"It's got some Age to It"- Perfect Perfection.

Dearest Emily,

The first part of the title of this post, is a bit of a Bookseller's term. Yes, I know I'm getting all book-shoppy speaky- but hey, so I shall. The last bit belongs to Julia Margaret Cameron in a letter to Henry Cole (more of which last the end of this post.)

Anyhow, it's a phrase I've heard Mike say several times, and its something I've been relating to my life and even me in my early antiquity.

Because I decided a few things when I moved out of lovely London. I'd had several well-meaning friends who said that maybe it was too early for me to bury myself on the Island, and leave the metropolis. That didn't sit right with me Em, and it turned into a decision about my hair. I've always done that- made a decision about my hair when compromised about life. Well, I'm female, and I like to live with froth on the coffee decisions.

So- the decision was to never cut my hair again. Selfishly, I didn't want to search for a new hairdresser- or to be tied to making appointments in London every couple of months. I also really wanted grey hair. Long silver grey hair overnight.

                                                                                                      photo- Simon Avery

Didn't happen of course, and as I grew out the colour, wisps formed of grey at my temples instead. Tell it as it is, older bold ladies (well, one at least, which probably meant others thought so) asked if it was really a good idea to tie my hair back. Severe perhaps dear... but it got in my eyes, so styling it and spraying it and all that nonsense just wasn't going to happen- even in my fifties.

So, I stuck with it- and now my hair reaches my waist, and I'm rather happy with it. I tie it back, and my age is neither hidden or accentuated. It's a bother Em, when you see little lines deepen, and a jowel pattern developing on your visage. But, better than that- I've earned them, and that I mean with joy.

Physically I'm getting little signs of difficulties to put up with in the coming years- but dearest Em, the wisdom that each year provides, is priceless. Someone in the shop the other day said- 'Old age is not for cissies'. I like that attitude. You really do see some beacons of examples of seniority in age on this Island. Walkers who yomp past you on the Down who are decades ahead of you, and vibrant examples of ninety year olds who still carry on doing 'far too much'.

I've always liked to have a muse or two to look up to. In my teens it was the fabulous Lou-lou de la Falaise, and the indomitable Patti Smith. Dear Lou-lou is now departed sadly, but I hold her sparkling memory close, and Patti remains supremely as a muse to this day.

Then there's Freshwater Muses- and one in particular you know very well Emily. Our Mrs Cameron. An inspiration to many just by taking up a new career at 48, for me, she's a tantalising force of nature. A Woman so ahead of her time, she had to suffer fools gladly throughout her life- and after it. I reckon her time is coming now Em, 200 years after her birth!

I love the way the following passage from her niece Laura Troubridge (Memories and Reflections 1925) sums her and the rest of the Pattle sisters up-

(speaking of Anne Thackeray’s memoirs)

‘They too, laughed at her, though they loved her; for she was utterly oblivious to clothes, and in Mrs Prinsep’s eyes that was almost a sin. She was forgetful and unpunctual, and in some ways not unlike the White Queen in “Alice in Wonderland”. Still, in spite of their respective peculiarities, I cannot help thinking these women lived on a higher plane than most women seem to now. They cared nothing for the feminist movement and the rights and wrongs of their sex. But they knew that they were here to serve and to bless. They were the ladies, or loaf-givers, of whom Ruskin dreamed’

Another example I must share with you Emily, I read today in the fabulous new V and A book published for her Bi-Centenary-
Julia was friends with the Founder of the South Kensington Museum (now the V and A.) A copious and effusive letter-writer, she certainly shares Auntie Lotty's descrition of herself 'not suffering from low self-esteem'-; (albeit Em, I should add before you read this- I believe JMC had a certain 'tongue-in cheekiness)

' My dear Mr Cole,

I write to ask you if you will be having any Photographic Soiree or meeting soon, at which I may send to the Science & Art dept. for you to exhibit at the South Kensington Museum a set of prints that I intend should electrify you & startle the world. I hope it is no vain imagination of mine to say that the like have never been produced & can never be surpassed! I am waxing mad in my own conceit you will say. All I beg is that you show this assertion to our own Annie Thackeray & sister Minnie & ask them if they take my assurance upon trust! Seeing is believing & you shall see & the world shall see if you can create for me a great occasion! because these wonderful photographs should come out all at once & take the world by surprise!Thet are quite ready quite ready- a new series of 12 & if you watch my oport for me & acquaint me I will answer at once by sending the supply. Mr Thurston Thompson I hope will be delighted this time.
Won't the South Kensington Museum give me a crown.
Not of diamond stones but those better diamond laurel leaves- or a Medal or honourable mention if this series of Photographs of mine surpasses all others- Talk of roundness I have it in perfect perfection.!


Ah dear Julia!!!


You'll probably work out all this for yourself as you get older Emily, but I just wanted to tell you anyhow- every age brings gifts...

Your ever-loving Grandmother,


GiGi xxxx

Cover Story

Dearest Emily,

It was lovely to see you and Annabel for tea last week, you made me giggle to myself when I took you indoors and you sighed a big sigh, and said "Oh, I DO so love this house, GiGi."
Well, this week I've been working on the illustrations for Annabel's book- and following your exclamation- I think we shall make the Looking Glass house in the story look more like this house than anything else. So, here's a draft of the cover- I hope Annabel will like it.

Lewis Carroll's Looking-Glass world revealed cariacatures of the people he knew, particularly at Freshwater Bay. In your little book Emily, we uncovered some of them, and discovered Carroll's ruse.
So, for Annabel's book, we are having some fun with this formula.
We shall be taking Through the Looking Glass, chapter by chapter- changing the characters, but keeping the thread of the tale.
If we introduce a bit of Dante's Inferno- by turning our lovely Macracarpa into The Purgatree (that's a kind of naughty step Em- but a bit darker) where grown-ups go when they are being negative. There they come up against themselves, and choose the way out. If they don't Em- if they stay there too long- the Harpy will get them and peck out their eyes so they'll never see truthful beauty again.
Dark enough Em?
Let's have a clever Storm-cat- sort of like a white witch's familiar- who leads the rather slow-on-the uptake cleaner (GiGi) through the story where she meets some rather peculiar characters.
In our own bit of nonsense Emily, let's stray from Carroll's path, and give the story a moral.
Let's decide that if we choose to listen in life, we shall hear what there is to be done.
Let's also decide that what we listen to may take us down extraordinary paths, but that all we need to do is take one step at a time.
Let's decide too, that if we have to go to the naughty step of the Purgatree- it may bring us up against ourselves- but, that is a good thing- and we can choose how to come out. No Harpies can close our eyes then.
And finally, let's realise that a sense of fun- a sense of humour- is a very precious gift- and that we are all grotesques in the Looking-Glass world, naked to those that can see...BUT that if we can accept and live with that too?

