused offers of this much again for work he either did not wish to be a part of, or was not able to complete in his time allocated. We know that there would have been so much more to come had his light not gone out.



He liked to revisit many of the stories which he previously told us. The single he released unexpectedly in 2013,  'Where Are We Now' was full of references about his days in Berlin. Now there are even more hints to unravel. Characters, costumes, places and traces of songs of which he, and we, are fond. His last wonderful gift to us, and a massive legacy, which may take us sometime to understand fully. What it means to each of us is immeasurable.

The girl with the cat tail. In a Labyrinth like landscape Remember the cat like girl in the Absolute Beginners video?

Major Tom, alien landscape and the girl with the tail

Is Major Tom a jewelled skull?

I will always remember the time he passed so close to where we sat. A momentary, genuine smile on that long ago night of 1972. It appeared that he glowed, as if he emitted some low voltage light in which we danced. Maybe he did. He was not one of us but I am so glad that he came amongst us. It is so painful to imagine that we will not hear or see any new things from him. I miss him already and will think of him every time that I look up.

Gathering Lost Stars, unknown source

The stars line up
 The stars line up for us tonight
 The stars line up
 The stars line up tonight to see
 To see who we are, baby.
 Let’s write our names
 High up inside the sky.

Angelo Badalamenti, Marianne Faithfull

Some of the best Tributes:

"We're painting our faces and dressing in thoughts" Tori Amos, on twitter January 11th

The Shepherds Bush Empire

farewell from Brixton Acadamy Heddon Street fans memorial

Poignant fan photograph. Saying goodbye.

The Stars Look Very Different Today The New Yorker

Charlie Brown

source unknown

Paper Angels left by fan in Manchester

Remembered by fans and friends. Kate Moss.

Vogue

"After 40 years of experimentation, reinvention and innovation, during which he revolutionized the aesthetics of rock and fashion, David Bowie passed away January 10, at the age of 69. A cultural icon, he challenged traditional codes throughout his career as one of the most influential figures of the 20th century, progressing from his mod behinnings to pioneer androgyny as performance art with his legendary Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane and Halloween Jack alter-egos. We pay tribute."

 Vogue Paris tribute HERE: 

  

London newstand following his death

  

  

  

The very emotional tribute at the Brit Music Awards

NOTES:

Sources: I like to credit sources and have done my best, but have failed in many in this post. This may be a post that I revisit after time has passed. If anything I have shared belongs to someone uncredited I am more than happy to include if you let me know.

And on this subject I must say a thank you to my friendAbigail who posted on facebook the quote from Shakespeare. In doing so she perfectly captured how many of us felt and sparked the idea for this piece.

"For God’s sake let us sit upon the ground
 And tell sad stories of the death of kings"


~ Act 3, Scene 2, Richard II, William Shakespeare

A Tumblr account
Did this tumblr page belong to Bowie?
Interesting theory here about a tumblr page which surfaced just before Bowie released his material to the public. Beautifully fascinating.
Here:


Read more about Bowie and all of his material from these sites:

David Bowie Official Site


 Golden Years 


VOGUE MAGAZINE 11 January 2016, Gender Blending - David Bowie Fashion Legacy,by Suzy Menkes  HERE:


Red Cotton Candy - A very good post on how he influenced fashion, beautifully illustrated with images HERE:



Michael Collins Morton's blog Nonfiction HERE:

The Gothic Wardrobe

April 15, 2016, 5:48 am

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The elaborate carvings at the top of The Gothic Wardrobe of vine leaves, gothic arches and Tudor roses

I'm busy Spring cleaning and have just dusted the carvings on this Gothic Wardrobe. Which reminded me that I have yet to tell this tale. Being an Autumn child this season usually brings me interesting adventures and forays. Last Autumn we found ourselves making a very long drive to pick up a magical wardrobe which I found for sale on ebay.

This post could have been called 'the haunted dressing table', as the antiques dealer we bought this gorgeous and unusual cupboard from shared a very scary tale with us about a dressing table she had bought from a seller who insisted that it was haunted. A ticket which she found in a drawer led her to believe the story of the piece of furniture. But, this post is just about our wardrobe, which we love. Perhaps another time the storyteller may allow me to share her tale.

The Gothic Cottages prettiest cottage of those in which we live

The workers cottages in which we live are known locally and on history pages as 'the gothic cottages'. They are rather simple, nothing elaborate, but they do echo some gothic design in their front doors, leaded windows and the garden paths of black stone bricks.

Mrs Black strikes a pose in a gothic leaded window

I have always loved the decadence of gothic revival and have a small collection of items which sit quite at home in the cottage.
 

An oak carving of a Queen's Head

My husband's gothic mantle clock which strikes prettily at the hour

One of my gothic candlesticks

A little gothic Owl

But I longed for something larger. And then I found it!

Strawberry Hill by Johann Muntz

When we lived near London we were walking distance to Horace Walpole's famous Strawberry Hill, the fantastical gothic house which he had built in Georgian times. In those days it was in need of refurbishment but it has since been saved and is as resplendent as it was in his day.

The moment that I saw the wardrobe on ebay it reminded me of Strawberry Hill.

Strawberry Hill library bookcase detail

The Gothic Wardrobe carvings

A niche at Strawberry Hill

A carved gothic arch on our wardrobe

I did not mean to look for a wardrobe on ebay, and I certainly did not need one. I did not really mean to buy it either and it cost nearly a months wages. But everyday I continued to look at it in awe and worried that someone else might buy it before I had. I've never seen anything like it.

The Gothic Wardrobe in all it's glory

I love dark wood, especially oak,  and it had been painted, but the colours highlighted the carvings and the pale blue would go so well in the newly painted spare bedroom. There is a purity to pale blue shades, they seem to shine with an eerie ethereal light that is both haunting and illuminating. A bedroom has been painted in Farrow and Ball 'Borrowed Light' and if you saw how it reflects the light in the mornings and at dusk you would know that the name is perfect.

How many times have you seen something which really delighted you and which better judgement prevented you from having? These are some of mine.

Gothic looking Royal Albert roses teacup

Art Deco black cat brooch

This red velvet Opera coat on Etsy. Sigh.

Yes, me too, the long list of beautiful things forsaken, yet remembered. I had to have it.

The Gothic Wardrobe

We drove to Herfordshire to pick it up and had a wonderful rare day out visting Ledbury and Hampton Castle. It is a beautiful area of Britain. I love the black and white houses and can imagine how fabulous it would be to live in one.

Black & White with leaded windows in Ledbury

 

Hampton Court Castle

Being solid oak it took four of us to lift it into the back of our car. The seller did warn us, (while stiffling a giggle)  that it was extremely heavy when I mentioned that I hoped it would go upstairs in our spare bedroom. We had to remove the door to lift it into our cottage. I can laugh now, but it was definitely an adventure. Despite measuring we found that it would not go up our small winding stairs. It was just that bit too wide, and far too heavy. Sigh. It would have looked so beautiful in the bedroom.

One of our old galleon models sits on top of The Gothic Wardrobe.

It dwells in our garden room taking up a whole wall. The previous owner of our cottage loved blue and this room has pale bue/grey tiling and window blinds. We use this room as a dining room and have an old oak carved table and bench which are more Arts and Crafts, but goes well with the wardrobe.  Technically it will cease to be a wardrobe soon as we plan to add more shelves as storage for china and food items. An old model of Sir Francis Drake's Golden Hind sits upon the top of it.

