The House That Almost Was

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As I wrote in my last post, I've been rather distracted as of late.  I have spent a considerable amount of time and energy these past few months contemplating a move back to England with my family. You see, during our visit to London last December, we made arrangements to view a house - twice - that was listed for sale. The property, situated in a small rural village two hours north of London, ticked all the right boxes, or so we thought.  Mellow Georgian brick facade, a substantial plot of land, sash windows with original internal shutters, crunchy gravel driveway, mature specimen trees, intact period outbuilding ...you get the idea. There's even an Aga in the kitchen although that appeals to me more than it does my husband.  I suppose everything one knows about cooking would have to be relearned if one were to actually make use of this most British of country house kitchen contraptions. Aside from the cooking, the Aga would most certainly come in handy during the cold winter months. Those drafty country houses have earned their reputation for good reason, don't you know?

My husband has lived in California all of his life and I have had the privilege of living here for the past twenty-six years.  Moving anywhere, let alone half way across the world, is an enormous decision. Our daughter Patience would dearly love the chance to live in the same country as many of her cousins, uncles, and aunts, whom she knows intimately well.  I believe she's traveled to the UK at least fifteen times already, not bad considering her young age. Patience views England as her second home.

Although we have occasionally toyed with the idea of such a move, the handsome Georgian house we viewed, together with the recent favorable dollar-to-pound currency exchange rate, were our main
motivating factors to make it happen.  A move across the pond suddenly became far more feasible than at any other time in recent memory.  Of course, arrangements would have to be made to sell our house too, but with property around these parts flying off the market within weeks of it being listed, and in some cases days, we feel that would not pose too great an obstacle.  By contrast, the house in the English village has languished on the market for well over a year; the selling price having been reduced twice thus far. With a motivated seller, the carrot is tantalizingly within our reach.

As you can imagine, packing up one's entire household - lock, stock and barrel - and shipping it half way across the globe comes at a hefty price tag, a financial burden worth considering when contemplating any move, particularly one so distant.  Sifting through the handful of estimates we have obtained from various shipping outfits, we have discovered that the cost alone of insuring one's furniture for safe transit is akin to a king's ransom!  Then, of course, there's the question of what to do with our old and trusty Volvo wagon, so handy for carting people, pets, and large household items around. It's almost a member of our family. Do we ship that too, or sell it? Would it ever feel "right" driving a left-hand drive on the left-hand side of the road? And, there's that other little matter of taxes.  Do you know that it is the responsibility of every US Citizen living abroad to file taxes annually in both their adopted country and at home?  This rule will apply to Patience too when she eventually joins the UK workforce, regardless of the fact that she has never earned a cent here. And, talking of paperwork, let's address the reams of forms required, along with the hefty fees, for successfully navigating one's way through the maze of UK entry requirements.  It's enough to make one's head spin!  Although I consider my English skills to be somewhat proficient, it boggles the mind how anyone who lacks a law degree can make head or tail of some of these forms. And, of course, we come to Norton, our beloved pet cat. I believe his pile of paperwork, when stacked, might just be taller than him!

Looking past the financial and practical issues of transplanting our household half way across the globe, when all is said and done would we ever fully adjust to life in a rural British village where attending the local pub and church form the main pastimes of the local villagers?   Personally, I would have absolutely no trouble adjusting, having already resided in both town and country during my time living in England. If I crave the trappings of big city life there's always London, a mere two-hour car journey south.

It is our young daughter Patience we worry about.  What opportunities would she be missing out on if we bit the bullet and made the move?  How about schooling?  Would she find herself lagging behind the other students having been tutored in an entirely different educational system?  Would she be missing out on the benefits of living in a culturally diverse area, such as is the case with San Francisco or any other major city, where opportunities for employment, among other things, are abundant?  Agricultural jobs abound in the area of the village.  Beyond that, there's really little else.

Aside from the obvious lifestyle adjustment, what of the future?  As we don't have the advantage of peering into a crystal ball, my husband and I have done the next best thing and diligently researched the area of the village and nearby market town. Worryingly, a recurring theme we hit upon was flooding due to the area's low-lying topography and proximity to various water sources. Tidal flooding, sadly, is a real and serious concern.  From everything we've read, things are predicted to worsen over the coming years with the rising sea levels. Would our daughter be shackled to a sinking inheritance?  Most probably so.

For now, here we remain. Although the cons outstripped the pros with this particular Georgian village property, we feel we've earned ourselves quite an education in the minutia of a global move. We are now far better prepared, both emotionally and factually, were a similar opportunity to present itself in the future.  In the meantime, I am very happy to return to this rather neglected blog, and to you my loyal readers.

Of course, the silver lining to this tale is that we still get to happily live our lives in our beloved 1920's house, enjoying the benefits of a thriving local economy, excellent weather, remarkable scenery, and the pleasurable companionship of close friends and good neighbors. We have much for which to be thankful.