Then, Em, we can know that to laugh, and know nonsense, means that the absurd and the ridiculous- become quite the best way to see and be seen!

I shall now work away at putting the rest of Annabel's book together so she can have it in time for her first birthday.

Your ever-loving Grand-mother, GiGi xxxx

Tainting the Lily

Dearest Emily,

What a lovely weekend we had for Annabel's Christening. I shall admit to some small apprehension as to how you would rise to the occasion of not being the centre of attention. I say that without criticism- you are only three years old- and getting used to sharing Mummy and Daddy with your baby sister. You did yourself proud Emily, and behaved very well indeed. I watched you throughout the day- and it amuses me to conclude that your lovely existential free-spirit soul- found its outlet in 'twirling'. Whenever something was going on that you weren't expected to involve yourself with- you simply took yourself off for a twirl or two. This, I observed, was not for anybody's benefit, other than your own joy of twirling. You would emerge somewhat giddy- recover and join in what was the next thing you needed to be involved with. Mummy and Daddy talk to the Vicar with Annabel- cue for a twirl.

Which brings me to my own cue- about our extraordinary Victorians- with a rather less salutary viewpoint this time- and an appreciation that my own little Grand-daughters were not born during this time. Especially considering your own lovely free-spirit Em, I introduce you to another- Ellen Terry...

Alice Ellen Terry was born in 1847, one of eleven children (nine of which survived) who did not go to school but started work as an actress aged nine. Befriended by our own Charles Lutwidge Dodgson- who was to be a staunch supporter and friend for life, Ellen appeared at the London Princess's Theatre regularly until 1859, then with her sister Kate travelled the Country as strolling players.

After modelling with her sister Kate for G.F Watts in 1862, and with some interference from Julia Margaret Cameron's Pattle sisters- a marriage to Watts- 20 years her seniour was encouraged.

Visiting the Isle of Wight- newly wed Ellen celebrated her seventeenth birthday modelling for Mrs Cameron in the very beautiful photograph entitled 'Sadness'.

As a 'Carte de Visite' (the popular form of calling-card which was all the rage at the time) Ellen got a card, and Julia got a great shot. But looking at the shot in context of what was happening at the time- and what happened next- it's hard to decide who was zooming who here. The exhuberant young Ellen, cared not for sitting at Julia's table philosophising with her husband's cronies- Tennyson, Henry Taylor and the Pattle sisters. She ran off with Tennyson's wild children, across the Down and up to the fort, whooping and fighting with swords. Reprimanded by Julia's sisters time and again, and with an unconsummated marriage- she became a 'difficulty'. A whole ten months later- the sisters told Watts that she should be sent back to her parents...

Ok-ish, so far. A bad match- that didn't work out. Heigh-ho. Except that Watts refused to divorce the poor girl.... for the next THIRTEEN YEARS!

So- the young Ellen was not free to marry again. At 21 she met the man she is quoted as calling 'The only man she ever loved' and eloped with him, bearing him two children. The relationship was to last seven years, and cost her her reputation which estranged her from her family (had Mr Watts found the courtesy to divorce her she may not have been thus tainted.)

Ellen chose to go back to the stage- something Watts desired her to give up. The father of her children had fled when the bailiffs called, so it's a good job our Ellen was rather talented in this way. Her craft led her to become a Dame- and to become one of the first modern stars of the British Stage. Her legacy in her craft- along with her as a generous and free-spirited woman still follows her.

It can't have been easy for her Emily- but there is nothing I have come across from the prolific letter-writer that she was that betrays this. It would have been so much kinder and more Gentlemanly, for Watts to have divorced her. A girl, soon to become woman, sent home to her parents by a neurotic genius husband who made a mistake. Simples. But instead, he refused a divorce.

Dear Dodgson- fan, admirer, and friend- was also compromised. This devout Vicar's son, at odds with his own more Bohemian soul and also existential nature, does not reveal how dearly he revered her, and how wrong he felt the marriage, which can only be guessed at. I believe (as does Jo Elwyn Jones and J.Francis Gladstone in The Red Kings Dream) that she was cast as the Tiger-Lily, in The Garden of Live Flowers chapter in Through the Looking Glass. But this is not the subject of my post- other than a crude Victorian doll-esque 'colouring-in' that attempts to push the mesh of the cracked way she was portrayed by her immediate peers, alongside Dodgson's squibs en cariacature, and possibly her own hand as actress in portraying her own personal state in a photograph entitled 'Sadness.'

Dodgson was estranged from her for a while during her years with Godwin- the father of her children with whom she eloped- his sensibilities obliterating his own moral compass which was condemned to the absurd in his writings.

However, he got over his Victorian scruples, and remained a dedicated fan and friend and copious letter corresponder over the years.

She, like the fabulous Lou-lou de la Falaise (muse of Yves Saint-Laurent)- I both revered and latterly came to know- and will tell you about later- come under my own heading- that of  'Gentlewoman'. Their grace and stoical favour Emily, rather become them.

For yourself, I wish a less challenging path. You have it, free of stigma on many counts-BUT, let's see. No road less travelled has no bumps in it. Women have gained some things by your Great-Great-Grand-Mother's suffragette sensibilities. But that is by no means all. In a world where all question values and 'tolerance'- are we not just re-writing some rules?

Plus ca change-plus que c'est la meme chose.

Do what you do- and do it authentically!

Your ever-loving Grand-Mother, GiGi xxxx

Visiting Queens

Dearest Emily,

I really shouldn't keep buying books. I work in a bookroom, and can read any that I want to. The living room is wall to wall with 'em, so is the kitchen- even the dogs room is becoming a library. But it doesn't stop me. My favourite shelves are in my bedroom, where I sit and write in the evenings. Matters Carrollian dominate the shelves, along with treasures like your and Annabel's first edition's of Alice. Then there's all my old stuff on Bloomsbury that Daddy grew up with, and an ever expanding collection on the Freshwater Circle.

One of the latest accquisitions is a little unassuming paperback, written by Vita Sackville-West's husband Harold Nicolson, on Tennyson. It drew my interest because it was written by him- and my long-standing interest in matters Bloomsbury. I enjoy gathering bits and bobs about how these people were influenced as you know. Virginia Woolf (being the Great-Niece of Mrs Cameron) poked fun at her comedic Great-Aunt in her parlour-play 'Freshwater', but I suspect that her radical and eccentric relative injected more than a sense of generation reactive scorn.

Nicolson doesn't fail me here. He writes beautifully, as is his reputation, and regarding Tennyson, he gives opinion, and backs it up- but the whole tone of the book is kindly- and a slight humour flavours it all, about a man from a generation that was considered 'frumpish' to the next.

Two excerpts are the subject of my post today though Emily.

The first for its amusement value-

Nicolson has been describing three of Tennyson's closest friends at Freshwater- Sir John Simeon, W.G.Ward- and Mrs Cameron. He begins by explaining that Julia was one of the few people who were not in the least frightened of the Laureate, and talks of their bracing and irreverent banter. Then he goes on to relate an amusing scene...