It's beautiful right down to the bottom where a small heart is carved into the heavy oak

I've had to sell a very nice mid century, wallpapered kitchen cupboard to make room for this, but I think the old cupboard suits us better. Upon asking if there was any history for it the seller told us that she had bought it at a local sale but that her Mother had said that she had seen cupboards just like in churches by the confessionals where you would hang your coats. I'd love to know more about it and if anyone has ever come across one similar please leave me a comment.

So .... what am I going to put on that wall in the bedroom? Watch this space.

The website of Strawberry Hill is HERE:

Read and see sumptous photos of Strawberry Hill on Jacqueline@Home

Queen Elizabeth II - 90th Birthday

April 21, 2016, 6:19 am

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The Queen Mother with the then Princess Elizabeth, 1937

Happy 90th Birthday to Queen Elizabeth II.

This week seems to be one of anniversaries, some good and some bad. The 200th anniversary of the birth of Charlotte Bronte, the 400th anniversary of William Shakespeare who is believed to have died on what would have been his 52nd birthday, and of course, the 90th birthday of Queen Elizabeth II, Britain's longest reigning monarch. Which is perhaps all the more remarkable because she was not born to be Queen.

In the beginning Princess Elizabeth in her pram in 1929

I understand that not everyone believes that having a monarchy rather than a republic benefits ordinary people. But I do. Having been born in a country without monarchy and now lived more than half of my life in Britain I have seen what differences there are and I prefer the royals, for better or for worse. It is a misunderstanding to believe that getting rid of a monarchy will make it's citizens more equal. All that will happen is that the castles will fall down or be lived in by politicians without any sense of duty or history.

Princess Elizabeth aged 7, 1933 Philipe de Laszlo

Sure, they do live a privileged life and perhaps some of them do not live up to the expectations of what the public thinks a royal should be - but the Queen has devoted her life to her people and her country and she has worked hard and long making sacrifices.  I admire her greatly. I think that she has grace, something lacking in so many celebrities and politicians. I've seen many behind the scenes things which the royal family do for ordinary people that would not resonate as much if a politician carried out these deeds.

And anyway who wants a collection of political memorabilia when you can have a royal collection?

  
There is nothing like a crown, as I am certain William Shakespeare would agree.

Queen Elizabeth I, Coronation portrait by unknown artist National Gallery London

 

The coronation of Queen Elizabeth II

 
 Some of my favourite moments, and portraits in the long life of Queen Elizabeth II.

Formal portrait by William Dargie

By David Poole

The official Diamond Jubilee portrait

 

Riding down the course before racing at Royal Ascot 1961

 

Riding in Windsor Great Park

Epsom Derby Meeting, with the Queen Mother. "I told you that would win!"

Daniel Craig picks her up! (under the watchful eyes of those Corgies)

The Queen's homebred fily Estimate wins the Ascot Gold Cup for her.

If you enjoy the momarchy you might like to read two other posts about them.

The story of how we went to London to see the Queen on the Diamond Jubilee in 2012, 
Here:

And you can read about The Sport of Kings, Here:

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Sweet Prince

April 22, 2016, 8:18 am

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Resplendent Prince

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Kubla Khan 

Prince in his Little Red Corvette.

Growing up in California in a fairly poor family and a run down area I had to find entertainment which cost nothing. A favourite past time was walking to the Boulevard and watching cars go by. There was a well to do neighborhood nearby and I could always tell which cars came from there. One in particular which I loved. A Little Red Corvette.

The man pushed boundaries but he sure could dress

We moved to another area where white girls were in the minority at school. Looking back it may be that this was where both music and fashion came into my life. The mixed race kids knew all the best songs and dance moves. They had little money and yet they oozed style. Although young, the girls wore a lot of make up, and the boys dressed. I think all their money, whatever that they had, was spent on clothes and records.

Life was hard and childhood was short. Even before a lot of them left school they had children to feed and too many bills to pay. Most of the kids who attended this school did not dream of other lives, or doing great things. They knew their reality and they just wanted to survive the best that they could. And have some fun. They lived life fast, as if they were scared that it would run out before they had used it all up. They taught me so much and imparted the most important lesson upon me - You have to dance, and love hard, while you can.

"What's missing from pop music is danger."
~ Prince

By the time that Prince came onto the scene I had been grown up for a very long time and was living in a different country. Listening to him brought back memories of those early days, how free it was when we danced. And when I first heard Little Red Corvette I was mesmerised. Those lyrics, at once risky and liberating. He was the Prince of one night stands. The love child of 'Will you still love me tomorrow' and Little Richard.

Prince and his magic wardrobe

Surely a boy was never better named than he. Who was this man with the magical wardrobe as fascinating as the one in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe?
 

All gold leaf, with serpent eyeliner, like a Jackie Morris painting

For such a small man, at just five foot 2 inches, he sure had a LOT of swagger. Like something out of Grimms he flaunted and teased and he delivered. Here was one who dreamed, and knew that he had other lives to live. He got out. I wonder if he knew that he played for those other people who could not and did not? I am pretty sure that he did.

bedecked, bejewelled, embellished

As news of his death was released shocked fans began to pay tribute. City Halls lit up with purple lights and twitter sang his story.

San Francisco City Hall illuminated for Prince

Hard Rock Cafe, New York

New York's Hard Rock cafe paid tribute to him by featuring his lyrics on the front of its restaurant in the heart of Times Square - in the city where he announced just last month that he would be writing a memoir.

Projected on a purple background the sign read:

I never meant to cause you any sorrow

I never meant to cause you any pain

I only wanted to one time to see you laughing

I only wanted to see you

Laughing in the purple rain

RIP Prince

 "And just like that ... the world lost a lot of magic."

 Katy Perry on twitter

MY NOTES: 

Tori Amos in concert in 2014. I love how she has combined her version of Little Red Corvette with Stay With Me, the torch song by Shakespeare's Sister.  The sound quality is not great, but close your eyes and listen. If only Prince could have stayed a little longer.

Tori Here:

Prince here

The idea to turn City Hall in San Francisco purple came from local writer Eve Batey, who made her request on Twitter.


READ MORE:

Jack Hamilton writes

The story behind Little Red Corvette

William Shakespeare - For all time

April 28, 2016, 2:33 am

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William Shakespeare detail from The Cobbe portrait Known to be Shakespeare

"He was not of an age, but for all time."

William Shakespeare is a man for all seasons though in truth we barely know the man himself at all. Many of the images purported to be of him are not confirmed, and although we believe that he was born on the 23rd of April and also died on that date 52 years later, this too is only a best guess. It is amazing that so few details exist of a man whose words remain woven deeply within the tapestry of so many of our lives.

The Grafton Portrait, possibly the young Shakespeare

Ralph Fiennes how we see The Bard Shakespeare In Love

We often quote him in our daily language, without even knowing it. Much of the art created to illustrate his characters is familar to us all. Artists continue to illustrate his words and writers to pay homage to his lines with new poems, plays and novels spun from fragments of him.

A best beloved Shakeseare painting The ethereal Miranda from The Tempest John William Waterhouse

A Midsummer Night's Dream Arthur Rackham

Royal Doulton plate Ophelia

Michael Fassbender and Marion Corillard in a magnificent version of MacBeth

Many are the actors who have graced the stage and screen as one of his players or paid tribute to his time in films about him.

Judi Dench, a magnificent Elizabeth I in Shakespeare In Love

So much has been written about his skill to conjure images with words that I doubt I can add anything to the tributes for him in this 400th anniversary of his death.

