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

Modelling for Mrs Cameron- The Angel in the House

Dearest Em,

Commonplace, aristocrat, Queen, it was all the same to Mrs Cameron. Maids became Madonna's- example in this case- Mary Hillier- her maid- known locally as Mary Madonna- along with local fisherman's son Freddy Gould.

This 'coloring-in' Em, taken from a photograph Julia entitled Cupid and Psyche' depicts two of her favourite victims dated 1866. Around this time- and referenced by her, was a popular poem by friend and Freshwater Circle compatriot- Coventry Patmore;

Man must be pleased; but him to please

Is woman's pleasure; down the gulf

Of his condoled necessities

She casts her best, she flings herself.

How often flings for nought, and yokes

Her heart to an icicle or whim,

Whose each impatient word provokes

Another, not from her, but him;

While she, too gentle even to force

His penitence by kind replies,

Waits by, expecting his remorse,

With pardon in her pitying eyes;

And if he once, by shame oppress'd,

A comfortable word confers,

She leans and weeps against his breast,

And seems to think the sin was hers;

Or any eye to see her charms,

At any time, she's still his wife,

Dearly devoted to his arms;

She loves with love that cannot tire;

And when, ah woe, she loves alone,

Through passionate duty love springs higher,

As grass grows taller round a stone.

First published without much acclaim in 1854- its revision in 1862 became a hit- and for us females is difficult reading today, post-Suffragette, 60's feminism, and the Virginia Woolf-ness reaction in-between- but remember for now Em, how these submissive principles were the Establishment. Economically Women didn't exist without men to support them, socially they were often ruined without them- unless they died which they often did. 

Virginia Woolf reacted against these principles- even to the extent in writing in 1931 that "killing the Angel in the House was part of the occupation of a woman writer."

However, my precious, how much was this priveledged doyenne of the Bloomsbury Set- inspired by the very generation she rebelled against?

I shall use chapter and verse from Julia Margaret Cameron's Women to encapsulate my point-

On the Isle of Wight, nineteenth-century England's equivalent of Martha's Vineyard, where artists lived to get away from bustle and ended up bringing bustle in their wake, Julia Margaret Cameron, in one of the greatest outpourings of creativity in the history of art, went about for a decade discovering beauty in her family and friends and the working men and women around her, hauling people into her "studio," a converted hen coop, and making of their bodily forms immortal images.

It was the immortal within them she responded to. She had little interest in sociological data, details of clothing, tools of trades. When she looked at a domestic servant with a mop and bucket, her imagination erased the mop and bucket, covered the homespun clothing with swaths of drapery, and saw the woman as the current exemplar of some timeless, enduring type - a youthful May Queen or noble Madonna, a suffering Ophelia, a sinning Guinevere, a sainted wife, devoted daughter, grieving mother, or wild spirited wood-nymph.

For her mental store of archetypal personae she drew on eclectic sources: the Old Testament, the New Testament, Greek mythology Renaissance painting, and the classics of English literature - Shakespeare, Milton, Keats, Shelley, Byron, and Coleridge. She had the words of the Romantic poets in her head as we might have the lyrics of songs by the Beatles. Many of the most popular writers of the day were her friends, including Coventry Patmore, who, in singing the praises of "The Angel in the House," codified the Victorian ideal of domesticity, and Alfred Tennyson, who, among other achievements, gave new life to the heroines of Arthurian legend.

She had received no formal education, which was typical for women of her time. Yet she was better read than many of us with graduate degrees. If we cannot reproduce her literary culture, if our minds' mansions are furnished, instead of with stanzas by Milton and Shakespeare, with episodes of favorite television shows, can we understand or fully respond to her photographs?

Every now and then a creative artist is inspired by other art which may be unfamiliar to readers or viewers. James Joyce, for example, based the structure and many episodes of Ulysses on Homer's Odyssey. An acquaintance with the story of Odysseus's wanderings may or may not enrich a reading of Ulysses, but the older work's greatest contribution to Joyce's epic, I would suggest, lies in enabling him to write it in the first place. It powered his imagination. It allowed him to see the life of ordinary people like Leopold Bloom, in an ignoble time like the turn of the century, in a provincial city like Dublin, as connected to enduring patterns of human life and therefore as material for art.