It is recorded that one evening the Laureate entered the drawing-room at Farringford and, as was his wont, stood poised and magnificent for a moment in the doorway glowering across at a group of his family clustered around a seated figure in a bonnet and many shawls. Suddenly a look of startled reverence was observed to flash across his face. Bowing low, he hastened across the room towards  so unexpected, so miraculous a visitor. "This is indeed-" , he began.

But it was not Queen Victoria: it was only Mrs Cameron in an unfamiliar garb.

The second is about Queen Victoria- who threatened a visit to Farringford- heralded by a 'dropping-in' by Prince Albert that probably left the household constantly on Queen alert. Tennyson developed a close friendship with Victoria over the years- and this excerpt shows their familiarity and the Queen's consideration of her Laureate's words. Nicolson relates a translation of an article published in a Berlin periodical, citing the feel of a public legend concerning their relationship:-

Shortly after Enoch Arden had appeared, (QV) heard that Tennyson's enemies and enviers charged the poem with being immoral and a glorification of concubinage. She applied to an eminent clergyman, and learned from him that cases of bigamy, it was true, were not very rare, and those whom such a misfortune befell might, perhaps, be pardoned by the Lord on the day of judgement, for the mercy of the God of Heaven and Earth knows no bounds; but that it indicated an alarming confusion on the part of the poet to represent in a kind of halo a man who tolerated the continuance of such a sinful relationship between man and woman.

Further consultation censured the poem further- and Queen Victoria- whose moral conscience was never slight- decided to have a chat with Alfred about it...

She therefore extended her drive along the seashore that very afternoon beyond its usual length, and ordered the coachman to drive further west.

She soon after saw the poet's house, which lies in the middle of a small grove of pine and firs, peering forth between the verdure and foliage around it. The Queen was accompanied by two of her daughters. When she perceived Tennyson's form in the garden- his long hair and full beard caused her to recognise him at a glance- she entrusted her sketch-book and the metal box in which she gathered flowers and plants for her herbarium to the princesses, and walked alone to the low garden gate, whither Tennyson had already hastened to meet her. She did not want to enter his house, but, walking with him along the shore, she explained to him what disquited her in regard to his poem, on the beauties of which she dwelt with that refined appreciation which is said to be peculiar to her....
"Tell me, Mr Tennyson, what have you to reply to all those objections which I mentioned to you before?"
"Very little, Your Majesty."
"What?"
"I should be sorry, Your Majesty, if the little girl yonder had to bear the stain of illegitimate descent."
"What little girl?"
"The little girl dissappearing just now behind the hawthorn hedge. Your Majesty; I mean the child carrying the bundle of faggots."
"And what has that girl to do with your poem?"
"A great deal, for if the Bishop of N. had had his way, little Anna, yonder, would be considered a child born in illicit wedlock."
The Queen had stood still.
"You do not mean to say, Mr Tennyson," she replied, that on our little island here an event such as you related in your Enoch Arden has really happened?"

"Your Majesty," said Tennyson, "there occur among the lowly and poor many traits of heroism, for which historians might envy the quiet observer of the people. Happy he who can contemplate and comprehend such traits with an unbiased mind, happy he who is able to relate them in his poems without spoiling their simple originality too much; happy above all, he of whom poets can tell such traits. His memory disseminates heavenly seed."
The Queen had walked across the lawn to the tombstone and laid her hand on its moss-grown edge. She stood there for a long while in silence, her eyes fixed on the spot where Enoch had found his last resting-place. At length she drew herself up, and, turning to go home, she said, "God bless him! He did right, after all."

Now Emily, just how this private interview came to be on public record in a German magazine is one thing that questions its verity, but my guess is that it is a story related by Tennyson himself- it sounds like his words, his sentiments, and his validation. If it is a likely story- I reckon Tennyson provided the transcript.

Anyhow- it amuses your Grand-mother to think of Tennyson mistaking Mrs Cameron for his Queen, and then to read that the Queen he was constantly awaiting, walking along to the Bay, past Mrs Cameron's house. Thank goodness Julia didn't spy her out of her window and demand a photo shoot.
Or, Em, would Mrs C have wanted to take her photograph? She admired great men, and fair women- but beyond intellect or beauty, didn't lionise if they didn't fit in with her brief.

Queen Julia of Freshwater Bay beat to her own drum. Queen Victoria was very much concerned with her own duty and conscientious responsilbility. Two interesting women Emily.

Enough for today, the sun is shining- hope you and Annabel are enjoying it. Looking forwards to seeing you both next weekend,

Your ever-loving Grand-mother, GiGi xxx

Now you are Three

Dear Emily,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Have a lovely day and don't eat too much cake,

your ever-loving Grand-mother,

GiGi xxx

A Boat called Alice

Dearest Emily,

Off on a tangent today as we get ready for the Yarmouth Gaffers Festival. In recent years it's been a favourite festival whether working at the Bookroom, or trawling around the foodie stalls with Uncle Joe's sudden passion for Wild Boar sausages, drooling over the vintage cars and loving the happy family vibe. I've got so many photos of the beautiful rigs, bunting flying in the spectacular Yarmouth sunset over the harbour- happy days!

Looking at pictures of Gaffer rigs on the internet this morning- I came across this fabulous painting by Paul Hewson...

Oooh, look Em, how gorgeous is this Old Gaffer? Her name- it appears- is 'Alice'. On initial searches- and reading an excerpt from The Gaff Rig Handbook  b y John Leather- there was a sloop of the same name that was designed to demonstrate the practical comfort and seaworthiness of American yachts to English yachtsmen- built for Thomas Appleton of Boston. She sailed over Mastered by Captain Arthur Clark with three hands and a steward- accompanied by one of Longfellow's sons in 1866. Taking three weeks to get from Nahant to the Needles, she was then laid up in England-with her namesake still about- as this beautiful painting and other photographs indicate.
I'll keep an eye out for her at the weekend Emily and see if Grumpa can get some more pictures for you!

Your ever-loving Grand-mother,
GiGi xxx

Shot by Julia Margaret Cameron...Henry Taylor and the Trend for Beards.

Dearest Emily,

Back at my drawing board, it's been a busy week. Two more ranges designed, and sampling under way, now I'm on to our in-house Dimbola JMC range for the Gift Shop.