* copyright RSC and the BBC

There will be events throughout the year, both large and small to commemorate him and his work, some of which I am lucky enough to be attending. This special celebration, by the Royal Shakespeare Company, conceived and directed by Gregory Doran and hosted by David Tennant and Catherine Tate may remain my favourite. A wonderful cast of players took part, (with a surprise appearance from Prince Charles!) the content was inspiring, the stage imaginative and the costumes magical.

Ralph Fiennes at Shakespeare's house in Straford * copyright RSC and the BBC

It was lovely to see that in an attempt to bring it to a wider audience than those who could be present at Stratford it was screened at cinemas around the world, shown live on the BBC and it will be available to buy on DVD shortly from the RSC Shop.
 

Fairy wings, glimmering * copyright RSC and the BBC

To Be, or Not To Be Hamlet with Judi Dench, Tim Minchin, Harriet Walker, David Tennant, Paapa Essiedu, Benedict Cumberbatch, Rory Kinnear & Sir Ian Mckellan. * Photo by Helen Maybanks copyright RSC

It is splendid throughout with scenes from many of Shakespeare's most loved plays including Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest, A Midsummer Night's Dream, As You Like It, Twelth Night, Much Ado About Nothing and,  the Scottish Play. My own favourites are at the end when Dame Helen Mirren, David Tennant, Catherine Tate, Dame Judi Dench and David Suchet speak the parts of Prospero, Puck,  Titania and Oberon and bid us goodnight. Bravo to the whole company!

Dame Helen Mirren as Prospero dressed all in black against a black starry stage * copyright RSC and the BBC

Our revels now are ended.
These our actors, As I foretold you,
 were all spirits and
 Are melted into air, into thin air:

 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers,
the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples,
 the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.

We are such stuff As dreams are made on,
and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

William Shakespeare From The Tempest, Act 4 Scene 1

David Tennant as Puck * copyright RSC and the BBC

Enter PUCK.

     Now the hungry lion roars,   
          And the wolf behowls the moon;   
        Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,   
          All with weary task fordone.
          
        Now the wasted brands do glow,   
          Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,   
        Puts the wretch that lies in woe   
          In remembrance of a shroud.
  
        Now it is the time of night           
          That the graves, all gaping wide,   
        Every one lets forth his sprite,   
          In the church-way paths to glide:
   
        And we fairies, that do run   
          By the triple Hecate’s team,           
        From the presence of the sun,   
          Following darkness like a dream,
    Now are frolic; not a mouse   
        Shall disturb this hallow’d house:
  
        I am sent with broom before,          
        To sweep the dust behind the door.

A Midsummer-Night’s Dream
 Act V. Scene II.

David Suchet & Judi Dench Oberon & Titania * copyright RSC and the BBC

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their Train
   
  Oberon.  Through the house give glimmering light   
          By the dead and drowsy fire;   
        Every elf and fairy sprite           
          Hop as light as bird from brier;   
        And this ditty after me   
        Sing and dance it trippingly.
  
  Titania.  First, rehearse your song by rote,   
        To each word a warbling note:           
        Hand in hand, with fairy grace,   
        Will we sing, and bless this place.
  
  Oberon.  Now, until the break of day,   
        Through this house each fairy stray.   
        To the best bride-bed will we,           
        Which by us shall blessed be;   
        And the issue there create   
        Ever shall be fortunate.   
        So shall all the couples three   
        Ever true in loving be;

With this field-dew consecrate,   
        Every fairy take his gait,   
        And each several chamber bless,   
        Through this palace, with sweet peace;           
        Ever shall in safety rest,   
        And the owner of it blest.   
            Trip away;   
            Make no stay;   
        Meet me all by break of day.

[Exeunt OBERON, TITANIA, and Train.

Oberon & Titania and a sea of fairy lights * copyright RSC and the BBC

David Tennant and cast * copyright RSC and the BBC

Puck.  If we shadows have offended,   
        Think but this, and all is mended,   
        That you have but slumber’d here   
        While these visions did appear.
  
        And this weak and idle theme,           
        No more yielding but a dream,   
        Gentles, do not reprehend:   
        If you pardon, we will mend.
  
        And, as I’m an honest Puck,   
        If we have unearned luck           
        Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue,   
        We will make amends ere long;   
        Else the Puck a liar call:   
        So, good night unto you all.
   
        Give me your hands, if we be friends
        And Robin shall restore amends. 

[Exit.

 NOTES: 

Images marked by a * are copyright of the RSC and the BBC

Watch Again, Until the 23rd of May, you can watch it on the BBC iplayer,  Here:

Read more about the Royal Shakespeare Company, Here:

Read More about this tribute Here:

In the Daily Mail, Here:

Mid Summer Dreaming

June 30, 2016, 3:02 am

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"If a June night could talk,

it would probably boast it invented romance."

- Bern Williams 

This summer in the English countryside has seen no sign of Flaming June. It has been a landscape of muddy blues and greens and purple haze. As June comes to a rainy end we revisit the revelries which happened on one warm night.

The Queen of Fae was bored, with daydreams and rain,

her subjects heard her say ~

Time for a midsummer soiree! 

Much effort was put towards what they wore,

  splendidly attired so as not to offend

 

When they could do no more,

those whose wardrobe was yet amiss

A scary Faerie seamstress did amend.

Oh! That silken night robe you wore was so divine,

you said you had nothing to wear ~

I want it to be mine!

Nature's bounty came in spare ~

 wound round shoulders

 and twisted tight in hair.

Magic gleamed on every guest

the jewels were the very best ~

 

Who grabbed that passing winged thing,

and pinned her to their breast?

Gloriously garbed, all bowed

to the King and Queen,

it was her party

And she wanted to be seen.

Faeries underdressed were forced to flee!

 

Mrs Black, Puff and Munchkin were invited too

 

Did you bring your Beasts with you?

Who could help but stare?

She brought a Unicorn, and over here ~

those charming Shy Sisters brought their Deer!

Some were near, others did travel far

Or met hardship along the way

The valet looked after every car

During our stay.

Alice and her Rabbit were very late

 

The rest of the party really could not wait! 

Such pretty places to sit and rest a spell

 Full sympathy for all of those

Who now have stories to tell.

who forgot not to dose,

and kept company in their sleep,

you'd rather not keep.

There was such fine entertainment

a travelling musician or two

and a disc jockey spun records

some old, some new .....

of course the food and drinks were plenty

If you dared to eat or drink,

you are far braver than me

And if you grew weary of the music and the meet

you may have felt inclined to take a seat

or wander in the wood,

so dark and deep

 

Did you remember to beware?

 

perchance you fell asleep

while there.

The ballroom was so crowded

 we spread out onto the lawn

By then I had to change those Red Shoes!

or dance until the dawn.

I saw you danced with the gentleman most strange

With thistledown hair, and green coat

I think it was he who arranged

That Dragon in the moat!

As we watched Dawn begin to weave

light across our play,

We wondered if we should take our leave,

but decided to go inside, and catch some sleep

before another summer's day.

Our hosts bid us all a gentle goodnight 

Just as Alice arrived, so like her!, 

said Puck, the mischievous Sprite, 

"remember ~ having spent these hours in Faerie,

You may not be who that you were."

The previous post to this was a tribute to William Shakespeare, who I never tire of. As you may have guessed ~ this is a favourite book of mine from Rare Books.

CREDITS ****

Please ~ do not despair
Indeed we too care ~
All images will be credited to owners and creators in due course, once we have recovered from the Midsummer Night's Dream!