When A Salt Spoon Just Doesn't Cut The Mustard

The unassuming entrance of The London Silver Vaults does not betray the dazzling Aladdin's cave that awaits within

Photo: Chronica Domus

I've been on the hunt for a silver Georgian mustard pot.  I've always fancied the idea of delivering a dollop of biting mustard to one's dinner plate from an elegant receptacle aided, of course, by a small spoon made expressly for the purpose of this pleasurable task.

I just knew I'd chance upon the perfect pot during my recent visit to England which, I'm chuffed to report, I did.  Well, actually, my eagle-eyed husband did, one afternoon while out and about with my sister Penelope and me in Hertfordshire.  He's very well trained in these matters and enjoys the hunt as much as I. The drum-shaped sterling pot is two inches tall and was made in England in 1821.  It has an 'S' handle embellished with a leaf design.  When the thumb piece is depressed, it raises the flat lid. Happily, the original Bristol blue glass liner remains intact.  It slips smoothly into the mustard pot and is designed to facilitate ease of cleaning (I would not recommend buying a pot without its liner as replacements rarely fit correctly).  A family crest is centrally engraved upon the lid and appears to be a large breed dog, possibly an Irish Wolfhound.  I am thrilled my husband found it (thank you, dear!).

Of course, every mustard pot deserves a spoon. As such, my thoughts turned to the American coin silver salt spoon I acquired last December, of which I wrote about here. My intention was to repurpose it for mustard.  Would it appear a tad overbearing in scale and decoration as compared to the diminutive pot I wondered?  Realizing rather quickly that it would simply not cut the mustard (sorry, I am British after all, and one does so enjoy a little punning every now and then), a visit to my favorite London silversmith, William Walter Antique Silver was soon on the cards.

Now, let me tell you, this is no ordinary shop.  It really is not a shop at all in the conventional sense. You see business is, in fact, conducted from Vault Number 3 and 5, located deep beneath the capital's pounding pavements inside The London Silver Vaults.

Moving past the security desk and down into the vaults we descend

Photo: Chronica Domus

For anyone interested in viewing or acquiring household silver objects of every imaginable function and size (I'm not kidding, there's even a silver bed down there!), The London Silver Vaults should be your first port of call.  Once downstairs, meandering the warren of shops at leisure is a singular experience. Not only are the wares dazzling in terms of appearance and sheer quantity, but wandering from one vault to another, through heavy iron doors, is nothing short of surreal.  It is as though one has been let loose within the deepest recesses of Fort Knox.

Photography is not permitted downstairs but I did find this image on-line showing some of the vault doors which are kept open during business hours

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Now, getting back to the matter at hand, a spoon befitting my Georgian mustard pot. I had no doubt that John, who heads the team at William Walter, and with whom I've had the pleasure of purchasing several items of silver in the past, would be able to help.  I was not disappointed.  Laying down a flotilla of small spoons for my perusal - some used for salt, some for mustard, and others for goodness only knows what - I was spoilt for choice.  There were dozens of them!  John explained the large and varied stock of old silver at William Walter has been accumulated over a period of about sixty years.  This provides his lucky patrons with a broad selection of whatever it is they are seeking to purchase.

I believe the little mustard spoon I selected (whose elongated bowl sets it apart from those of rounded salt spoons) is perfectly scaled for use with my mustard pot.  And, it sits comfortably within the lid's slot. It is also period appropriate having been made in 1813 by Richard Stevens of Dublin, Ireland.  It too possesses a family crest, a bull.

I could not be more delighted to marry the Irish Georgian mustard spoon to the English Georgian mustard pot, a match made in heaven!

Photo: Chronica Domus

Another view of the mustard pot, its original Bristol blue glass liner, and the Irish Georgian mustard spoon
Photo: Chronica Domus

John not only has an extensive knowledge of old silver - to describe him as encyclopedic is not an exaggeration in the least - but he also has a true passion for the subject.  This is evident to anyone chatting to him for even a few minutes.  When doing so, be fully prepared to be dazzled by a silver oddity or two, followed immediately with an amusing tidbit about its history.  John's stories are always enthusiastically relayed for his fortunate audience's edification.

When I inquired about viewing, and subsequently purchasing, a sherry bottle ticket from his stash, John asked me what I thought was so unusual about the item.  Not surprisingly, I was stumped. He explained that the original black wax which fills the indentations of the letters S-H-E-R-R-Y remains intact, something not often seen after a few centuries of use.  Oh dear, I thought to myself, before making an alarming confession. I had tried in vein to remove what I thought was tarnish from the reeded decoration of a port bottle ticket I have at home... oops!

Lessons Learned: John tells me that the original black wax on the lettering of my Sherry bottle ticket, made by Charles Rawlings of London in 1828, is still intact unlike the wax from the reeded decoration around my Port label which I've foolishly attempted to remove believing it to be tarnish

Photo: Chronica Domus

This photograph, which John kindly allowed me to take on a previous visit, shows just a drop in the bucket of the goodies available for purchase at William Walter Antique Silver 

Photo: Chronica Domus

I do hope you make time to drop into The London Silver Vaults and visit John at William Walter Antique Silver when next in town.  I promise your efforts will be rewarded with a unique shopping (or browsing) experience.  There is, of course, no obligation to buy.  However, if you are inclined to enjoy shiny and beautiful objects, you'll find it very easy to empty the coffers, and happily so.