So I started on mugs, and was trawling through my collection of amassed 'abilia'- and look what I found- I love this one;

Henry Taylor photographed by Julia Margaret Cameron

February 1864

It has set me a thinking Em. First of all- Mug-shots. JMC's Mugshots to be precise, and this one shall be the first. Henry Taylor, Poet and Dramatist 1800-1888. As a convicted Pogonophile (evidence Grumpa being persuaded to go ferral and grow his own scarf,) I've looked into his beard...
Henry grew this fine example in 1859, because following bronchitis, asthma and a spasmodic episode or two- he became nervous of holding a razor.
Great friends with the Camerons,  the Taylors were here at the Bay most Spring and Autumn for holidays in the late 1850's and early 1860's when Julia bought the two houses that formed Dimbola.
Henry says 'It was a house, indeed to which everybody resorted at pleasure, and in which no man, woman or child was ever known to be unwelcome.
Conventionalities had no place in it; and though Cameron was more of a philosopher than a country gentleman, the house might easily have been mistaken for that of the old English Squire, who is said to have greeted his friends with the announcement, kind though imperious- "This is Liberty Hall, and if everybody does not do as he likes here, by God I'll make him!'. *

Tennyson, another great friend of Julia of course, reputedly grew his beard in 1857, following dentistry that altered his mouth. Adopting a Wide-awake hat, it seemed a bit of a 'look' was starting.

Alfred Tennyson 'The Dirty Monk'

by Julia Margaret Cameron May 1865

So, we have a trend in beards, and wide brimmed hats, further adopted by Watts,Longfellow, Charles' Cameron and Darwin (though he preferred a hat of more Bowler brimmed proportion.) 

Watts, Darwin and Charles Hay Cameron all though Mrs Cameron's Looking Glass.

My poser for us today though Emily, goes right back to my doubts that Julia was not such a novice when she received her Camera from her daughter Julia Norman in Christmas 1863...

Here is what she famously called 'My First Success'. Anne Philpot aged 10 at Freshwater Bay, given to her Father on January 29th 1864.

So, Julia records her first success on the last day of January in 1864, and less than a month later she's up and running, and has evidenced above, photographed Henry Taylor (who by his own admission in his autobiography, was being much photographed at Freshwater in 1860-63.) No, Em, I think we read her success-story a bit wrong. I've said before that I think she was part of a group of photographers (Reijlander, Winfield, Dodgson, Southey and her Brother-in-Law Somers-Cocks) who all in turn experimented with her, taught her, and were her partners in her own photographic crime.

I think instead, that her first success- was to her- her first Artistic Success... A Woman driven to experiment with her own passion to arrest beauty. To look into the soul, to- in fact- take a 'snap-shot' ( a phrase attributed to her great friend and Mentor Sir John Hershel- prime mover in the invention of photography in 1853. )

So, her first success, was actually the beginning of achieving what became her 'style' for the next 10 years. Not the romantic experimentation with the Idylls, but her ground-breaking use of 'The Close-Up'.

I think Em, she was the first photographer to champion this, and I think that's quite important!

Good old Mrs C, she was said to impose her own spirit on all those she met. And she was quoted as having an innate sense of enjoying herself, and making others around her do the same!

Enough for now, lovely to do facetime with you this morning- even if most of it was to the back of your head! 

Your ever-loving Grandmother, GiGi xxx

*Autobiography of Henry Taylor

SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE!- Three Forces of Nature.

Dearest Em,

With a soupcon of Venus in Retrograde, some topical discussion about how Women are discriminated about today, and some mid-Victorian cachets, let's look at Women with our 'Some Things Never Change!' eyes...

Your Grand-mother has often been a bit slow on the uptake (like GiGi the character in your little sister's book- not quite 'getting' what it was she was supposed to do!) However- I feel the need to share my ignorance and learning, as the supposed wisdom of age bids us teach our little ones.

Let's take our own Julia Margaret Cameron. There was a Woman, who though under Victorian stricture needed to be seen to be the dutiful Wife, taking second place to the Head of the family, her husband- Charles Hay Cameron. Charles became a semi-invalid during their early years of marriage, and never quite pulled off a Governing post overseas, after he was rather unceremoniously put as a bit of a fall-guy in Macaulay's Indian team. Failing Coffee and Tea plantations in Ceylon didn't help the family's financial picture either. Julia being of near Aristocratic class, needed to cut her cloth to suit this situation, and was often reliant on handouts from a benevolent Cambridge friend of Charles. However- Julia wasn't the sort of Lady to reign in her own benevolence, grand gestures of giving away shawls, food,wallpapers, re-decorating friends rooms (as in the Henry Taylors- who hadn't asked for this kindness!) adopting children, giving away her Piano to the Tennysons etc etc...

By becoming a Photographer (carefully insistent on the title 'Amateur' as it would not 'do' for a Wife to be seen to be taking over the family purse-strings) she succeeded in part in swelling the familys coffers. Added to buying the two houses that make up Dimbola- she also became a Private Guest House Land-lady, though dressed in the guise of helping out all her dear friends. She didn't get any recognition for this rather underground role- and often had to defend her 'hobby' in her copious letterwritings to the Family Benefactor, and detractors of her 'past-time' who criticised her and saw it as the exact opposite of what she was actually surrepticiously achieving. Instead of gaining quiet understanding from anyone except her beloved husband- she was railed at for her extravagance. It must have been a bit of a struggle for her. And when, she had bet on a rather lame horse- ie- she was probably under the impression that Tennyson's Idylls were raking in the cash (it wasn't the case) and her extravagant gesture of photographically illustrating them all- at her own expense- was probably a bridge too far. So when Charles yearned again for Ceylon, she threw in the towel, gathered up her husband, two coffins and a cow- and set off for Ceylon. She was probably rather tired of the fight by then, and at her house in Ceylon today, there are records of her referring to her 'beloved Isle of Wight'. She died there on January 26th 1879. This unconventional, kind and effervescent lady is a constant source of inspiration to me Emily- for all she was, and for her pioneering work...

As is her dear friend- Anne Thackeray Ritchie- she of our tales, and more and more- her lyrically pithy and humorous quotes that are underpinning our 'Freshwater Circle' collection. Anne's background alone- gave her quite a unique view-point on life. Her Father- the esteemed William Makepeace Thackeray (with a Wife in a lunatic asylum, and he being the lone parent) afforded Anne a liberal education, normally reserved only for boys. The erudite circle he mixed in, gave a precocious Anne full reign to observe, be seen and be heard, and to write and draw.
And she did all of these with aplomb. Once William Makepeace had died rather early in his fifties, Anne and her sister Minny were brought by Tennyson to Mrs Camerons, where they became firm friends. Later in her life, Anne was to become a matriarchal figure to the Bloomsbury set- and her influence is well-recorded.
Her writings though are in my opinion rather under-rated, and she is my constant source currently for quotation. Here is one, from 'Toilers and Spinsters and Other Essays 1876...

This one Em, is a design I've done today for a notebook and some cards.