Beatrix Potter ~ 150th Birthday

July 28, 2016, 7:12 am

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Beatrix Potter levels her strong gaze at the camera as a child

I hate missing anniversaries, and of course as history steadfastly carries on further down the path the chances to stand still to enjoy an anniversary becomes more scarce.

Beatrix aged 10 I love the little pointy hat!

But this one seems impossible to ignore. Resist the pull of time to take just a moment to remember the magic of Beatrix Potter on what is her 150th birthday.

Beatrix Potter book shelf, from Stella Books, where you can usually purcahse vintage copies of the books. Here:

As a child I did not come into contact with the wonderful words and illustrations she created. Alice, Oz and Wind in the Willows were my childhood companions. My first encounter with Beatrix Potter's world came much later when I began to spend a lot of  time in libraries and back tracked to all the children's literature that I had missed.

 
Beatrix often claimed that this book was her favourite and she certainly put a lot into the research for the text and llustrations. The story was born in May 1894 during a visit to her cousin Caroline Hutton at Harescombe Grange, which lies five miles south of Gloucester. There she heard the tale of John Pritchard (1877-1934) a very poor Gloucester tailor commissioned to make a suit for the new mayor. When he fell ill it looked as if the suit would not be completed in time. But he returned to his shop on the Monday morning to find the suit completed except for one buttonhole. A note attached read, "No more twist". His assistants had finished the coat in the night, but Pritchard encouraged a fiction that fairies had done the work and the incident became a local legend. The real Pritchard lived at the same time as Beatrix, but she set her tale in the 18th century and made her poor tailor an old one so poor that he could only afford to rent the kitchen in the house where he lived near to his shop.

 Beatrix visited Gloucester and sketched the street where the tailor's shop stood as well as cottage interiors, crockery, and furniture. The son of Hutton's coachman posed as a model for the tailor.

The new suit for the mayor

The Victoria and Albert Museum page on the book says, "Beatrix went to extraordinary lengths to create an authentic setting. Passing a tailor’s shop in Chelsea one day, she deliberately tore a button off her coat and took it in to be mended so she could observe at first hand the tailor’s posture, tools and workbench."

"Her sketches are so accurate that it is possible to identify the original garments, including the mayor’s waistcoat, ‘worked with poppies and corn-flowers’, in the V&A’s collections."

She visited the costume department at the South Kensington Museum to observe details of 18th century dress.  

I come from a long line of seamstresses stretching back farther than I know. My love of textile began in my early years playing at my Great Grandmother's feet with velvet and silk scraps she used for making patchwork quilts. We sewed because of being poor not because of any great talent or need to create. But still, there was a kind of stitch witchery at work as being able to do so gave us great satisfaction as we honed our skills.

No surprise then that my favourite Potter illustrations are those which involve the art of stitching. The Tailor Of Gloucester is so delightful. I love Mice (remember the sewing Mice in Cinderella?) and the illustrations of them are so charming. I also love how the unsuspecting Tailor has help to finish his wares, and the drawings of Simpkin the Tailor's Cat are wonderful. As are the architectural illustrations. Beatrix Potter was a lady of immense talent. (The latest drawings found at Melford Hall are masterful). 

From The Tailor of Gloucester Simpkin and The Tailor set out for work

The Tailor at work, with help from the Mice!

The Tailor off home.

Simpkin and his master

Beatrix Potter with Her Pet Mouse Xarifa, 1885. Cotsen Children's Library. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections. Princeton University Library

 

 This book always makes me smile when I take it from the shelf and find once more the little Mice amongst the wonderfully pretty china that I should very much like on my own china dresser.

Simpkin hides the twist from the Tailor

Out stepped a lively Mouse who made a curtsey to the Tailor.

The gentleman Mouse bows.

Beswick tailor Mouse

 
I was late to discover Potter but as soon as I did I knew she was a keeper. I cherish the book I have and a Beswick Mouse inspired by her story.

The Beatrix Potter Shop & Museum in Gloucester

Simpkin in a drawer in the shop!

I have visited places where her spirit lingers. No surprise that I especially love the Beatrix Potter shop and museum in Gloucester. It's set in the most perfect little alley and the inside is as charming as out. It seems impossible that it is real and you feel as if you have fallen into her books. Which is a deep magic that all authors dream to find.

Their own website says, "After an appeal in the local newspaper, in 2006 funds were raised to purchase the freehold of the building. The heritage behind the House of the Tailor of Gloucester is secure. It is now a museum with a gift shop run by volunteers. Visitors may enjoy the tailor’s kitchen where Simpkin keeps watch over his captured mice. Upstairs they can read a brief history of the original tailor, John Prichard, and view a small collection of Potter memorabilia. After watching the automaton where the mice work on the waistcoat, there is the shop where there is hopefully something for everyone. This magical experience is free and everyone can enjoy it."

I loved Miss Potter the 2006 film about her life and work and think that it captured her as I feel that she was. That twinkle in her eye, the smile at the corners of her mouth, and finally the sorrow which haunted her for the rest of her life when her fiancé died so young. She was a strong woman, and looking at the photograohs of her as a child I note that she had no fear of the camera. her gaze is steady.

I'm so glad that the great gift which she left to history, and the home she gave to the National Trust preserve her memory and her work for future generations to enjoy. 

Beatrix and her Brother Bertram

The most wonderful shot of her Beatrix aged 25 with rabbit, Benjamin Bouncer, 1891. © Frederick Warne & Co.

From Miss Potter

FURTHER READING:

Victoria and Albert Museum, Here:

Her Wiki page, Here:

Stella Books, Here:

The Tailor Of Gloucester shop, Here:

Recently found unknown sketches by her, at the National Trust property Melford Hall
Read about them, Here:

A really lovely article about the book,  from 2012,  which includes the pages that were edited out of the pubished book about how Simpkin wanderedr the streets in the snow on Christmas Eve and could hear the animals talking . on Tyger.com, Here:

Lammastide ~ John Barleycorn Must Die

August 5, 2016, 7:00 am

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La Belle Jardiniere – August, 1896 by Eugène Grasse

Summer was slow this year and the garden responded reluctantly unfolding only part of it's potential for us to see. Rain and winds destroyed the poppy, peony and damask rose blooms almost as soon as they appeared and the lawns were strewn with the beautiful translucent petals. Despite being spoiled the air was still heavily scented while from the peatls laying fadding in the sun that followed the storms. We had some spectacular skies. The water lillies have still not yet bloomed but as August arrived so did the first Dragonfly we have ever had on our pond. Summer happened rather suddenly, not in the sleepy lazy manner it sometimes takes.

One of my Opium Poppies in the garden and a mass of happy Hover Flies

Already the nights are shorter and leaves are turning from a dark palette of green towards the golden rusted hues of Autumn.

I often write about how much of my early love for, and knowledge of folklore, came from listening to the music of the 60s and 70s. A particular favourite of mine was the band Traffic. I will always remember dancing barefoot to them in the 70s.

 
At the time they were living together in a gamekeepers cottage on a farm near Aston Tirrold in rural Oxfordshire (then it was still part of Berkshire). Down a narrow muddy track and surrounded by farm fields it was no wonder that they were celebrating folklore in their music. Like the songs which they sang both the band and the cottage have become embroidery on the ever growing tapestry of English fables.

The Traffic cottage near Aston Tirrold, Berkshire

In those now far distant days I lived a somewhat isolated life, and every new aspect of a different kind of life which I came across fascinated me. We had little access to history books and there was no internet. My family did not frequent church, attending only on a rare occasion. We lived for a short time in a Californian agricultural area, but not grain, it was tomatoes and green vegetables, usually picked by Mexican workers, nothing like the rural scenes in Europe. I first became aware of the Harvest Festival when I moved to San Francisco and heard Traffic's version of the old folk ballad, John Barleycorn Must Die.

