The Flickr Sliceofbread Image Generatr

Homemade wild garlic (Allium ursinum) pesto. Ingredients: wild garlic leaves, almonds, lemon juice, olive oil, dry mustard, sald, nutritional yeast

Homemade wild garlic (Allium ursinum) pesto. Ingredients: wild garlic leaves, almonds, lemon juice, olive oil, dry mustard, sald, nutritional yeast

Homemade wild garlic (Allium ursinum) pesto. Ingredients: wild garlic leaves, almonds, lemon juice, olive oil, dry mustard, sald, nutritional yeast

Zucchini Bread including zucchini, banana, applesauce and walnuts as ingredients.

Zucchini Bread including zucchini, banana, applesauce and walnuts as ingredients.

Zucchini Bread including zucchini, banana, applesauce and walnuts as ingredients.

Served at The Alma Hotel
Alma Wisconsin
Friday April 25th, 2025

Home made whole grain bread and a bread maker.

Sliced banana bread with walnuts on a cutting board.

Slices of banan bread with walnuts.

Cutting board with strawberry and vegan cream cheese toast slices.

Cutting board with strawberry and vegan cream cheese toast slices.

A delicious loaf of raisin bread. It looks like it has dark and golden raisins in it, as well as possibly cranberries and almonds! It looks like it would be fun and easy to make.


Pexels. (2020). Fresh multigrain healthy bread cut on table. [Photograph]. Pexels.com. www.pexels.com/photo/fresh-multigrain-healthy-bread-cut-o...

crunchy baguette slices with cream cheese and green onion on olive board, shallow focus

While photographing a grey-headed woodpecker in some trees by a bridge on the island I'm from, this Eurasian magpie (Pica pica) came sitting on the bridge with a large piece of white bread in its beak (One can see the size better on another photo when it looks at me.)

I'm one of those who think that the common magpies can look great on photos as well ツ

(Skjære in Norwegian)

My album of birds here.

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Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

Today we are in the very modern and up-to-date 1920s kitchen of Lettice’s flat: Edith her maid’s preserve. It is Sunday, Edith’s day off and she is busily preparing for an excursion with her beau, local grocery delivery boy, Frank Leadbetter. The deal pine kitchen table is covered with all that is required to make a selection of sandwiches, with a loaf of fluffy fresh bread, a bar of bright yellow butter, some ripe red tomatoes and a frilly head of green lettuce. After the announcement of the sudden collapse of her ‘uncle’ Lord Sherbourne Tyrwhitt, patriarch of the family living on the estate adjunct to that of Lettice’s parents, Lettice has hurriedly returned to her grand Georgian family home of Glynes in Wiltshire, leaving Edith with ample time on her hands to plan a picnic for she and Frank. The picnic basket Edith’s brother, Bert, brought back for her from Australia as a Christmas gift sits to the side, waiting to be filled. As Edith prepares the sandwiches, she is kept company by her best friend Hilda, who also has Sundays off.

“So, what’s on the menu for today then?” Hilda asks as she looks at Edith deftly slicing pieces of bread from a loaf before then cutting a tomato in half.

“Well, tomato and lettuce sandwiches,” Edith replies, indicating with the blade of her knife to the tomatoes on the board before her and the head of lettuce between the two girls. “I’ve got some nice cheese as well for cheese and tomato sandwiches and with Miss Lettice away, there is half a cucumber left, so I thought I’d use it up by making cucumber sandwiches.”

“A feast fit for a king, no less!” Hilda says encouragingly.

“Oh there’s more.” Edith continues. “I also baked a cherry pie for dessert, using Mum’s recipe.”

“Now, I wish I was coming with you, Edith!” Hilda enthuses. “Where are you and Frank going for your picnic?” she asks Edith as she toys with a lettuce leaf on the head that Edith has yet to attack with her knife.

“We thought we might go to Kensington gardens today.” Edith replies as she cuts a smaller tomato bought from Willison’s Grocers and starts slicing it into thin slivers. “It’s not too far away, and we like it there.”

“Well, you’re blessed with a beautiful, sunny day for it.” Hilda remarks cheerfully, pointing to the kitchen window, through which sunlight streams.

Edith stops slicing the tomato, allowing her knife to come to rest in a pool of tomato juice on the cutting board. She glances anxiously at her best friend. “You don’t mind, do you Hilda?”

Hilda stops toying with the lettuce leaf. “Mind? Whatever do you mean, Edith? Why should I mind?”

A month ago, as Edith, Frank and Hilda were in Hilda’s employer’s kitchen in Hill Street about to leave to go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais de Danse* on their Sunday afternoon off, Hilda grew despondent about going. With the dearth of young, or even older, eligible men, Hilda wondered why she bothered to go dancing, when she never met any men and usually ended up dancing with other women who were wallflowers** like her. Ever since then, Edith has been acutely aware of her best friend’s feelings of loneliness. When the two had been housemaids together at the home of Mrs. Plaistow in Pimlico it hadn’t mattered so much as both girls had been single and their shared sense of being without a beau strengthened their bond. However, now Edith has Frank, so Edith has been especially conscious to include Hilda even more than usual in her plans ever since, in an effort to compensate for her friend’s lack of a beau. Rather than go dancing, where the lack of men is so painfully evident, at Frank’s suggestion, he and Edith have altered their usual Sunday afternoon plans and done things where they could include Hilda easily. However, in spite of her conscious efforts, with the good weather of summer in the air, and Lettice being away for an indefinite period of time as she returns to Wiltshire on an urgent family matter, Edith is anxious to use the picnic basket her brother, Bert, brought her back from Australia, and have a picnic just for she and Frank for a change.

“Well, I just don’t want you at a loose end is all, Hilda.” Edith replies. “I know you’ve been feeling a bit low ever since that afternoon we went dancing.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about me, Edith.” Hilda scoffs with a dismissive wave as she sinks back from the table into the rounded back of the second Windsor chair in Edith’s kitchen.

“Of course I have to worry about you, Hilda!” Edith retorts. “You are my best friend, after all.”