I'm dedicating its' aptness to a dear neighbour of Julia's and ours who lives today. In her 90th year, she know who she is. Currently poorly- this Force of Nature bears out our 'Some Things Never Change' strap-line...
When I moved into the Lane, and was introduced to her- she reminded me in her eclectic home of my own Grandmother Elsie. Elsie beat to her own drum, and many of the features of her surrounding aesthetic were very akin to Elsie's.
Moreover for me- as I have been often criticised for 'doing too much'- this Lady ran a Society, made Jewelry, sold at Craft Fairs and Dimbola, and is a vociferous, pro-active member of the local community.
Never afraid to speak her own mind, she is indefatigable- and beautifully honestly- just 'herself'.
For myself- she gave me the benefit of by watching her- I gained added permission to be myself. She has an inspiring and awesome past. The qualities she has gained from it shine through. She doesn't sing very loudly about her own story. But she is the sort of Woman, you know has learned so much.
She knows who she is, and I send her love and admiration, and get well soon wishes.

Just sayin' Em, that some things are constant, and as true today as they have always been. I wish for you and Annabel to get to live long, happy and fulsome lives, and always keep enquiring minds, a sense of modesty, but never ever be anything else than true to yourselves.

And if that's a struggle- never mind! You'll learn from each struggle if you are open to it.

Lesson over...

Your ever-loving Grandmother, GiGi xxxx

SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE!

Dearest Emily,

'Twas the night before your Fashion Uncle Henry Conway zooms onto our telly screens in The Jump and we're getting excited for him and wishing him lots of luck!

So, I've sat myself down to do some 'colouring-in' Em (you know what that's like.) I've been looking forwards to settling down to doing this one since I was lucky enough to scan it from the collection of a direct descendent of the Founder of Punch.

PUNCH OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. JANUARY 13TH 1894

'A DIRTY CROSSING'

The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street (loq.)"O dear, O dear! I wish I were out of this nasty mess!"

It's a constant source of amazement to your Grandmother GiGi, how things crop up here in a timely manner. This sums up my week! Tenniel was brilliant at satirizing with character- but I don't suppose for a minute he realised how much of his work would chime in with the zeitgeist in years to come.

'Some Things Never Change' Em, as my little Shop has adopted as its 'Isle of Wight-centric' tag-line- and here this cartoon has a relevance to the current Economic status-quo just as it did when it was drawn by Sir John Tenniel a hundred and twenty years ago.

More-over, in a week where in a Looking-Glass Fashion, I have been fighting my own Jabberwock- and dealing with Slithey Toves and other Creatures, I'm drawing my own strength to keep fighting for the good and just side, by smiling when I think of my own Muse- our lovely HC. When our dear Henry, hits a contretemps or two- he is simply himself. Always, and honestly. Never afraid to galvanise or fight a good fight- he is simply his delightful him.

Which I'm sure, a lot of people are about to see as he bravely hits the ski slopes and tries to find his (non-existant) inner-Beast. We used to laugh about Grumpa's 'Black-Dog' (of the kind Churchill referred to as plagued him) and say Henry just didn't have one- with Churchill and Led Zeppelin as references. But Em, he is brave...

We are lucky to have all our good friends in life, and of the many things I adore about your 'Fashion-Uncle' is his honesty and joie de vivre. This is underpinned by a core of truth, strong values and a supportive and loving family. What more can you have to draw upon.

HC the froth on my Coffee- I am so looking forward to watching you on 'The Jump'- though I shamefully always pooh-poohed any reality TV shows you were offered. But this one rather suits you!

And of my own political fights, I shall say just one thing to you Emily. Truth, always. Know your own truth, be passionate about what and who you care about- and never be afraid of consequences coming from those. Never allow a Bully, and never walk away from what you know to be right.

Enough said, now for the entertainment- Good Luck Henry!

Your ever-loving Grandmother, GiGi, xxx

GiGi and the Cat- The Worm who couldn't Dig.

Dear Emily,

Let's go back for a moment to your little sister's book.

If it's a spoof of a parody, perhaps she should have a lost chapter too! Last week I was the lucky winner in a give-away and received this in the post;

It is from 1977, and contains the galley proofs of the section that was dropped from 'Through the Looking Glass' because illustrator Sir John Tenniel thought it was 'altogether beyond the appliances of art'. So here's our Volte-Face Emily- that we shall throw out for the same reason, before we publish it!

...and she was just going to spring over, when she heard a deep sigh, which seemed to come from the wood behind her.
"There's somebody very unhappy there," she thought, looking anxiously back to see what was the matter. Something like an old man (only he had two faces) was sitting on the ground leaning against a tree, all huddled up together, and shivering as if he were very cold.

"I don't think I can be of any use to him" was GiGi's first thought, as she turned to head back to Mrs Cameraman's House:-"But I'll just ask him what's the matter", she added, checking herself before heading on. "If I once head off again, everything will change, and then I can't help him".

So, she went back to the Worm-rather unwillingly, for she hadn't really seen him as a part of her story.

"Oh, where are my bones, my old bones!" one of his faces (the grumpy one) was grumbling on, as GiGi came up to him.

"It's Purgatree business, I should think" GiGi said to him, and she stooped over him, and said very kindly "I hope you're not in much pain?"

The Worm only wriggled, and turned the Grumpy face away, so GiGi was facing two profiles- one smiling and one grimacing. "Ah, deary me!" he said to himself.

"Can I do anything for you?" GiGi went on. "Aren't you rather cold here?"

"How you go on!" the Worm said in a peevish tone. "Worrit, niggle! There never was such a Cleaner here!"

GiGi felt rather offended at this answer, and she was very nearly walking on and leaving him, but she thought to herself "Perhaps it's only pain that makes him so cross." So she tried once more.

"Won't you let me turn your face around to the better side? Things will look a bit better that way?"

The Worm let her approach him, and she gently turned the smiling face towards the front, where she considered it better, but he then got settled down again and the face turned instantly, the grumbling one saying "Worrit, niggle, Can't you leave us both alone?"

"Would you like me to read you a bit of this?" GiGi went on, as she picked up a newspaper which had been lying at his side.

"You may read it if you've a mind to", the Worm said, rather sulkily. "Nobody's hindering you, that I know of".

So, GiGi sat down by him, and spread out the paper on her knees and began. 

"Latest News. The Committee have made another tour of the Business, and concluded that there is nothing that needs doing. Councillor Just, said the Insidious Rumours would be playing the Down, Just said as they did- back with the Hay Days."

"Any Funky Diggers?" the Worm interrupted.

GiGi hastily ran her eye down the paper "No, it says nothing about Diggers" Oh, I see- thought GiGi to herself- he's reading a quite different Newspaper to ours- no wonder he's confused! 

"LET IT ALL STOP THERE!" said the Worm, and he shuffled sideways turning the grumbling face straight towards GiGi. "THAT'S WHERE IT SHALL ALL STOP. PUT THE NEWSPAPER DOWN, AND LEAVE IT ALONE."

GiGi put down the newspaper. "I'm afraid you are very sad" she said in a soothing tone. "Can't I do anything for you?"