" There were three men come out of the west, their fortunes for to try

And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn would die

They've ploughed, they've sown, they've harrowed, thrown clods upon his head

Till these three men were satisfied John Barleycorn was dead ...."

It was intriguing and enchanting in equal measure and set me on a journey of discovery which continued when I moved to England a few years later.  While working in London I spent lunch hours in libraries or museums reading about old folk tales including John Barleycorn and viewing paintings of the harvest, in Autumn and earlier. 'Tis a long story not to be told here, but you may read more about poor John if you follow the links at the bottom of this post.And please, do listen to the song it tells this tale far better than I am able to do in words.

What I was most interested in was that although we traditionally think of the harvest being in Autumn, in fact the first one is in August and it is this one from which the fable of John Barleycorn arises.

I've always preferred cooler weather and I love the end of summer, even though it is melancholy as birds leave for winter grounds, flower blooms wither and leaves fall. The Earth begins to still and quiet descends which will follow with the silence of winter.

But first people gather the harvest from the fields and share the first bread from that harvest, which has a magical essence to them. The grain which they work hard to sow and reap not only gives them bread but also whisky and ale, and all of these make are celebrated at Lammastide. John Barleycorn is central in the Lammastide festivity as he is  the personification of the grain, which must be cut down to use. But he is resurrected in the bread and drink and his tale was widely sung in taverns.

Sommer by Leopold Graf von Kalckreuth. Oil on canvas, 1890

Detail, The Corn Harvest

" They've hired men with the sharp-edged scythes to cut him off at the knee

They've rolled him and tied him around the waist, treated him most barbarously

They've hired men with the sharp-edged forks to prick him to the heart

And the loader has served him worse than that for he's bound him to the cart

So they've wheeled him around and around the field till they've come unto a barn

And here they've kept their solemn word concerning Barleycorn

They've hired men with the crab tree sticks to split him skin from bone

And the miller has served him worse than that for he's ground him between two stones

There's beer all in the barrel and brandy in the glass

But little Sir John, with his nut-brown bowl, proved the strongest man at last."

baking bread in a medieval oven

Pieter Bruegel the Elder The Corn Harvest (August) Here:

Detail, Pieter Bruegel the Elder The Corn Harvest

Living in a small village atop a hill surrounded by golden fields, and funny enough not so very far from that fabled Traffic cottage, I am closer to the times when people lived off the land and in communities than I ever have been. Many of the village cottages have bread ovens, and our local pub and church have a harvest celebration.

Cottage bread oven

 Our workers cottages are much changed but up until the 1930s there was no running water here, there was a well in our garden for the community, and an old bakehouse where bread and other foods were baked daily.  There has been a settlement here since the Romans, and the local church is 12th century. I imagine that many a Lammas loaf was eaten here through time.

village cottages

  

I love this painting which for me sums up what a delicacy bread abd honey was. The Queen Was In Her Parlour Eating Bread and Honey, Valentine Cameron Prinsep

Part of my small collection of honey pots

Many years ago when researching the origins of John Barleycorn and Lammas I visited an ancient pub in the New Forest at Cadnam, called The Sir John Barleycorn. It's one of those places where there seems to be a timeslip, as you can feel the past like a thin veil laying just over today.

Francis Frith collection, Here:

The pub today their website, Here:

source, here:

Since then I have come across many such name references to John Barleycorn throughout England and I am sure many more lie undiscovered by me yet!

The John Barleycorn at Duxley

I've recently acquired a beautiful book of woodcuts by Mary Azarian which tells the story.

Some 40 years after first hearing it, John Barleycorn remains one of my most beloved songs. There are many worthy versions but I will always love Traffic's best of all.

This is an exquisite version from youtube, done by Stevie Winwood by himself, please listen. Here:

And you can see Stevie Winwood revisit that famous cottage, in a little bit of film made by Artisan Pictures, Here:

FURTHER READING ON JOHN BARLEYCORN:

John Barleycorn Wiki page, Here:

 An article about lammastide, Here:

A most interesting and detailed look at just who this John Barleycorn realy was, by storyteller Austin Hackney. This is a great blog where I could spend hours. Here:


Finally, you can read more about Traffic on the Rural Culture blogspot Here:

Swifts ~ upon charcoal wings

August 10, 2016, 6:57 am

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A Swift glides effortlessly across the surface of the water photo credit RSPB website

Last week the Swifts gathered in large numbers overhead, flying low and shrieking loudly.  They were preparing to leave their summer homes here in the United Kingdom and begin their perilous and long flight to their winter home. The RSPB website tells us, "Our UK Swifts migrate through France and Spain to spend their winter in Africa, south of the Sahara, where they follow the rains to take advantage of rapid changes in insect populations. While many immature birds return to the breeding grounds in the spring, some will remain in Africa."  It is not known exactly how long that Swifts live, some monitored birds have been at least 16 years, but the average is apparently around 6.

Martin Ridley, Swifts, Summer Evenings His wildlife art on his website, Here: Martin's post about the Swifts on his home, Here:

Those found in the UK are known as 'Common Swifts', though I have never seen anything common about them. We only have the joy of them for a few weeks. They more than any other bird herald the coming of summer. They arrive earlier than House Martins and Swallows, and they leave sooner. Though they live in two places, this is considered their home because it is here that they breed, bringing up just one brood. The years when our summers are very wet are difficult for them. They struggle to find enough to eat and their broods may not survive.

They make their homes in slits in tall buildings and their habitats are threatened by demolition and change. But there is hope. In several quarters people who love them are making a difference to their survival.

Oxford University Natural History Museum from their website, Here:

When I visit Oxford I always try to take time to go to Oxford University Natural History Museum which is not only a wonderful Arts and Crafts building but is also a magical museum. I have often heard the Swifts overhead while there and on one visit the museum staff explained to us that they have nested in the ventilation flues in the tower for many years. They have been the subject of the Oxford Univeristy Swift Research Project which was begun in 1947 by David and Elizabeth Lack.  The book that David wrote about his study was ground breaking and if you are interested in the species it is worth the effort to find a copy from second hand book dealers. 

You can read more about the Swifts that live at the museum on their website, and it offers a special treat - you can watch them nesting in the summer months on their webcam, but they will be gone now and to do this you will need to check back next April when they begin to return.  Here:

And there is a follow up book by Roy Overall and Andrew Lack, son of David, they have monitored the Museum swifts every year since 1962.

Swifts are not technically related to our other summer visitors the House Martins and Swallows but you often see them all sharing the sky. They are different in one very significant way too, while the latter two are mostly country birds preferring cottages and farms Swifts are often found in towns, especially if they have tall buildings. But they also like a country setting too.

Swift (lower left) and Martins and Swallow (upper right). Photo Credit BBC How to Identify each bird, Here:

Superstition surround these charcoal winged birds which to some resemble bats. Like many other black coloured birds they suffer prejudice. or me they bring joy and wonder.  Because of their mysterious nature in the past people believed that many of these summer visitors actually hibernated in the winter and thought they did so in the mud of ponds.

From the RSPB website page Help Save Swifts, Here:

Their little faces are smaller than that of House Martins and Swallows, and they lack the quick glmpses of colour, the blue on the wings, the white on the little bodies, or that red on the throat of the Swallow. This lack of colour may seem sinister to some.