“Well, you don’t need to today, Edith.” Hilda assures her. “Today is a lovely day for you and Frank to go and enjoy your Sunday off without me.” She looks at her friend earnestly. “I know you Edith, and I know what you’ve been doing.”

“Me?” Edith hurriedly picks up her knife and finishes slicing the tomato, focussing all her attention on her task, refusing to engage her friend’s gaze. “I haven’t been doing anything.”

“Yes you have, Edith. Don’t deny it.” Hilda wags her fleshy right index finger admonishingly at Edith. “I know that ever since we went dancing that Sunday, you and Frank have been colluding to include me in more of your Sunday afternoon activities to make sure I don’t feel left out.”

“Oh what rubbish you talk sometimes, Hilda!” Edith says, brushing her friend’s observation off as easily as she sweeps the slices of tomato aside with the flat of her knife. She cuts off a slice of fluffy white bread from the loaf at her left and begins to butter it. “I’ve done no such thing!”

“Haven’t you?” Hilda counters rhetorically. “What about the fact that last week we went to the Angel*** rather than go dancing.”

“That was just so we could do something different for a change, Hilda. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it?”

“Oh, I enjoyed it well enough, but it seemed a bit unusual to break from our usual routine.”

“Frank and I wanted to do something different for a change. We don’t always want to go to the same places.”

“I’m sure you two would have preferred to have been alone and sitting in the back of the Premier in East Ham**** with the other young couples in the dark, rather than sitting with me in the middle seats.”

“I’ll have you know, Hilda Clerkenwell, that I very much wanted to see ‘Bell Boy 13’*****.”

“Mmm…hmmm.” replies Hilda disbelievingly.

“I did, Hilda!” Edith says firmly, feverishly buttering the bread.

“Well, even if that is the case,” Hilda retorts. “It’s high time you and Frank had a Sunday on your own for a change, rather than spend it with me as well. However jolly the outing may be for me, I’m a third wheel.”

“You’re never that, Hilda!” Edith assures her.

Hilda gives her friend a knowing look again before speaking. “You don’t often get to take advantage of Miss Lettice being away for an indefinite period.”

“That’s true, although it comes about through unfortunate circumstances. A relation has been taken ill.”

“Well, unfortunate for her or not, you should take advantage of the fortuitous circumstance it creates for you and enjoy the summer day with Frank.” She runs her finger around the raised edge of the Delftware plate on which a bar of glossy yellow butter sits.

Edith pauses slicing another piece of bread from the loaf and looks at Hilda, whose face is hidden my a mass of brown waves as she hangs her head. “There’s something else going on here.” she says firmly. “I know there is. I have sensed it ever since you arrived. Come on Hilda, spit it out!”

“Well, there is an extra reason why you needn’t worry about me every Sunday.”

Edith drops the bread knife onto the cutting board where it lands with a loud clatter. “You haven’t finally met a nice young man, have you?” she gasps excitedly.

Hilda looks to her friend. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Edith, but no.”

“Oh, I was hoping that chap I saw you chatting to at the bar of the Angel when you bought us a round of drinks might have taken a shine to you.”

“Goodness no!” Hilda laughs loudly. “He was a sailor from Norway. He was only asking me whether I knew of any places he could go for entertainment around there. Once I said I didn’t, he lost interest in me very swiftly.”

“So what is it then?”

“Well,” Hilda says sheepishly. “You mustn’t laugh at me.”


“I’d never laugh at you, Hilda.”

“Well, you know the last time we went to visit Mrs. Minkin’s haberdashery in Whitechapel?”

“Yes, I bought some new black feathers for my straw cloche after the ones on it were damaged on that windy day.” Edith recollects. “But you didn’t buy anything.”

“No, you’re right, I didn’t,” Hilda agrees. “But I did pick up a flyer for a group who knit socks, scarves and balaclavas for the poor in the East End.”

“But you don’t know how to knit!” laughs Edith.

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Hilda,” Edith quickly pipes up, stopping her laughter. “I didn’t mean to laugh.” She covers her mouth as she looks apologetically at her friend. “It is just a surprise is all. I mean, you don’t know how to knit. I tried to teach you, but,” She pauses for a moment to think how to best couch the outcomes without hurting her friend’s feelings any more than she may already have by laughing at the idea of her knitting. “Well, you just never took to it. Did you?”

“Well, I wasn’t really keen to learn then.” Hilda admits. “As I recall, you were the one who thought I should learn, and you were so keen to teach me that I thought I’d have a go at it, but my heart wasn’t really in it.”

“And that’s changed now?”

“Can’t a girl change her mind?”

“Oh of course she can Hilda!” Edith defends. “I’m so happy for you,” she adds. “But I’m intrigued. What was it that changed your mind? What has inspired you to what to learn to knit, since Mrs. Minkin and I couldn’t?”

“I suppose it was looking around me when we go down to the East End. Up here in Mayfair everything is so nice, and there is enough for everyone, but down there, there are children walking about wearing rags. I can’t afford to feed the starving children of the East End, but maybe I can do some good and help knit them some things to help keep them warm.”

“What a lovely idea, Hilda.” Edith says encouragingly. “I’m so proud of you for doing it. I’ve never really thought to do anything like that before.”

“Well, I figured I could learn something new, and it might help fill some of my Sundays, so that way you don’t have to include me in your plans.”

“I hope you know that Frank and I don’t mind having you tag along, Hilda.”

“I know you don’t, because you’re my best friend, and because Frank is a very special and understanding chap.” Hilda replies with a sad smile. “Many other young men wouldn’t be so tolerant.”

“It isn’t about tolerance, for either of us.” Edith defends.

“I know that too, Edith. I’m just stating a fact that there aren’t many young men like Frank out there, which is all the more reason why you should be enjoying at least the occasional Sunday in the pleasure of his company without me. He’s a good man, Edith, and as you know, men in general are hard to come by, so that makes him even more special. Better hang on to him and not let go, Edith.”

“I know.”