Cameron's response to beauty, eradicating class as it did, was so extreme as to constitute an almost political statement. Her tableaux are parables of radical democracy, or, seen from a slightly different angle, real-life fairy tales: in Cameron's glass house, Cinderella is always becoming a princess. Her parlor maid, Mary Hillier, was so often released from household drudgery to pose as the Virgin that she was known locally as Mary Madonna.

Like other artists of the early twentieth century, Woolf was in creative rebellion against a parental culture which to her seemed stuffy and stifling. But if we look with unprejudiced eyes at the literary culture of Julia Margaret Cameron, it hardly looks stifling. Quite the opposite. The rich, eclectic, thoroughly Victorian mixture of literary and pictorial images stored in Cameron's mind stimulated her to dense achievement, hundreds of works in a career of little over ten years, as the Madonnas and May Queens, the Wise Virgins and Foolish Virgins, the wood nymphs and angels in her mind were brought forth through darkness and light onto paper. And if we look, as this exhibition asks us to do, at the photographs of the fair women without the famous men, what we see is how splendidly the women stand on their own.

And my dear Emily, as a visual case-en-pointe- here is a 'colouring-in' of Julia's son's fiancee. No Angel-in-the-House here as a muse- more a poetical androgyny- or even pilgrim as muse...

Lucky Virginia- both blessed and cursed by her own nature and her anscestry- owes more than she or history has credited to her life's work, and it's impact on life as we know it- that Great Aunt Julia played a central role!

Looking forwards to Annabel's Christening in a few weeks time. She has a cheeky smile Em- and lovely giggle. Your Dad used to display the same sort of appreciation of what went on around him!

Your ever-loving Grand-Mother,

GiGi xxxx 

Post Dramatic Dress-Disorder

Dearest Emily,

It was lovely to see you and Annabel yesterday, and I did enjoy our practising yoga together! As I rushed off to the station to get the train up to London- I caught sight of myself in a shop window. I had thought about what I was going to wear today (changeable weather, two days in London, small overnight bag= one of my new t-shirts, oversized lightweight shirt, old Weardowney fave knitted jacket, my smartest jeans and trusty practical/smart boots.) However- what I saw in the window's reflection was a dishevelled GiGi, post playing with her Grand-daughter and laden with bags.

This didn't overly concern me Em, it's a regular observation- and one in my case there is not much point fighting. I do intend to be smartly turned out- I love seeing other people do so. It's just that I rather get in the way of my own objective. Doesn't matter what occasion it is- I just cannot stay tidy! My hair gets tucked behind my ears- my lipstick rubs off- high heels get removed as soon as comfort beckons. My own answer to this habit- is to at least start the day by making the effort- and then not worry about the undoing.

If you had seen what I saw in the shop window, and been at my side- it would have looked something like this!

Yes Em, I know- it's not a giant leap of faith to see why I'm drawn to appreciating those who uphold my own messy traits. Our Mrs Cameron (pictured as I believe Lewis Carroll cariacatured her) was forever shawl and bonnet-trailing- and even covered with photographic chemicals (hah, that makes me tidy!) And here is another heroine- we've spoken about her before- Rosa Lewis of Cavendish Hotel and Castle Rock in Cowes-fame.

Here she is in a painting by Chile Guevara. At work- as a Cook (favoured by Edward V11 and the Edwardian noblesse) and Doyenne of the Cavendish Hotel in Jermyn St- she liked to wear white. From head-to-toe. Or black. And she had a knee length strand of amber beads ('me yellers') that clanked as she walked.

However- I like to think she was one of 'us' in the messy sense- this example from the Duchess of Jermyn St by Daphne Fielding...

Rosa's excursions from the Cavendish into the outside world often took the form of an assault, for she ignored such trifles as invitations.

Most of all she liked making an impromptu visit to Covent Garden at five in the morning with a cavalcade.

The sight of evening dress in the early morning market is something that has quite disappeared; but in those days Covent Garden porters were quite used to these elegant intrusions. Rosa would often be in bed and asleep, but to take her to buy flowers had become traditional and so she would be woken up.

She wasted no time in dressing and used to slip her sable coat over her nightdress, which trailed behind her, sweeping up old cabbage leaves and broken blossoms in its passage.

One of my own reasons for making Rosa one of our Red Queens though Em, was right here on the Isle of Wight. Having established herself as a self-styled Grande Dame- all the way from Walthamstow-via the kitchen, and into or rather on top of the society she served- she decided to buy a little holiday-home.