Their very nature makes them seem less friendly than house Martins and Swallows who build their nests upon our houses, or in barns and chatter sweetly amongst themselves. Their gossip is calming and soothing. In contrast the shrieking of Swifts can seen harsh, although I always think that they are making their noises in the sheer exhilaration of being able to fly so high, swop so low over meadows and lake at such speed. 

Swifts by Paul Robinson, 1923 His website is Here:

Swifts are very aptly named, they are indeed swift in flight and spend almost all of their life on the wing, eating, mating and even sleeping in the air.  This makes them impossibly magical to me. They have the smallest legs of any bird, tiny claw like feet, with which they cling vertically to building and their nest. It is rare to see them still, and should you ever come across one on the ground know that it is in great danger and needs your help.

Photo from Action for Swifts, Here:

Action For Swifts has been helping Swifts for many years. You can read all about Swifts, the work they do to help them, and what to do should you come across a grounded Swift on their excellent website, Here:

Yet many people remain totally unaware of their presence as often they fly so high in the skies that only their scimitar outline can be seen and their shrieking is faint.  I find it amazing that so few people actually look up. What glories they miss there amongst the clouds.

Art Deco enamelled Swift brooch, Pierre Bex, France website, Here:

You will find that Swallows and House Martins are much more often depicted in paintings, upon china or cast in jewels than the Swift. Every now and then I come across them or find words of inspiration written about them. I think the poem by Ted Hughes perfectly captures the feeling of magic in this painting below.

Swifts

They’ve made it again,
Which means the globe’s still working, the Creation’s
Still waking refreshed, our summer’s
Still all to come

Ted Hughes ~

Common Swifts by Bruno Liljefors, 1886 His Wiki page, Here:

I love all of these summer visitors and await the arrival of them in our village each year. When it is time for them to leave I am always filled with a melancholy. Another summer has come to it's close. I never know how many of my winged friends will make the return journey the next year, or as life itself is fragile, if I will be here to welcome them home once more.

Olde Isleworth by The Thames

Swifts would be an impossible joy to me regardless but they hold a very special place in my heart because of my meeting with one when I was young and discovering all the wonder of nature. In those days I lived in a Victorian villa by the river in Olde Isleworth which was 4 stories high, one of the tallest buildings in the area bar the church and nunnery school. We had a Swift nest close by. I would stick my head out to listen to what they were saying to each other as they spun by and I was lucky to have a closer look at them. One day to my horror I found a young Swift on the ground. I cupped it in my hands and rushed home. It was bat like with a tiny face and great wings, such soft velvet like feathers of many shades of grey and black. Fortunately a phone call to a nature shelter provided me with the necessary information to assist this bird. After checking that the bird was sound, no broken wings or bones, I took it upstairs to the top of the attic and threw open the window. Holding it loosely on my hands it began to stir as it smelled the air and it moved it's wings. With great trepidation and a prayer I hoped that it would take wing.  I held my breath.

Common Swift in palm by zerofilius on Deviant Art, Here:

It flew. And soared, and I swear that it went past me several times before continuing higher into the skies where I could never follow.

Swift by Jeffrey Fisher His website, Here:

NOTES:

Other places you can read more about these fascinating birds.

David Attenborough presents the Swift on Tweet of the Day. 

Swift Conservation, their website is full of information. Here:

Royal Society of Preservation Birds (RSPB), Here:

The Mermaid's House

August 26, 2016, 9:34 am

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“mermaids have no tears, and therefore they suffer more.”
― Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid

As August drifts into September we in England have the last Bank Holiday of the year. It's an odd time, before school re-claims the children and after mid summer dreaming has left us feeling a little drowsy. Things seem to have slowed down and I know I am not alone in my thoughts turning toward the sea and longing for one last weekend there. Like fairy tales, I believe that no matter how old that we become we still love sandcastles and a part of us knows there amongst those rocks there is a Mermaid. 

Miranda, the Mermaid of Dartmouth

As a writer it is interesting which blog posts become your most popular and amongst mine there seems to be a balance between the Summer and the Autumn / Winter posts. The sea and the woodlands both have a strong pull for so many of us. 

Deer on Exmoor overlooking the sea

Late summer kindles many memories from my Californian upbringing when the months of heat had baked the Earth and the flora dry. That sun shone so brightly that the world was seen through a gauze of glinting silver and gold too bright to look directly at.  It was an odd combination of desert / prairie dust and winds and the ocean where we would retreat to cool ourselves and the palette of our visions down. It was easy to imagine that you glimpsed a Mermaid there just by the water's edge.

We foolishly tanned and wore our antique Navajo silver and turquoise jewellery into the sea. Our hair tangled with salt we would sit on the sand and dry ourselves singing along with our favourite songs like sirens.  I now realise that young girls will always dream of being Mermaids.

I am drawn to the mountains but also to the sea. I love the quality of light there and for awhile thought I might one day live in a cheerful cottage in some little village on one of England's pretty coasts.

But then I visited the wilder beaches in Norfolk, villages along the top of Exmoor, hidden coves in Dorset, Devon and Cornwall and I saw the houses which sit precariously along the Bosphorus. There, in these places I found my true coastal calling.

Norfolk light

Durdle, Dorset

It's somewhere quiet, with less people, a little melancholy, where memories can dwell without being disturbed.

There the sea will not often be a tame one, it will command respect and play with you, battering the shores in great tempests before subsiding into shiny sequinned calm.  I will wrap up warmly for walks collecting shells and helping creatures which the sea has forsaken find their way home after the storm has gone.

 

My home is not a cottage. I live in The Mermaid's House, the old house by the sea which has a place in the heart of every ancient mariner who has ever loved the sea. 

For the Sea Captain who built this house fell in love with a Mermaid he found on the beach after a terrible tempest. Because he saved her life she gave up her deep ways to tend to him and the house he built for her. 

They shared a special love, they both knew that their first love, for each of them, was the sea. When he was away for long periods she was never far from the sea and it remained her real home. Over the years local people found her mysterious ways bewitching and many folk tales grew up around her.  Some say that she was not just a Mermaid, but a Sea Witch.

She had his daughter, together they gathered beautiful remnants from their beloved sea to adorn themselves and because he was a wealthy Sea Captain they could collect wondrous jewels and objects in the colours of their watery home to delight him when he returned from long journeys.

The Sea Captain's house they decorated in hues of blue and green and glints of silver and gold and their carefully collected objects drifted through and settled in all the rooms of the house.

William Morris 'Seaweed' wallpaper

Torquay Pottery Mermaid Jug



sea glass tiles

But alas, Sea Captains are not as long lived as Mermaids and when he lived no more they stayed on for awhile there alone. One night during a raging storm they disappeared and were n 'ever seen except by those who knew where to look for them.

a Tempest

People say that Neptune came to collect them and take them home and swear that on that night they saw great white horses pawing the ground outside of the house, and that upon the morn you could still see the hoof prints in the sand.

Walter Crane, Neptune's Horses

The Mermaid's House is spoken of in myriad tales, many is the place which has that name, but unless you have happened upon it yourself you will not know where that it is or exactly what that it looks like. It seems to have many guises, and do not become confused and believe that it is a Shell Cottage, for that is some other Mermaid dwelling entirely!

The Shell Cottage, Polperro

 and perhaps there was more than one Sea Captain who shared the love of the sea with a Mermaid.

Of course I know where The Mermaid's House is, because I live there. But I am not telling you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Number 4 Privet Drive

October 5, 2016, 9:33 am

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The first page of the first book. Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone



And so it began. I've said before that words can hold hidden power to touch us in so many ways. Often it happens suddenly but sometimes the magic is so strong that the spell continues to work forever and we may only realise just how spellbound that we are until later,much later. A seemingly very ordinary person or place can become etched upon our minds and hearts because of a wonderfully written book or a film.