“Anyway, I like the sound of joining a group where I can come and go as I like, so I’m not committed to giving up all my free Sundays, so we can still go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais or go to the pictures at the West Ham Premier.” Her smile changes as little from sad to hopeful. “And who knows? I might make some new lady friends and acquaintances who have eligible bachelors who are just waiting for a girl like me who can knit them a scarf, or socks.”

“Or a jumper!” laughs Edith.

“Or a balaclava!” adds Hilda, joining in Edith’s laughing.

“I’m happy for you, Hilda.”

“Well, I had to do something to get me out of the funk I’ve been in lately,” Hilda replies. “So it was join the knitting circle or join the Socialist Party in Bloomsbury.” she adds jokingly.

Edith joins in with her friend’s mischievous laughter.

“By the way, Edith. If there happen to be a few too many sandwiches made, I’ll happily take a few with me to the knitting circle.”

Edith smiles. “I’ll wrap up a few for you in a brown paper bag, Hilda.”

“Thanks ever so, Edith.” Hilda replies gratefully.

*The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.

**A wallflower, as well as being a species of flower is also an informal description of a person, usually a woman or young girl, who has no one to dance with or who feels shy, awkward, or excluded at a party.

***The Angel, one of the oldest Rotherhithe pubs, is now in splendid isolation in front of the remains of Edward III's mansion on the Thames Path at the western edge of Rotherhithe. The site was first used when the Bermondsey Abbey monks used to brew beer which they sold to pilgrims. It is located at 24 Rotherhithe St, opposite Execution Dock in Wapping. It has two storeys, plus an attic. It is built of multi-coloured stock brick with a stucco cornice and blocking course. The ground floor frontage is made of wood. There is an area of segmental arches on the first floor with sash windows, and it is topped by a low pitched slate roof. Its Thames frontage has an unusual weatherboarded gallery on wooden posts. The interior is divided by wooden panels into five small rooms. In the early 20th Century its reputation and location attracted local artists including Augustus John and James Abbott McNeil Whistler. In the 1940s and 50s it became a popular destination for celebrities including Laurel and Hardy. Today its customers are local residents, tourists and people walking the Thames Path.

****The Premier Super Cinema in East Ham was opened on the 12th of March, 1921, replacing the 800 seat capacity 1912 Premier Electric Theatre. The new cinema could seat 2,408 patrons. The Premier Super Cinema was taken over by Provincial Cinematograph Theatres who were taken over by Gaumont British in February 1929. It was renamed the Gaumont from 21st April 1952. The Gaumont was closed by the Rank Organisation on 6th April 1963. After that it became a bingo hall and remained so until 2005. Despite attempts to have it listed as a historic building due to its relatively intact 1921 interior, the Gaumont was demolished in 2009.

*****’Bell Boy 13’ is a 1923 American silent comedy film directed by William A. Seiter, and starring Douglas MacLean, John Steppling, Margaret Loomis, William Courtright, Emily Gerdes, and Eugene Burr. College graduate Harry Elrod (Douglas MacLean) wishes to marry actress Kitty Clyde (Margaret Loomis), but his Uncle Ellrey Elrod (John Steppling) has picked out Angela Fish (Emily Gerdes) as a wife for his nephew. Harry arranges an elopement with Kitty. His uncle's suspicions are aroused and he trails Harry continuously. Miss Fish and her father the Reverend Doctor Wilbur Fish (William Courtright) call. Harry in desperation starts a fire in his room. He is rescued by the fire brigade and then stages a run through the streets in the fire chief's car, intending to catch another train and follow Kitty. He escapes the pursuing firemen, boards the train, and arrives safely at the Philadelphia hotel where Kitty will meet him. There he finds that she has changed her mind, coming to believe that he must have his uncle's consent. He then receives a telegram from his uncle, disowning him. Broke, Harry takes a job as a hotel bell boy. In uniform, he enters where Kitty is dining with Mr. Haskell, her press agent, and sits down, but is dragged away by the indignant hotel manager. Uncle Ellrey comes to the hotel but is shown the wrong room by Harry, so he demands that Harry be fired. The manager, ever ready to make a guest happy, is ready to oblige him, but Harry turns Bolshevist and induces the entire hotel staff to go on strike. The end result is that the uncle is defeated, and Harry wins Kitty.

This busy domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection, some of which come from my own childhood.

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

On Edith’s deal table is a panoply of things as she readies her picnic luncheon. The chopping board, butter knife and tomatoes all came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The tomato slices come from an English stockist of 1:12 artisan miniatures whom I found on E-Bay. The loaf of bread is made from polymer clay and looks remarkably realistic. It was made by Polly’s Pantry in America. The bar of butter on the Delftware plate I have had since I was about six. It came under a 1:12 scale silver butter dish I was given as part of a Christmas gift. The knife on the chopping board and the bread knife come from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures Shop in the United Kingdom. The head of lettuce has been made by an unknown artisan and is made of very thinly rolled clay which has had very realistic detailing picked out on its leaves before being painted. I bought it as part of a job lot of 1:12 size miniature artisan food pieces at an auction when I was a teenager. The Deftware plates are part of a 1:12 size miniature porcelain dinner set which I acquired from a seller in America through E-Bay.

To the left of the picture you can see the wicker picnic basket that Bert brought home for Edith. In truth it is not Australian made, but was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside.

Edith’s Windsor chair is a hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniature which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat, but it is definitely an unmarked artisan piece.

In the background you can see a very modern and up-to-date 1920s gas stove on which stand some shiny brass pieces acquired from various online stockists on 1:12 miniatures. The stove would have been expensive to instal at the time, and it would have been the cook’s or maid’s pleasure to cook on and in. It would have included a thermostat for perfect cooking and without the need of coal, it was much cleaner to feed, use and easier to clean. It is not unlike those made by the Roper Stove Company in the 1920s. The Roper Stove Company previously named the Florence-Wehrle Company among other names, was founded in 1883. Located in Newark, Ohio, the company was once the largest stove producer in the world. Today, the Roper Stove Company is a brand of Whirlpool.