"It's all along of the 'Dig'" the Worm said in a much gentler voice.

"Along of the 'Dig'?" repeated GiGi, quite pleased that he had recovered his temper.

"You'd be cross too, if you were a 'Digger' like me, and you got worrit's and niggles about your right to 'Dig'. And then I gets cross. And I gets cold. And I gets my scarf , and I ties it round my face as at present."

GiGi looked pityingly at him. "Tying up your face(s) is very good for the toothache" she said.

"And it's very good for the Conceit" added the Worm.

GiGi didn't catch the word exactly "Is that a kind of toothache?" she asked.

"Well, no" he said: "it's when you hold up your head- so- without bending your neck".

"Oh, you mean stiff-neck" said GiGi.

"That's a new-fangled name. The Funky Diggers called it Conceit in my time".

"Conceit isn't a disease at all" GiGi remarked.

"It is though." said the Worm, "Wait till you have it, and then you'll know. "And when you catches it, just try tying a scarf around your neck- it'll cure you in no time".

"I'll tell you how I came to wear it. When I was young, my ringlets used to wave!" With this, he untied the scarf, and GiGi couldn't help but see how sparse he looked...

A curious idea came into GiGi's head. Almost everyone she had met had repeated poetry to her, so she thought she might see if the Worm couldn't do it too. However- GiGi thought- this Worm is reading an altogether different newspaper- he wont understand poetry in this way- he wants to sing!

"Would you mind singing it to me?" she asked very politely.

He was silent for a few minutes, then he drew himself up, shook both of his heads together into one- screwed up all his features and beating his tail to a rhythmn, began;

"When I was young, my ringlets waved

And curled and crinkled on my head;

And then I said 'I should be shaved

And wear a purple wig instead'

But when I followed my advice,

And noticed the effect,

I thought I didn't look so nice

As I had ventured to expect

They said it didn't fit and so

It made me look extremely plain:

But what was I to do, you know?

My ringlets would not grow again.

So now that I am old and gray,

And all my hair is nearly gone.

The Worm can't dig without a gig,

So where else could I bring it on?

And still whenever I appear

They hoot to call me Dig!

And that is why I do it dear,

Because of a purple Wig"

"I'm very sorry for you" GiGi said heartily, as he clearly thought he was in fact wearing the wig! " I think, if your Purple Wig fitted a little better, then everyone could see how fine it is. I think-"

The worm interrupted her here "Your wig fits very well- its just the rest of you that's all wrong! Your jaws are too short, your feets too big, and what's more you just aren't here to Dig!" At this, he laughed at his own words, and gathering courage and humour he carried on "Your eyes, well you've only two- and they are both the same size- what use is one head, when two can suffize!" 

GiGi stepped back, noticing how well the Worm had not only recovered his spirits, but had set one face- the smiling one, on straight. His tail, still beating to his own tune, was beginning to dig at the soil underneath him. GiGi thought she might safely leave him. "I think I must be going on now" she said.

"Goodbye."

"Goodbyee, and thankeee" sang the Worm, and GiGi tripped down the hill again, quite pleased that she had gone back and given a few minutes to making the poor old creature comfortable.

So there we are Emily, that is the 'lost chapter' that I shall throw out of Annabel's book! It was fun writing it though, and good to go back and revisit something I might not have bothered with.

Enough of my nonsense for now. Hope you enjoyed the Natural History Museum yesterday- what did you make of all the Dinosaurs?

Your ever-loving Grand-Mother,

GiGi xxx

Testament of Devotion

Dearest Emily,

Yesterday was a day of inspiration in some rather surprising ways. It was the first of a planned series of Road Trips on Dimbola missive. This first one was to the Watts Gallery in Compton. I have heard so many great things about the team there, and how far they have come from humble beginnings and achieved excellence. So- I was all prepared for this- and hoped to be inspired and re-energised by what has become something of a Beacon for us at Freshwater...

What I was not prepared for however- was to become converted to being a Watt's fan! I've sort of skirted around his work- without being very drawn to it- possibly for the same reasons I didn't previously get into the Pre-Raphaelites. My age being an issue here- in the mid-seventies at school, the desks smelling of Patchouli oil, and the older girls with Hennaed hair- immediately sent me rebelling off on an Art-rock tangent via Mr Ferry and Mr Bowie- and my head was turned away. It started to come round last year though when I went to the Tate Modern exhibition- helped by darling Henry's fashion commentary along the way! Also, my growing collection of prints from contemporaneous books, contained several of his illustrations- this one being my favourite;

Not having a date for it- I don't know if it's Angelo Collarozzi Senior or Junior- but that's another story- anyhow- here's Senior, in Julia Margaret Cameron's hands-

Which is where I kind of began on this trail, back in 2005! 

Back to Watts...

I met up with our Chairman in the fabulous Gift Shop and were warmly greeted by the Staff- all of whom are Volunteers. Brian bought books (as usual) and we waited for Nick our guide who is the Curator. 

Nick and his lovely family stayed with us last Summer- so he knows what we are trying to achieve at Dimbola- and is very encouraging. He explained the relationship of all the buildings surrounding the Gallery- and I got a developing sense of the past and present very symbiotically singing off of the same hymn sheet.

Mary Seton Watts- G.F.Watts second Wife, had created this fascinating enclave- for herself and her husband to work in. The effect of her own aesthetic- Arts and Crafts-centric- enabled me personally to look at Watts with a more appreciative eye. Similarly- this seems to me to be The Watts Gallery's secret weapon- as their task is to convert those historically not loving his work!

Chatting with Nick outside- the recent extreme weather has left them with local flooding- his genuine concern for his place of work was overwhelming. In the early days, the Gallery had buckets dotted about to catch leaks from the roof- and he was fretting about their return today! 

Everyone gives you this feeling here- it is a very special place...

The past, the present and the future are all working together here- an absolute inspiration!

Thoughtfully curated- somehow for me at least- they have managed to let us see Watts as his Wife saw him- her devotion (and the current Team's devotion)- allowing his work to be seen afresh.

Next road-trip Em- I think it'll be to Watt's first Wife's home. Ellen Terry fascinates me- and there is a recently restored 'Beetle' dress to be admired that apparently Lewis Carroll remarked on when he saw her wearing it at a performance shortly before his death.

What fun Emily!

Your ever-loving Grandmother, GiGi xxxx

Another Fine Day on a 'Remote British Island'

Dearest Em,

A Happy New Year to my gorgeous Grand-daughters. Well, it has been wild here! Nature's being rather dramatic- and locals tend to walk about- shoulders set, with a sort of 'weary of the constant sound' of the wind expression. I've kind of given up listening to the Weather forecast, as it seems we are bashed about every few days right now.
So- you'd expect everyone to be indoors right? Not a bit of it Em, down at Dimbola I felt like applauding everyone who came through the door- just for getting there. Then they stay quite a long time- so we're all happy! And today at the Bookroom, more of the same. Sandbagged Yarmouth still functions rather well.
My first delicious day back there since Christmas, and time to pick up my Christmas present to myself- here it is Em...