J.K. Rowling signed, 'the book that changed my life.' Many could have signed underneath, 'Me Too!'

In the case of Harry Potter our lives have been graced by both.

Rubeus Hagrid delivers baby Harry to 4 Privet Drive

Right from the beginning when Rubeus Hagrid dropped off the baby Harry at the suburban address of number 4 Privet Drive this address had entered a special place from which, no matter how it tried, it could never be ordinary again. It would take on a life and meaning much bigger than the house itself could ever be in real life.

The current owners have put the house on the market. Though this little house was not the favourite abode of choice of Harry who much preferred Hogwarts, you can imagine the excitement of the children who knew that Harry had been there.

The real perfectly ordinary house in a perfectly ordinary road.

The film set created at Warners Bros Studio, Leavesden for the subsequent films

The house in the book and film is at Number 4 Privet Drive, in Little Whingeing, Surrey. This was a clever touch from J.K. Rowling as 'privet' has a wholesome image due to the many lovely English country cottages tucked behind privet hedges, and the quiet well behaved suburban streets, such as those written about by John Betjeman, where the neighbourhoods are kept tidy by well tended privet hedges. And Little Whingeing? Well, you know how snooty folk can be keeping up with the neighbourhood.  

A vintage poster extolling the virtue of suburbia.

The real house, which is actually at 12 Picket Post Close, near Bracknell, Berkshire, is not far from us here in our little village and I was tempted to go and take a peak at it. Growing up I despaired that it seemed all the fair maidens, knights, ghosts and fairies always lived in grand houses in obviously magical places.

Professor Minerva McGonagall as a cat in Privet Drive

Not often did the hero or heroine arrive from an ordinary place. Later I came to appreciate hugely any that did and the writers who gave a magic life to plain things.

The quiet cul-de-sac where 4 Privet Drive resided

The sitting/Dining Room, Kitchen & small garden

The estate agent's brochure does not have any photographs of an under stair cupboard, which the owner admits was not used for the films but instead houses a non-magical ironing board and the toys of her children. 

The main bedroom and the two single bedrooms

There is nothing magical about the house itself, as you can clearly see in these photos. But somehow you do keep expecting Harry to appear. The main bedroom does have a touch of purple about it, but only a tasteful amount. And is that a Gruffalo in one of the children's rooms there?

The Dursley's  purple chintz bedroom in the films

Harry in his under the stairs bedroom, from Vanity Fair 2001

The idea that J.K. Rowling chose to hide the young vulnerable Harry in such a suburban street, in plain sight, so to speak, thrilled me. And I thanked her for that, knowing how it would give hope to so many ordinary children that their own lives could be touched by the magic that many literary sources deny to them.

Homes and Property in their article, say this about the house: full article here:

"The property in Picket Post Close near Reading, known as 4 Privet Drive in the film, was selected out of hundreds of houses around the UK to become the home of Harry's Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and cousin Dudley Dursley.

The three-bedroom house in Martins Heron, Bracknell, was cast as the "perfectly ordinary house on a perfectly ordinary street" for the 2001 film, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. The property’s then owner Sandra Smith was approached by filmmakers who spotted the house and thought it closely resembled the Thirties home in Little Whinging, Surrey described by JK Rowling. Filming took place at the location over two weeks as the property was transformed into the home of the Dursley family.

The Boy Who Lived famously did so in the cupboard-under-the-stairs - during his early years, at least.

Harry's aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon reserved two of four bedrooms in Privet Drive for their odious son Dudley, one for themselves and another for guests. While Harry kept the spiders and the vacuum cleaner company in the cupboard at night. In Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone the orphan wizard is quickly moved into “Dudley’s second bedroom” by his rattled relatives after he starts receiving letters addressed to “Harry Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs.”

Harry's mail

Harry's mail takes over the sitting room

The current owner has lived there since May 2010 when the house was purchased for £290,000.   Seven years earlier, it was put up for auction with a much higher guide price than its market value thanks to its connection to Harry Potter, but the home failed to sell when the £250,000 reserve price wasn't met - despite receiving a bid of £249,000. "

You can read an interview with the current owner Claire Powder who is blissfully unaware of the owner of Potter having never read the books or seen any but the first film which included their home.  Here:

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There has been a lot of interest in the house. I had to smile when I read the usual warning that, "viewings are strictly by appointment only".  Better to be safe than sorry, Dementors might turn up uninvited like they have before.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This is a perfect excuse to remember some of the moments of 4 Privet Drive, from the first film when the real house was used, and later after the stage set had been built for the films that followed.



The owls are not what they seem ....

Proud and snobby Dursleys at home

Harry and his Uncle

Harry's under stairs cupboard bedroom

The Order of the Phoenix

Dobby visits Harry in his bedroom at Privet Drive

The Dursleys leaving 4 Privet Drive

Harry says goodbye to Hedwig

The Deathly Hallows, The final battle nears, friends meet at 4 Privet Drive

In Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Harry is 16 years old, still underage for a Wizard and unable to use his powers to the full without attracting unwanted attention.  Members of the Order of the Phoenix come to 4 Privet Drive to escort Harry to the Burrow. The rationale behind this was that they couldn't use the Floo Network, they couldn't Apparate, they couldn't use a Portkey, and Harry still had the Trace on him. 





Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 Harry and Hagrid leave Privet Drive for the last time

further Reading:

Well, the books, of course!

But you could start here for more information: Harry Potter Wiki for 4 Privet Drive

Or here, at Pottermore

The Dressing Up Box

October 31, 2016, 12:55 pm

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Attic Treasures by John O'Brien

I usually do a more serious post for All Hallows Eve, or throw a lavish ball. But this year we are nursing our old Maine Coon Munchkin LeStrange and as he is poorly our cottage is a little quieter than usual at this time of the season. Celebrations are kept at minimum so he can sleep.

Our ghostly mantle overlooked by a Victorian champion amongst racehorses,  Stockwell.

We have a lot of candles lit, we are stocked up on chocolate to drink and to give out to the small Trick or Treat ones who call upon us.

Our cottage door and walk are hung with Halloween decorations, as each year, to make the children welcome and Mrs Black is watching for them. I hope they knock soon!

Dog Ghosts!

While Munchkin has been resting I have been putting the time to good use on the never ending task of a dealer in antiquities ~ sorting. Munchkin seems to be comforted by me and the various boxes of items spread about and he slumbers in his basket at the centre of it all.

The real life home of collector Vervia Todd Here:

This reminded me of my youth and the 'Dressing Up Boxes' which children of yesteryear would have had at their disposal. I can remember the delight with which I first delved into such a box in the attic of the Grandmother of a friend of mine. It was a cedar chest and in it was a satin and tulle ball gown, beaded flapper dresses, a velvet opera cape, long lace gloves and hats with feathers and jewels. It had little compartments on top which lifted out. In these were long lace gloves, paste brooches and headbands which looked like crowns to me. On the very bottom of the box were silk slippers from the 20s. They were tiny and encrusted with beads. This was as close as I ever got to being Cinderella.

It's easy to make a Dressing Up Box for your children, or yourself!

My own life was nowhere near as grand as this though we too played dressing up, from a cardboard box of discarded items. Once in awhile we visited thrift shops and I was allowed to gather old velvet dresses or capes to play in.

Such stuff as dreams. Fit for any Princess to play act in. A velvet dressing gown from Toast.