On the bench in the background is a toaster: a very modern convenience for a household even in the early 1920s, but essential when there was no longer a kitchen range on which to toast the bread. Although toasters had been readily available since the turn of the century, they were not commonplace in British kitchens until well after the Great War in the late 1930s. Next to the toaster is a biscuit barrel painted in the style of English ceramic artist Clarice Cliff which is a hand painted 1:12 miniature made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in England. It contains its own selection of miniature hand-made chocolate biscuits! Next to that stands a bread crock. There is also a jar of Golden Shred orange marmalade made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. Golden Shred orange marmalade still exists today and is a common household brand both in Britain and Australia. It is produced by Robertson’s. Robertson’s Golden Shred recipe perfected since 1874 is a clear and tangy orange marmalade, which according to their modern day jars is “perfect for Paddington’s marmalade sandwiches”. Robertson’s marmalade dates back to 1874 when Mrs. Robertson started making marmalade in the family grocery shop in Paisley, Scotland.

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

Today we are in the very modern and up-to-date 1920s kitchen of Lettice’s flat: Edith her maid’s preserve. It is early morning, which is always Edith’s favourite time of day, for before Lettice arises, she can get a lot of her household chores done without interruption and without interrupting her mistress. With the airing, dusting and straightening of the flat’s main rooms done, as the clock nears eight, Edith can focus on preparing Lettice’s breakfast.

If Lettice were at her family home in Wiltshire, as an unmarried lady she would not be permitted to have breakfast in bed, that luxury reserved for married women like her mother only. However, in London, and under her own roof, no such stricture applies, so Edith sets about preparing her mistress’ breakfast tray. Sighing with satisfaction as she takes in a breath of cool morning air through the open window, the young maid stands at the deal pine kitchen table and places a pretty floral edged plate, and egg cup onto the dark wooden tray where they join a sliver salt shaker and pepper pot. She listens to the chirp of birds as she turns around and goes to the kitchen’s cutlery drawer and withdraws two spoons and a knife which she adds to the tray. Morning is the only time she really hears the birds, as within an hour, the streets around Cavendish Mews will be busy with the splutter of motor cars and the chug of buses and their noise will drown out the pretty songs of the birds who make their homes between the chimney pots and in the gardens of the surrounding Mayfair houses.

The sound of the brass kettle boiling on the stove breaks into her consciousness, and Edith turns and takes it off the hob. She picks up a small brass pan and adds water from the kettle and covers it with a lid and places it over an unlit burner.

Going to the meat safe near the back door Edith withdraws one of the bottles of milk left at the back door of the flat by the milkman even before she was out of bed, and a white carboard box with blue writing on it that proudly advertises eggs from Alexander Auld, by appointment to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. “Why on earth the Prince of Wales needs eggs from Aberdeen in Scotland is beyond me.” she mutters to herself as she lifts the lid and takes out a pristine white egg from the box. “Eggs are eggs. They all taste the same, no matter where they come from.” Her beau Frank Leadbetter, who is the delivery boy for Mr. Willison the local grocers, told her that if the Prince of Wales wanted Scottish eggs, who were they to question it, and always adds that she should feel lucky to eat eggs from the same farm that the Prince’s eggs come from. She shakes her head as she takes the egg over to the stove and puts it into the pot of freshly boiled water.

Returning to the table she pours creamy white milk into a jug that matches the egg cup and plate and places it on the tray. She picks up the jar of Golden Shred Orange Marmalade* and scoops orange jewel like gelatinous preserve from the jar and deposits it into a silver preserve pot. “Blast!” Edith mutters as a stray drop falls from her spoon and lands on the left cuff of her blue and white striped morning uniform where it seeps and bleeds into the fabric. Scraping what hasn’t been absorbed into the pot, she goes to the sink, runs the cold water tap and soaks a cleaning cloth under the clear stream before sponging the mark before it sets. Returning to the table, shaking her left arm half in irritation and half in a pointless effort to dry her now damp cuff, she puts the lid on the preserve pot.

She returns to the stove and takes up the kettle and pours hot water over the scoops of Lyon’s** tealeaves in the bottom of the floral patterned teapot that matches the rest of the crockery on the tray. With a satisfying clink, she drops the lid into the hole in the top.

“Oh my giddy aunt! The post!” Edith gasps, putting both her hands to her head. “I’d forget my head sometimes if it weren’t screwed on.”

Snatching up the slice of white bread she has freshly cut from the loaf on the table, she puts it in the gleaming silver toaster and takes up the letters and the magazine that have been delivered with the first post of the day.*** Edith goes through what is there.

“Looks like a formal invitation to something.” she murmurs as she holds up to the light one larger envelope of a higher quality than two others, which from the addresses she notes are from tradesmen, and tries to peer through the thick creamy white envelope. “I wonder if it’s an invitation to a ball, now that the Season has started up. Whose I wonder?”

Putting it down she then notices that the magazine that has been delivered is Country Life**** which Lettice does not subscribe to. “That’s odd.” She screws up her face and ponders the magazine featuring the grand colonnaded Georgian façade of a country house with its mistress descending its stairs on the cover. Then gasping with excitement, Edith remembers overhearing her mistress saying something about an interior she completed recently. Friends of Lettice, Margot and Dickie Channon, were gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) in Penzance as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton when the pair were married in October 1921. Margot in her desire to turn ‘Chi an Treth’ from a dark Regency house to a more modern country house flooded with light, commissioned Lettice to help redecorate some of the principal rooms in a lighter and more contemporary style, befitting a modern couple like the Channons. Lettice decamped to Penzance for a week where she oversaw the painting and papering of ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, dining room and main reception room, before fitting the rooms out with a lorryload of new and repurposed furnishings, artwork and objets d’arte that she had sent down weeks prior to her arrival from her London warehouse. With the rooms redecorated under Lettice’s adept hands where once there was dark red paint, modern white geometric wallpaper hangs, and where formal, uncomfortable and old fashioned furnishings sat, more modern pieces dispersed by a select few original items give the rooms a lighter, more relaxed and more contemporary 1920s country house feel. The redecoration came to the attention of Dickie’s friend Henry Tipping***** who as well as being Dickie’s chum is also the Architectural Editor of Country Life, and after viewing it, he arranged for it to be featured in the magazine.