Apologies for the flash and the rubbish angle- but I was in a hurry to show you. This lovely piece is number two in my Freshwater and Isle of Wight map collection- I fear it will grow and eat up my wages rather too quickly! But ooh Em- just look, it is dated 1817 and amused me because The Isle of Wight is classed as a 'Remote British Island' which I guess it was, by horse and cart- but even so!
Also, it has a fab engraving of the Bay, and no GiGi's house to be seen- in fact nothing at all. No Fort Redoubt, no Plumbl'ys Hotel, no Albion, no 'Cabin' which should've been there on the Beach. That (also known as The Mermaid) was by all accounts a bit of a dive. It's where the artist George Moreland hung out and got drunk after escaping his creditors on the mainland. So- there's another reason for remote visiting I guess. Then Mr Tennyson and his desire to escape adulation, thought he'd got the remote bit right- until everyone started coming over to catch a glimpse of him (including our stalker Dodgson.) I guess varying reasons for coming here are pretty much the same centuries on.
Anyhow, that was then, and this is now. Your Grandmother thinks it is the Centre of the Universe as you know. But, I did think that maybe the internet helped me move here. Perhaps it did Em, and I love the remoteness of living on the edge of the Down, and looking out of the window at night in the Winter- seeing no people, no buildings, paradoxically for me feels the opposite of being alone.
However- what with all this Weather- I sometimes think it's more like Newfoundland in 'The Shipping News' and again- I quite like that.
Last week though, we had a bit of a test. The main internet mast broke- and Grumpa installed a washing machine in my office and left all the router plugs disconnected. So what we thought was down to the mast, became prolonged down to a lack of plugging-in. But, guess what Em, we got used to it. It was a bit odd to begin with, but then it ceased to matter.
I'm glad it is back on- I enjoy catching up on what my friends all over the world are up to for one thing.
But it was a nice little test for me here on a 'Remote British Island' theme. LOVE IT.
So, I shall sign off for now, and await the next storm!

See you both again soon. We shall go for our walks with Milly and Marley, you will pinch my hat and pretend you are me. You'll comment on me doing my make-up and discern that the one made up eye is 'quite nice- do the other one' , and I shall feel all over again how rich my life is and how lucky I am! Your ever-loving Grandmother, GiGi xxxx

Who Dreamed it?

Dearest Em,

GIGI stared at the cat, who was still grinning from ear to ear.

She scooped him up from the table and stared him straight in the eyes.

"I see now, Mr Storm-Cat- all this mischief has been of your making, hasn't it?"

The cat didn't reply, and wriggled out of GiGi's clutches. Heading out of the French windows, GiGi followed him. He stopped at sat down opposite the Purgatree.

GiGi stood next to him. As they watched, the Cautionary Tale faded until it had completely disappeared. Harpy Lapette was shrieking at the Slithey Tove. "It's no use- you ca'n't go back. You've shown your true colours- you ca'n't teach an old Tove new tricks you know. You're mine! All Mine! Oh look at you all in the Tangled wood- come here so I can put out your eyes properly!"

Ethan Safertie was no-where to be seen.

The cat then got up, and headed off towards the Bay, GiGi joined him.

"You know what's happened here, GiGi?"

GiGi was frowning. The cat went on "No. You don't do you?" The cat paused, and shook his head. "Well then, just as Mrs Cameraman did, I shall simply have to spell it out for you too."

He sighed and muttered to himself as they carried on towards the Bay.

"You remember earlier on when we were outside in the garden, and you were wittering on about this being Heaven on Earth? Well sometimes, dear GiGi, you DO gettit. So, Ithought perhaps you might understand nonsense better, so then you'd be able to make sense of things for yourself.
I overestimated you- you rather let us all down- it took you a whole eight Chapters GiGi for you to know what to do!
Thankfully, you got there in the end- but goodness me- we came rather close to giving up on you!

You see the Purgatree?

It's there for those who don't see what's good for them. It's there for reflection, and contemplation, but it is not a good place to be.

However, sometimes it is a necessary place to be. When you ca'n't see Heaven on Earth. When you ca'n't make your own Sunshine. Once they've suffered there, most come out with some knowledge of the laws of the Universe. But GiGi, some don't. Hear me well GiGi, because you- you walk about thinking that everyone will see the Good eventually. But no, dear GiGi, some don't, you may as well wake up and smell the Coffee here. Some don't, or won't or ca'n't.

The Harpy's prey on these. Once the Harpy's get their eyes, well there's nothing anyone or thing can do. You ca'n't reach them, they are too busy entertaining their own Demon to care or notice anything beautiful.

But. You need to remember yourself here GiGi. You do know your place. We called you loud enough after all. Phew that was hard work! We left you quite a lot of messages. Still, you gottit in the end.

But you MUST remember your place. Sometimes it's not easy. But you'll never have to spend any time in the Purgatree if you do remember your place. You must not waiver. Ever, GiGi.

If you want Heaven on Earth, then you must have faith in it.

You had to clean Mrs Cameraman's house- change the air around a bit- because some stain had left an attraction for those who should have been in the Purgatree at the time, but they kept coming back in.

So, you've done that, and now it won't seem attractive to those who are not like-minded. Just wait, it'll play out. So thank-you for doing your little bit in the story. We may call on you again, if there's anything else to be done.

I'm off- there's someone else I need to reel back in."

All at once- Storm disappeared. GiGi suddenly felt rather tired and sat down at the Bay, gazing out over the sea.


*     *     *    *     *    *     *      *     *     *     *      *      *      *      *     *      *        *         *        *

It was a lovely, vast night. 

That strange harmony which is not sound, which is not silence, was vibrating everywhere.

The moon was slowly winning a silver victory 

and conquering realm after realm of Sand, Down and Sea.

Anne Thackeray Ritchie at Freshwater Bay.

In the stillness, GiGi remembered later, that it was at this time when she noticed a feeling akin to waking up from a dream. A Looking Glass Dream, she dubbed it to herself. As though this was some kind of Fairy Story take on her own life? Or is that nonsense- she thought to herself- as she watched the moonlight- which wasn't a moonlight, but actually a sunrise!

"Oh, it's all topsy-turvy round here! Well at least it's day-light, and I can get on with some real things I need to do...."

As she was about to head home- she caught sight of something on the horizon, which zig-zagged about, but appeared to be heading in her direction. As it got closer- she slowly made out a boat named 'P.GREENE' and then she saw Grumpa and Storm inside! 

Her boat was coming in. Had Grumpa realised his own way back to Heaven on Earth?

Or, was that a Pig flying above her head?