Like many portals which have the power to transport us to somewhere else, to turn us into someone else, (or our real selves,) Dressing Up Boxes never lose their appeal. They may not be as dramatic as the wardrobe in C.S Lewis's wonderful tale, The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, but the magic is there.

The Wardrobe

I know that we are encouraged to 'grow up', set aside our Fairy Tales and childish costumes and live in the real world. I believe this is a mistake. The real world is full of beauty and dread, good and evil. Fairy Tales help prepare us for this, and a little escapism does us some good from time to time.

Helena Bonham Carter in Twelfth Night Read more From Here:

 Halloween, and any dress up which children play, teaches them to use their imagination. Wanting to dress up and act out characters is not new, the Victorians loved doing this, and the kings and queens of old always held masquerades and kept a jester. Shakespeare certainly knew this!

Today, more than ever, those who inherit this Earth will need to be able to use their wits to find their way. And to believe.

I'm sharing some of my favourite Halloween moments from my internet travels.

Proud 30s/40s children playing dress up at school

vintage Halloween costumes

Angry-Jack Photo by Johanna Parker Design on Flickr

This child Porcupine is brilliant!

Bring your horse too!

Alas! Sad Squid.

Oldies but goodies, always well dressed The Stones

I'd also like to say that dressing up is not just for Halloween. It's easy this time of year to wrap up warm and forget the joy a little ornamentation brings to us, and to those who look at us. Couture has known this forever, and although few of us could afford to buy the creations they bring each season, it is simple to do small things to enhance our Autumn and Winter outfits. Or you might even get lucky and find a real vintage designer item at a charity shop for a song. Take some inspiration from films, paintings and celebrities. And vintage copies of Vogue.

"You don't have to be born beautiful to be wildly attractive" Diana Vreeland, Vogue

Use of a dramatic colour brightens your look La Sargantaine, Ramón Casas i Carbó, 1907

You can never go wrong with Audrey. Or Chanel. Just add pearls.

Audrey Hepburn Eternally classic. Breakfast At Tiffany's

Diane Keaton in her own clothes



Details of Florence Welch's Gucci gown, and her rings.

Television shows based upon Victorian/Edwardian and 20s/30s/40s characters offer many ideas for outfits.  Not just for ladies either, that coat Sherlock wears is such a classic. The scarf is great too. The costumes in Peaky Blinders and Penny Dreadful are fantastic and would be fairly easy to borrow bits from.

One for him, the Sherlock Holmes coat and scarf.

Peaky Blinders, the 'ladies'

Peaky Blinders, Thomas Shelby played by Cillian Murphy  smouldering in his wardrobe



Equally stylish Vanessa Ives and gunslinger Ethan Chandler Penny Dreadful



Eva Green as Vanessa Ives in Penny Dreadful Wearing a wonderful velvet and braid over collar on her long coat

 

Don't forget the looks from the 50s/60s. Think beautiful wool in shocking colours, tactile tweed and coats in fabulous shapes. Add a vintage handbag and remember to wear a brooch. For a more updated look wear a few brooches at the same time!

1958 coats by Cardin and Jacques Griffe

I'd not wear real fur, but this girl has a great look!

She really knows how to wear brooches! And the black trousersuit. From her own blog, Here:

Add jewels or a feather to your hat (wear a hat!) throw a shawl over your shoulder and clasp it with a glittery brooch.

Wear all those bracelets or beads you've been keeping, all at once. Wear velvet in the day. Go on, you know you want to!

Green velvet silk dressing gown, from Toast

Take inspiration from Beatrix Ost, street style post from the blog Advanced Style  written by Ari Seth Cohen



Wear black if it suits you, and gloves

A true inspiration. Model, actress, and owner of over 100 hats Marion Rogers "Mimi' Weddell (February 15, 1915 – September 24, 2009) Read more about her, Here: And on her Wiki page, Here:

Make like 30s film stars and wear pajamas to a party. Monsoon collection 2016

And don't forget if you have children or Grandchildren to help them find their own Dressing Up Box.

I am very grateful that someone still reads my ramblings, and to all of you who do I wish you a magical Autumn (or Fall as we say in my hometown) and I hope that the Winter will be kind to you and that you and yours stay warm and safe, And a little decorated!

Further reading:

A couple of my previous Halloween posts, so sorry if you missed attending the Witch's Ball! I might have another next year.

Two Doors Down From The Witch, Here:

The Witch's Ball, Here:

Artist of Attic Treasures which I opened this post with, Here:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We are now on Instagram

January 15, 2017, 12:24 pm

≪ Previous: The Dressing Up Box

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Cinderella Clock made for a display

I am always late for everything in life preferring to hold back and wait and see before testing the waters myself.

Some years ago when the husband and I were buying a property we registered with an  estate agent who simply could not believe that we did not possess a mobile phone between us. She thought we were lying to her.

Since those days which do seem rather a long time ago now we have been dragged (sometimes screaming) into the modern age by younger friends and family members who despair of our dusty hermit like habits. Time moves on and though Blogger was once a favourite place for us all to meet many have found a new café in Instagram which is quicker to use, and you can take it with you! I resisted for ages, but in the end was completely won over by the vast amount of absolutely beautiful images that people share.

Vienna cafe

 I can take an around the world trip in just a few minutes while having a cup of tea and then return to the real world instead of spending hours over posting a piece on Blogger.

Am I leaving Blogger? No, but I cannot pretend that I have as much time as I would like to post and to visit fellow bloggers who I so admire, and so, if you want to follow me more closely I would be honoured if any of you pop over to Instagram and become friends there. Link at the bottom of the post, and in the sidebar. You can still enjoy the galleries on instagram without posting.

While I have been away from Blogger I've not been idle. We have now been at the wonderful old building, The Emporium in Hungerford, for seven years! The shop is doing well and keeping me very busy buying, renovating, inventing and selling. And our poor old rickety cottage continues to vex us trying to keep it upright.

The Emporium in Hungerford, Berkshire

 I've travelled a bit

From a painting at Watts Gallery

renewing my love of the magical places in This Sceptred Isle which first caught my imagination,

Tinsmiths, Ledbury, their magical alley

Step back in time 18 Folgate Street, Spitalfields, London

Thatched cottages in local villages

and fallen in love with another European city, Oh Vienna. I shall return.

Baroque Heaven, look up in Vienna

Art Nouveau everywhere too The exquisite Secession House

More amazing roof, St Stephens Cathedral

 It was lovely to travel, and so good to come home. 

The tall dark and handsome man I'd given my heart to awhile back has done amazing things and become a superstar. In my time I have been bewitched by many special thoroughbreds and could not have hoped that another creature so enchanting would gallop into my life ~ and yet, there he is.Thistlecrack.

Thistlecrack trained in Somerset by Colin Tizzard, and ridden byTom Scudamore, out on their own

I've read a LOT of wonderful books. I hope to post a few soon so that if you have not read them and find them interesting you can look out for them too.

Puff has her own ideas about what we read!

The Last Days of Leda Grey by Essie Fox fascinating look at the world of silent films

Wonderful Edna!

Sadly we had to say farewell to our beloved lodger, little raggedy man Munchkin whose bravery in his illness touched all who knew him.

Our Lionheart Munchkin LeStrange

We had a wonderful Christmas in Devon with the family together for a change, and hope that you enjoyed the holiday season whatever that you believe, and where ever that you may be in the world.

These times are very trying for so many people. Yet with January here and Spring not far behind I do feel positive for the first time in a long while. We can endure.

Find us on instagram Here: discardedtreasures