Opening the magazine, Edith flits through the different editorials before coming across the one about ‘Chi an Treth’ towards the middle. As she reads and looks at the many photographs of her mistress’ beautiful interior, her neutral face comes to life and she smiles as her eyes glisten. “Oh-ho!” she chortles, her cheeks reddening. “This will be thumb in the eye****** for Miss Lettice’s mother. She won’t be able to be dismissive of her decorating now.”

It is only as she is drinking in the beauty of Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s fashionable looking drawing rom that Edith realises that she has been so absorbed in reading the article that she didn’t hear the toast pop. Turning her head, she sees the slice poking its golden brown top out of the gleaming silvered toaster. Reluctantly putting the copy of Country Life down, she goes and picks up the toast with her right thumb and forefinger and brings it back to Lettice’s breakfast tray where she puts it on the plate. Adding a teacup and saucer in a matching pattern to the plate, egg cup and jug, she returns to the stove and removes the perfectly four minute boiled egg from the pot with a slotted spoon, and deposits it in the egg cup.

Placing the teapot onto the tray, she slips the letters into the pocket on the front of her apron, puts the copy of Country Life under her left arm and picks up the breakfast tray.

“Today is the day.” Edith says aloud with a smile as she pushes at the bottom of the door leading from the kitchen into the flat’s hallway with the toe of her shoe. “The day that Miss Lettice’s work is properly recognised is here. She is going to be so pleased.”

*Golden Shred orange marmalade still exists today and is a common household brand both in Britain and Australia. They are produced by Robertson’s. Robertson's Golden Shred recipe perfected since 1874 is a clear and tangy orange marmalade, which according to their modern day jars is “perfect for Paddington’s marmalade sandwiches”. Robertson's marmalade dates back to 1874 when Mrs. Robertson started making marmalade in the family grocery shop in Paisley, Scotland.

**Unlike today where mail is delivered on a daily or even sometimes only every few days basis, there were several deliveries done a day when this story is set. At the height of the postcard mania in 1903, London residents could have as many as twelve separate visits from the mailman. By 1923 it had been scaled back somewhat, but in London it would not be unusual to receive post three or four times a day.

*** Lyons Tea was first produced by J. Lyons and Co., a catering empire created and built by the Salmons and Glucksteins, a German-Jewish immigrant family based in London. Starting in 1904, J Lyons began selling packaged tea through its network of teashops. Soon after, they began selling their own brand Lyons Tea through retailers in the UK, Ireland and around the world. In 1918, Lyons purchased Hornimans and in 1921 they moved their tea factory to J. Lyons and Co., Greenford at that time, the largest tea factory in Europe. In 1962, J Lyons and Company (Ireland) became Lyons Irish Holdings. After a merger with Allied Breweries in 1978, Lyons Irish Holdings became part of Allied Lyons (later Allied Domecq) who then sold the company to Unilever in 1996. Today, Lyons Tea is produced in England. Lyons Tea was a major advertiser in the early decades of RTÉ Television, featuring the "Lyons minstrels" and coupon-based prize competitions.

****Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

*****Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

******I am unsure of the origins of the saying “to shove a thumb in one’s eye”, but its meaning is to open someone’s eyes to the obvious, but not necessarily in a welcome way.

This domestic scene may not be all that it appears, for it is made up completely of items from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

The copy of Country Life sitting on the table that is the lynchpin of this chapter was made by me to scale using the cover of a real 1923 edition of Country Life.

The panoply of things required by Edith to make Lettice’s breakfast that cover her deal kitchen table come from various different suppliers. The lacquered wooden breakfast tray and the pretty breakfast crockery came from specialist stockist of miniatures on E-Bay. The box of eggs in the background comes from Shepherds Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The slice of toast on the plate comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom. The bottle of milk in the background comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as do the pieces of cutlery. The jar of Golden Shred marmalade in the foreground comes Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire as does the box of Lyon’s Tea in the background. The sliced load of bread comes from Polly’s Pantry Miniatures. The lidded silver preserve pot comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The silver salt and pepper shakers are part of a larger cruet set made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality of the detail in their pieces.

Edith’s Windsor chair in the background is a hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniature which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat, but it is definitely an unmarked artisan piece.

To the left of the sink is the food safe with a mop leaning against it. In the days before refrigeration, or when refrigeration was expensive, perishable foods such as meat, butter, milk and eggs were kept in a food safe. Winter was easier than summer to keep food fresh and butter coolers and shallow bowls of cold water were early ways to keep things like milk and butter cool. A food safe was a wooden cupboard with doors and sides open to the air apart from a covering of fine galvinised wire mesh. This allowed the air to circulate while keeping insects out. There was usually an upper and a lower compartment, normally lined with what was known as American cloth, a fabric with a glazed or varnished wipe-clean surface. Refrigerators, like washing machines were American inventions and were not commonplace in even wealthy upper-class households until well after the Second World War.

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

Today however we are not at Cavendish Mews, although we are still in Mayfair, moving a few streets away to Hill Street, where Edith, Lettice’s maid, is visiting her friend and fellow maid Hilda. Edith and Hilda used to share at attic bedroom together in the Pimlico townhouse of Mr. and Mrs. Plaistow, their former situation, where they worked together as parlour maids. Edith recently helped Hilda obtain a new position as live-in maid for Lettice’s married Embassy Club coterie friends, Dickie and Margot Channon. Whilst Edith spends her Sundays off with her beau, Willison’s Grocers delivery boy Frank, she shares her Wednesdays off between visiting her parents in Harlesden and spending the day enjoying the pleasures London has to offer with Hilda. It is in the Channon’s Hill Street flat’s kitchen that we find ourselves today where Edith and Hilda are taking luncheon before heading off to nearby Oxford Street for a spot of window shopping.