This was in Cowes- and was named Castle Rock. It just happened to be next door to the Royal Yacht Squadron. There, she set up Court- with paying guests a-tow, her clique sitting in the little summer-house overlooking the races at Cowes week. Gossipping a-plenty, she repeated this routine each summer. Eventually- when the RYS had deigned to let Ladies onto their lawn- and Rosa graciously allowed them 'conveniences' at her Ballroom- the RYS were persuaded to part with a very large sum in order to buy it from her.

She sounded like fun Em!

To end this case for Red Queenly appreciations- another paragraph from the same book;

Through the double doors of the Cavendish, painted Guardi green, past the porch where an enormous hooded leather chair stood like a monument, I found an Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass world that enchanted me, where the faster one ran the more one stayed in the same place. Here, Rosa reigned, both as Red and White Queen, with her 'off with his head' manner and ephemeral chateaux.

Three Cheers Emily!

A tout a l'heure,

your ever-loving Grand-mother,

GiGi xxx

Queens outside of Fashion

Dearest Emily,

Of course I don't mean Fashion in the strict sense we understand it today. As you well know Em, Charles Frederick Worth (1825-1895) is the accepted wearer of the crown of the 'Father of Haute Couture'. After Worth, the machine was beginning to grow- its engine kick-started by Mr Worth- of British birth who established himself in Paris.

As an admirer, I revel in his work- and that he took the former Artisanial trade of dressmaking into a higher Art. Here are just some fabulous pieces (dear Dame Vivienne- you liked them too-didn't you?)

What's more he dressed some fabulous women of that time. Sarah Bernhart being my favourite example- but also look at these lovely illustrations for designs for Princess Eugenie's Ball...

The above illustrations were for a Ball in the 1860's, and Worth changed the way the maker was treated. The norm until then was that the 'dressmaker' would be told what to make. Worth- told the women he dressed- how it was going to be, and his demand was so high- that he turned clients away too. 

Over in the British Isles, Fashionable Society was corseted, and crinolined and bonneted. The 'Illustrated London News' reported the latest Fashions. Still mostly using Dressmakers- it was often more about the latest fabric trend than a change of style, for example Tartan being a new fave after Prince Albert's love of Scotland. Ruffles, ribbons, trims, bows- here's how it was being reported in 1860.

However- cross the water to a 'remote British Isle', where Tennyson led the way for Julia Margaret Cameron to set up her 'Salon'-  and we're quite outside of fashion. Naturally- the seaside climate being breezy, the surroundings rural- and clothing- even for the mannered Victorian, needs to change a bit. Little jackets perhaps? Even a shawl or two. But surely not so different from everyone else. For to be a mid-Victorian was to conform- to be exactly the same as everyone else.

Unless you are Julia Margaret Cameron or one of the famed Pattle sisters. As we've discussed Em- they were cut from a different cloth. In London before Julia's marriage- at Little Holland House (Sarah Prinsep's salon) the sisters would spend hours together chatting in Hindi, French and English- cutting up lengths of brightly coloured Indian silks- and making shock-horror- dresses that had loose waists- to be worn without corsets- the shape defined only by a tasseled sash-cord. 

Julia herself- not considered a 'Beauty' wasn't known for her own vanity. Often her clothes were stained with photographic chemicals, and she preferred observing and 'arresting beauty' rather than being observed herself. Rushing here and there- remarks were made- 'Mrs Cameron in her funny openwork shawl', 'The men cheered (jeered?) as Mrs Cameron crossed the down in her bright coloured dress'.

We know her work best- as a pioneering close-up- portraits of famous men, the romantic staged 'Idylls' and dreamy studies of children.

But here- we see an example of something else- almost a 'fashion-plate' Em. It's a Carte de Visite about 1873 of Julia's niece May Prinsep. I've done a bit of 'colouring-in' of course- but it is an example that leads me to think Julia might have been a bit more interested in style of dress than I've been led to believe.

We'll never be lucky enough to know what was in Julia's 'dressing-up box' Em- there are clues in her photographs- but the sepia record doesn't afford what must have been a riot of texture and colour.

We can only guess what influence the colourful character that was Mrs Cameron- along with her sisters- had on their circle and descendents- especially those more Bohemian-who went on to establish the Bloomsbury Group.

It is fun imagining though Emily, but one thing is certain- she would not have shared your love of shocking pink!

Give Annabel a kiss- but don't squash her.

Your ever-loving Grand-mother, GiGi xxx