She then realised that she was still wearing little Alice's Angel Wings. "Oh my", said GiGi "Am I dreaming this, or is this dreaming-me!?"

Well dear Emily and Annabel- which do you think it was?

That's all for now,

Your ever-loving Grandmother, GiGi xxxxx

A Fit of Peake.

Dearest Emily,

Whilst the rather eerily similar drama of reality here plays out alongside the writing of your little sister's book- we shall pause a while- and take a little Dodgson tangent.

As I am now doing the Winter stint at the Bookroom, it's sadly down to one day a week for me here- but ooh Emily, I do rather relish that day! As we know- something always comes up- and today was no exception. Except- that as there were very few customers about- spending most of my wages on a book I spied on the shelves, probably wasn't wise. But look!

A Mervyn Peake 'Hunting of the Snark' all in mustard boards, the same size as your little book- and ooh just so pleasing to my eye! I had to have it Emily- you'll understand. After all, once I've finished Annabel's book- it's all about Dodgson again and his flip over to the East-side of the Wight for me! I'd put those thoughts away, as I don't even start my research degree until next September. However, in between times, some fabulous bits and bobs for the topic have found their way to me (thanks to Mark, and Elisabeth notably.) I shall add this to my muse-board. My reason for this is- just look at the character that Peake has drawn Em...

We know Dodgson's ruse of cariacature- did Peake gettit and do the same some seventy years later? Here's a cariacature of Mr D that I've got- think it was by Bentley, but I'm not sure as I scanned it from a book- and five minutes later sold the book to a customer...hrrmph!

I had saved this as one of my card designs for later Emily- but look at the face- you can see where I'm heading here. The next two are Gertrude Thompson's portrait of Dodgson, and finally a photo of him. 

Scan from the top illustration Emily and we aren't a million miles away from concluding the Peake may have done a 'Tenniel' so to speak, and cariacturised Dodgson here!

Anyway food for nerdy thought! Back to GiGi's week here at Wacky-Bay...

Nice to see that an article in the County Press picks up on our Ann Thackeray 'Commonplace' quote. Talking of which- I gave Mummy the tea towel with the quote on when Annabel was born- do you think she might like this one too?

I got this design manufactured this week, I do love Anny's quotes! The sentiment is great, and she was so daintily pithy in her writing sometimes. Even reminds me a little of Moliere in feel.

Anyhow, back to the drawing board- enough dalliance Dodgson-wise again- up to my neck in setting up our on-line shop right now.

Ok, one last musing...

If our Mrs Cameraman (in Annabel's book) had a notice-board on her kitchen wall Em, with some Letterpress fridge magnets to play with- do you think that on one of his visits, whilst standing there rather bored as Mrs C chatted away to all unsundry- he might just have arranged the letters like this??

As we say here Em- 

Until next time,

Your ever-loving Grand-mother, GiGi xxx

'On With their Heads!"

Dearest Emily,

Well it's three whole weeks since you were promoted to the 'Big Sister' role in life. Hope you are settling in to it well. It's a tough call Em, I'm one too- and what happens is that your siblings look up at you- and actually- they get the better deal- coz they get to learn from all your mistakes! Still, always be gracious about this, and then you can always retort to "I made that mistake so you won't have to". That way you retain the moral high ground and save face at the same time. Just ask your Granny, anytime for these little wise-cracks- it's what I'm here for- apart from knitting, sitting by the fire and baking you cakes...

Anyhow- back to reality- or not in this case.

The reason that I haven't written over the last week- is a rather curious tale. It was the Olde Bookroom Serendipity at work again- but this time it rather stopped me in my tracks! I shan't go into it too much here- the potted version will suffice.

Chap comes in and searches the Local History shelves. He's been in before, so I know his face. Somehow- upon choosing his purchase, we get chatting about Dimbola. The long and short of it Em, is that he tells me a story about a Medium or two- and what he is telling me- mirrors the theme of my tale. SPOOKY! - Keeping details to myself- as requested, but it sent me into a bit of a 'Writers Block' until dear Prof. Bob, upon hearing what I've said to you- told me it's an 'ism type thing. Got a name- like Factor X, or something similar. Will look up when I have time- and when you are older, will tell you the back-story.

For now, it's back to business....

THE SIGHT OF the smiling cat, stopped GiGi in her tracks, after all, she had been trying to remember the cat, without success until now.

Storm stepped back, as if greeting GiGi, and entreating her on with her business.

Clasping her broom, GiGi leapt up the stairs. Beginning with the Attics, she rolled up her sleeves, and swept as though her life depended upon it. She opened all the windows as she went. The wind seemed to pick up in the process and rustling sounds accompanied the whirl, as she went from room to room, feverishly sweeping. Dust, sparkled in the half-light, the wind howled, and she thought she heard human-like voices, though she couldn't make out any words.

The rooms seemed energised by the sweeping, she thought- and continued her mission- and as she descended the main staircase- voices from the Tearoom reminded her of the Trusty's and her Bored Meeting. She swept the ground floor- and rested a while on her broomstick. Storm passed by, and in his new role of Butler- he led the way to the meeting.

GiGi entered the room, just as the Chairman called for 'Any Other Business'. GiGi went to take her seat, muttering apologies. The french windows opened, and in the half-light- GiGi made out Mrs Cameraman, and little Alice descending from the sky, opening a gate, and all at once they were by her side. GiGi giggled. There didn't seem to be anything for her to say.

Then, Mrs Cameraman spoke-

"Hello". She looked around the room, at the upturned faces. I'm glad you are all here. I've been trying to get back in- but for various reasons it has all proved rather difficult. Now, with Alice's help and a rather tedious plea to this particular lady (she jabbed GiGi in the side at this point) I am here. Let us get some things quite straight!"

" A certain Mr Carroll, whom I knew as Dodgson, wrote a book or two. In the second one- he placed me, as a Queen- and I need to set the record straight! In my book, my 'type' never says 'Off with their heads!" Not my style. The opposite is true."

At this point, she laughed her husky chortle, and little Alice giggled again.

"Those of you who know me, understand that I did what I did, because I had to. I never wanted to leave this place. My darling Charles wanted to go, eventually, so I went with him. But I came back- and the difficult 'seam' that runs through these houses, got dark again- and I was 'exercised'. And though all the great efforts in saving the house culminated in its becoming a museum to my work- it never could get rid of a bad smell.
It was there when we lived there. We saw it- this began before us.
But, it didn't reckon with me, and what will happen tonight."

At this point, the mixture of tea-time and evening meal (it had been a looong meeting), flew together off of the table, and the candlesticks shot shooting stars into the air...

"The negatives, have gone to the Purgatree. Those who see what is what, will come back- and those that do not- will seek out other Pearls, before their Swine."

GiGi looked out of the window at the Purgatree...

More next week, ma petite. Looking forwards to seeing you all for Christmas!

Your ever-loving Grandmother, GiGi xxx