Hilda has found that the Channon’s rather chaotic household and way of living somewhat of challenge to get used to working in, but it always guarantees great stories that she can share with her best friend, and this is what the girls are doing. The Channons are away, visiting Dickie’s parents, the Marquess and Marchioness of Taunton in Cornwall, which makes it easier for Hilda to entertain Edith at the flat in Hill Street, and the pair are enjoying Dickie and Margot’s unknown largess as the table is set with tea for two, bread from the glazed bread crock and a choice of spreads for them to enjoy.

“Well, “ Hilda says with a sigh of relief as she unscrews the yellow lid from the Marmite* jar. “I can tell you I was relieved to hear Mrs. Channon say to your Miss Lettice over lunch last week that the reason why they are going to see her in-laws is because they find it too lowering to visit the flat.” She scoops some of the thick dark Marmite out of the jar and smears the paste thinly across her slice of bread.

“Mmmm…” murmurs Edith in reply, her own knife still laying next to her untouched slice of bare bread.

“She sounds like a nasty old trout anyway.” Hilda prattles on as she cuts her slice of Marmite topped bread into two by slicing it with ungainly drags of her Bakelite** handled knife. “Poor Mrs. Channon always comes back from these stays at the in-law’s castle so downcast, and despondent.”

“Yes…” Edith replies in a distracted way, still leaving her bread untouched.

“And I’ve heard she and Mr. Channon talk about the fact that they have no children yet.” Hilda picks up one half of her bread and bites into it hungrily, chewing her mouthful a few times and half swallowing it before adding, “I mean, I know they have been married for a year and all, so it is unusual.” She loudly chews her mouthful of bread and Marmite a few more times. “But you can’t force babies to come, now can you?”

“Mmmm…”

“And, I mean fancy the Marchioness being rich enough to live in a castle, yet she and the Marquess barely give Mr. Channon a penny to live by, and they won’t visit his home because they think it’s too lowering.” Hilda emphasises the last word before taking another large bite of her bread. “What a cheek! ‘d hate her for a mother-in-law, no matter how rich she is! She’s just plain rude, if you ask me! Don’t you agree, Edith?”

“No…” Edith replies after a few moments, her voice reedy and tinged with a far off quality.

“You don’t, Edith?” Hilda asks, her face screwing up in disbelief, her mouth a thin, long line moving up and down as she chews.

“I don’t what?” Edith replies.

“You don’t agree with me, Edith!” Hilda retorts in surprise. “Haven’t you been listening to me?” She looks at the slice of bare bread on Edith’s plate and her untouched cup of tea, and then up into Edith’s rather pale and wan face with apprehension. “What’s wrong Edith? You haven’t touched your tea.”

“Oh!” Edith gasps, before smiling at her friend. “Nothing, Hilda.” She picks up the jar of Golden Shred Marmalade*** and unscrews the painted red lid.

“Aren’t you going to put butter on your bread first?” Hilda asks with disquiet as she watches Edith’s clean knife edge towards the gelatinous golden orange conserve within the jar.

“What?” Edith looks at the marmalade and then looks at the bar of creamy pale yellow butter on the white glazed tray of the butter dish. “Oh! Oh yes!” She giggles somewhat forcefully at her mistake. “Silly me.”

“What’s wrong Edith?” Hilda asks her friend in genuine concern as she watches her butter her bread. “You’ve been a bit off ever since you’ve arrived, and I don’t think you’ve really heard a word I said since you got here.”

“Yes I have, Hilda!” Edith defends.

“You’re not,” Hilda glances down to Edith’s stomach, encased in a pretty floral print frock of her own making, cocking her eyebrow as she does. “You know… in the family way with Frank, are you?”

“Hilda!” Edith let’s her knife clatter loudly onto her blue and white plate. “Good heavens, no!” She blushes. “I’m not that kind of girl! You know that! How could you even think such a thing? I haven’t let Frank touch me like that, and he knows he can’t, until he’s put a ring on my finger.”

“Oh, that’s a relief!” Hilda sinks back not the comfort of the round back of her Windsor chair. “Then what is it? Something’s bothering you. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. Is it Miss Lettice? Has she done something? I know your brother is home. Is he alright?”

“Of course my brother’s alright!” Edith scoffs in surprise. “You only saw him at the Hammersmith Palais**** on Sunday. And no, it’s nothing about Miss Lettice.”

“Well, a lot can happen in a few days, Edith. So, what is it, then. Is it to do with Frank?”

Edith doesn’t reply for a moment, which tells her best friend so much before she finally does reply falteringly. “Well, yes… well not him, exactly.”

“What is it then?” Hilda sits forward and picks up the last bite of her first half of her bread. “Come on! Out with it then!”

Edith sighs deeply and toys with the marmalade as she smears it across her slice of bread. “I’m worried about meeting Frank’s grandmother on Sunday.”

“But I thought you wanted to meet her.” Hilda replies, her eyes widening in surprise. “You’re the one who has been banging on to me for weeks about Frank dragging his heels. Now he’s gone and done the right thing and organised for you two to finally meet. I don’t understand.”

“Oh, I am glad, Hilda. Really, I am.”

“Well you don’t sound it, I must confess.” Hilda says matter-of-factly as she snatches up her second half of her bread and bites deeply into it, emitting a small gasp of pleasure at doing so.

Edith cuts her slice of bread in half with desultory strokes as she considers her reply. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

“Alright. Well, I’m worried that she won’t like me.”

“What?” Hilda gasps. “What is there not to like about you, Edith? You’re wonderful! Frank’s picked himself the best of the catch!” She pats Edith’s arm comfortingly as she leans forward. “You’re pretty and smart. You’ve landed yourself a good job as far as being in service goes. Goodness,” She slaps Edith’s forearm. “You’re even clever enough to whip Frank up a shirt on that new Singer***** of yours, I’ll wager. I’m sure she’ll be tickled pink that her grandson has found such a catch as you.”

“But she sounds so grand, Hilda. She makes lace, and she lives in Upton Park. It sounds much nicer than Harlesden.”

“What rubbish!” Hilda scoffs. “Lots of women make lace, and they aren’t fine ladies like Mrs. Channon or Miss Lettice. In fact, I doubt that either of our mistresses could sew their own lace. And as for Upon Park, it’s just an ordinary suburb, just like any other in London.”

“Have you been there?”

“Well, no.” Hilda admits. But as her friend’s face falls, she quickly adds, “But I have been with you to the Premier****** in East Ham, and that isn’t far away, and there’s nothing particularly grand or special about it. Upton Park is just an ordinary London suburb, just like many others, and that includes Harlesden.”

“I don’t really know much about Frank’s upbringing, other than his parents died in the Spanish Flu epidemic. His grandmother might not approve of a working girl whose father works in a biscuit factory and a mother who is a laundress.”

“Rubbish! Your parents are both respectable people, Edith. Your mum keeps a lovely house and did a splendid job of raising you and your brother. You’ve nothing whatever to be ashamed of! I’m sure your nerves are just bringing all this nonsense up.”

“Oh,” Edith sighs. “You’re probably right, Hilda.” She smiles wanly at her friend and reaches up her own right hand and places it gratefully on her best friend’s left forearm. “Thank you.”

“Course I’m right.” Hilda says with satisfaction.

The pair settle back in companionable silence for a short while. Hilda happily helps herself to another slice of thick and soft white bread from the bread crock, far nicer than the bread she used to be served by the cook in Mrs. Plaistow’s, who deliberately gave the maids food of a poorer quality out of sheer spite, whilst feeding she and her kitchen maid little delicacies that she would create just for them. Smearing a thick layer of rich, dark and gleaming Marmite on her bread, Hilda feels the silence change. Glancing up at her friend she watches as she gingerly nibbles at her slice of bread, spread with a thin layer of jewel like orange marmalade. Her eyes, usually so bright, seem dull and sad and she is obviously troubled and distracted by something more than she is saying. Hilda sips her tea and ponders the situation.

“There’s something else worrying you, isn’t there Edith?” she confronts her friend at length.

“No, I…”

“Don’t try and deny it!” Hilda protests, raising one of her doughy arms with its wide hands and fat, sausage like fingers. “I’ve known you long enough Edith Watsford, to know there is something wrong. What is it? Don’t you want to tell it me?”

Edith looks guiltily at her, evidently upset at withholding information from her most trusted of friends, yet unable to voice them. Finally, she speaks.

“You’ll think me foolish, if you thought my other reasons were rubbish, Hilda.”

“Your reasons may be rubbish,” Hilda agrees. “But your concerns aren’t. Come on Edith. We tell each other everything. You know I won’t think you’re foolish. Like I said before, you’re a smart girl, and smart girls aren’t foolish.” She smiles in a welcoming fashion, encouraging Edith to share. “I won’t pass judgement on you.” she concludes softly, putting down her slice of bread, just to prove the point that she is paying full attention. “Promise.”

Edith puts down her own nibbled slice of bread and explains with a heaviness and reluctance, “I feel foolish, because I can’t help but feel I’m cheating on Bert’s memory by going to see Frank’s grandmother.”

When Edith pauses and looks across at her friend, Hilda doesn’t respond, even though she wants to. She wants to tell her that such an idea is nonsense, and that she has been crying over the photo of a dead man for far too long as it is, but she knows that will only make Edith feel foolish, and she doesn’t want her to feel that way. Instead, she stays silent for a moment before asking, “How’s that then?”

“Well, by me going to see Frank’s grandmother, it commits me more to Frank, and I can’t help but feel that in doing so, I’m not being generous to Bert’s memory.”

“That’s,” Hilda begins, about to add the word rubbish. However, she quickly changes her mind, swallows the word and instead says, “Understandable.”

“Do you really think so, Hilda?”

Hilda smiles, but her smile contains pity for her friend. “For all the time we shared that awful, cold attic bedroom at Mrs. Plaistow’s, I remember how often you talked about Bert, and how often you looked at his picture. Of course, he was your first love, and whilst I have no real experience of love myself, I do know that first loves remain in your heart.”

Edith nods shallowly.

“But I think that Bert would be disappointed in you if you didn’t take this chance with Frank, Edith. He sounded like a nice chap, and I think he’d be happy for you if you had a chance at love again. You’re lucky.” she adds. “Not all of us get that chance.” Now her pity is for herself.

“Oh, I’m sorry Hilda!” Edith exclaims. “I must sound so ungrateful! Here I am with a lovely man like Frank, and I’m worried about a man who isn’t even alive any more.”

“He lives in your heart.” Hilda says in a strangulated voice as she struggles to hold back her own tears.

“Don’t worry, Hilda!” Edith assures her friend. “We’re going to find you a good man at the Hammersmith Palais. You wait and see!”

“Not with the number of women there are in comparison to the men.” Hilda says doubtfully, picking up her bread slice and her cup. “Like most of the plainer girls, I end up dancing with other women rather than sit and be a wallflower. Thank goodness for your Frank dancing with me from time to time, or your brother last week.” After slurping a sip of hot sweet and milky tea, she adds, “My Mum used to tell me I had good child-bearing hips. I think she used to say it out of kindness, because I’ve always been on the heftier side.” She looks down at herself. “I’ll never be a slip of thing like you, and there’s a fact.”

“Oh I wouldn’t…” Edith begins, but Hilda holds up her hand in protest again as she pops her bread between her teeth.

Taking the slice out of her mouth, she continues, “Anyway, Mum doesn’t say that any more, partially I think to spare me the humiliation of being reminded that I’m still single at the age of twenty three, but I think more so to keep herself from remembering that as her only child left alive, if I am destined to be an old maid, she’ll never have grandchildren.”

“Oh, don’t talk like that, Hilda! You might meet the man you are going to marry, tomorrow.”

“Let’s be honest, Edith,” Hilda says in a deflated fashion. “I’m nowhere near as pretty as you, nor as trim, and with so many young men killed in the war, my chances of finding someone are slim. Besides, I can’t sew my own pretty frocks like you can, and it seems that dresses in my size are mostly muddy brown or olive in colour. They are hardly becoming are they?”

“Well, we might be able to do something about that.” Edith says with a genuine smile that returns brightness to her eyes. “Now that I do have my own sewing machine, I can just as easily make up a frock for you as I can for me. I have plenty of Weldon’s******* at home.”

Hilda’s sad face suddenly brightens and her cheeks fill with colour, giving her a pretty flush of pink. “Would you Edith?” she dares to ask. “Would you really?”

“Oh yes, of course I will!” Edith exclaims. “If I start working on it in the evenings this week, it might even help keep my mind off meeting Frank’s grandmother. I probably won’t have anything ready for a week or two, but if you don’t mind waiting.”

“Oh, of course I don’t mind waiting! That would be wonderful!”

“Well,” Edith says, sparking up herself at the thought of making a frock for her best friend. “I know we said we were going to go and look in the shop windows on Oxford Street, but why don’t we go to Mrs. Minkin’s Haberdashers in Whitechapel instead? We could pick some nice fabric today, and maybe even look at frock patterns to see what you like.”

“We’d better eat up then!” Hilda says before stuffing what is left of her second slice of bread into her mouth and washing it down with another slurp of tea. Through a wall of chewed up bread mixed with tea she adds, “Whitechapel’s a bit further away than Oxford Street.”

As Edith stands and prepares to help tidy the luncheon dishes away, Hilda waves her hands over them, indicating to her that she will take care of them when she gets back. Hilda goes to the pegs by the back door to the flat and picks up her chocolate brown overcoat and camel felt cloche with the chocolate brown grosgrain ribbon, the latter of which she pulls down over her mousy brown hair. Holding out Edith’s black coat to her, the pair of best friends wrap up against the still chilled early spring weather and slip out the door, their joyously chattering filling the air like birdsong as they discuss what Hilda’s new frock might look like.

*Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.

**Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.

***Golden Shred orange marmalade still exists today and is a common household brand both in Britain and Australia. They are produced by Robertson’s. Robertson's Golden Shred recipe perfected since 1874 is a clear and tangy orange marmalade, which according to their modern day jars is “perfect for Paddington’s marmalade sandwiches”. Robertson's marmalade dates back to 1874 when Mrs. Robertson started making marmalade in the family grocery shop in Paisley, Scotland.

****The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.

*****The Singer Corporation is an American manufacturer of consumer sewing machines, first established as I. M. Singer & Co. in 1851 by Isaac M. Singer with New York lawyer Edward C. Clark. Best known for its sewing machines, it was renamed Singer Manufacturing Company in 1865, then the Singer Company in 1963. In 1867, the Singer Company decided that the demand for their sewing machines in the United Kingdom was sufficiently high to open a local factory in Glasgow on John Street. The Vice President of Singer, George Ross McKenzie selected Glasgow because of its iron making industries, cheap labour, and shipping capabilities. Demand for sewing machines outstripped production at the new plant and by 1873, a new larger factory was completed on James Street, Bridgeton. By that point, Singer employed over two thousand people in Scotland, but they still could not produce enough machines. In 1882 the company purchased forty-six acres of farmland in Clydebank and built an even bigger factory. With nearly a million square feet of space and almost seven thousand employees, it was possible to produce on average 13,000 machines a week, making it the largest sewing machine factory in the world. The Clydebank factory was so productive that in 1905, the U.S. Singer Company set up and registered the Singer Manufacturing Company Ltd. in the United Kingdom.******The Premier Super Cinema in East Ham was opened on the 12th of March, 1921, replacing the 800 seat capacity 1912 Premier Electric Theatre. The new cinema could seat 2,408 patrons. The Premier Super Cinema was taken over by Provincial Cinematograph Theatres who were taken over by Gaumont British in February 1929. It was renamed the Gaumont from 21st April 1952. The Gaumont was closed by the Rank Organisation on 6th April 1963. After that it became a bingo hall and remained so until 2005. Despite attempts to have it listed as a historic building due to its relatively intact 1921 interior, the Gaumont was demolished in 2009.

*******Created by British industrial chemist and journalist Walter Weldon Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was the first ‘home weeklies’ magazine which supplied dressmaking patterns. Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was first published in 1875 and continued until 1954 when it ceased publication.

This cosy domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection.

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

On Hilda’s deal table is everything required for a nice, hearty luncheon for two working maids. The bread crock, butter knives and the butter dish come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The bar of butter on the dish I have had since I was six. It came as part of a dinner set, underneath a silver butter dish. The blue and white floral tea set, plates and bread slices all come from different online stockists of miniatures on E-Bay. The vase of flowers also comes from an online shop on E-Bay. The jar of Marmite and the jar of Golden Shred Marmalade are handmade artisan miniatures with great attention to the labelling, made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire., a panoply of things as she readies luncheon for Lettice and her guests. The mahogany stained serving tray, the gravy boat of gravy, the chopping board, napkins and cutlery all came from an English stockist of 1:12 artisan miniatures whom I found on E-Bay. Edith’s green handbag, appearing on the table at the bottom right-hand corner of the photo, is handmade from soft leather. I bought it along with many other items from an American miniature collector named Marilyn Bickel.

Hilda’s two different Windsor chairs are hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniatures which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat of either, but both are definitely unmarked artisan pieces.

In the background you can see a very modern and up-to-date 1920s gas stove. It would have been expensive to instal at the time, and it would have been the cook’s or maid’s pleasure to cook on and in. It would have included a thermostat for perfect cooking and without the need of coal, it was much cleaner to feed, use and easier to clean. It is not unlike those made by the Roper Stove Company in the 1920s. The Roper Stove Company previously named the Florence-Wehrle Company among other names, was founded in 1883. Located in Newark, Ohio, the company was once the largest stove producer in the world. Today, the Roper Stove Company is a brand of Whirlpool.