Now that I've secured the perfect mustard spoon for my pot, the only decision remaining is which of the trio of mustards will fill the Bristol blue glass liner next*

Photo: Chronica Domus

Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.


*For those interested, the walnut Dijon mustard won this round

Back From London

Happy New Year to you all!  It seems to me that 2017 is already whizzing by at an alarmingly fast pace, far swifter than I would wish it.  Here we are, half way through January, and I am finally ready to turn my attentions to blogging once again.

We've enjoyed a marvelously relaxing three week break in and around London, celebrating Christmas and the New Year with the rest of my family.  London always looks so perfectly dressed during the festive period.  Everywhere one looks, there are lights, lights, lights.

Photo: Chronica Domus

Photo: Chronica Domus

Photo: Chronica Domus

There were also several days where viewing anything at all became rather a chore. London and her environs were plunged in soupy fog, the density of which caused holiday travelers quite a bit of bother.

Although we are quite accustomed to foggy days in San Francisco, it is never accompanied by glistening frost
Photo: Chronica Domus

As you might already know, a traditional British Christmas would not be complete without a flaming Christmas pudding.  Here is 2016's pyrotechnic extravaganza:

The aurora borealis has nothing on this light show

Photo: Chronica Domus

Boxing day in my sister's neighborhood, where we happened to be staying for the duration of our visit, coincided with the refuse collection schedule.  I could not imagine a more British sight than this:

The neighbors had obviously enjoyed a marvelous Christmas day nibbling on the scrumptious contents of this enormous, and decadent, Fortnums hamper

Photo: Chronica Domus

A leisurely walk within the country park close by provided the perfect Boxing Day tonic to the previous day's feasting and imbibing.  

  

Photo: Chronica Domus

No trip to London would be complete, at least for my husband and I, without a trot around Portobello Road antiques market.  This year, I was saddened to discover that one of my favorite arcades had shuttered its doors, only to be replaced by a theater and numerous clothing shops that are quite removed from the surrounding antiques related businesses.  I do hope the unique character of this market will not be dilluted over time with the invasion of such establishments.  All was not lost, however, as some of the dealers had found new homes within the Admiral Vernon Antiques Arcade, situated further down on Portobello Road. It was here that I managed to scoop up a Grainger Worcester porcelain teapot stand decorated in Pattern 228 for a song. I look forward to happily using it as a small serving platter filled with after dinner chocolates and other sweet treats. 

The loot from my visit to the Portobello Road antiques market

Photo: Chronica Domus

It was also my good fortune to stumble across an unusually small Anglo-Irish cut glass decanter, the scale of which I have not previously seen (could it have been a traveling decanter one wonders?).  It stands proud at a mere five inches, complete with stopper.  This too made it into my hand luggage for its journey across the pond.  

After our morning's successful haul, we took our good friend Reggie Darling's recommendation and visited a rather special shop.  It belongs to the charmingly affable and exceedingly hospitable Hilary Fisher.  Hilary's shop, Fisher-London, is the sort of place that fills one with wild desire and the inclination to do some serious damage to one's bank balance.  Ms. Fisher has created an exquisite emporium bursting with all manner of (mainly) Georgian items one only dreams of finding in a lifetime of scouring antiques shops.  Everything is handsomely displayed against a rather cheery orange backdrop. Hilary has impeccable taste in not only the items she selects to sell at her shop, but also in her choice of sherry.  My husband and I were both treated to a generous dose of Hilary's hospitality with not one, but two rounds of sherry ("sweet or dry?", she asks) served, appropriately enough, from period sherry glasses. Were it not for a previous engagement, we would have happily imbibed and chit-chatted for far longer than we were able to with our engaging hostess.

A corner of Fisher-London crammed full of delightful Georgian treats

Photo: Chronica Domus

A storm bowl is such an elegant way of illuminatng one's surroundings

Photo: Chronica Domus

Wrapped in cheery orange tissue paper and protective bubble wrap, four capstan stemmed wine rummers, circa 1810, and two Regency whisky tumblers, headed home with us

Photo: Chronica Domus

I highly recommend a visit to Fisher-London the next time you find yourself in England's capital city. But, be warned!  You may find it difficult to walk away empty handed.

Our Regency capstan stemmed rummers made it safely home thanks to Hilary's careful wrapping skills - I cannot wait to press them into service at our next dinner party

Photo: Chronica Domus

These Regency whisky tumblers will certainly be getting a good workout, filled with amber nectar and slowly sipped during long winter evenings around the fireplace 

Photo: Chronica Domus

This was not the only shopping spree we enjoyed during our trip.  I'll leave that little excursion for a future posting.

An aspect of London life that has drastically turned around since I moved away some twenty-six years ago is the food and restaurant culture.  One can now dine upon the national cuisine of countries from every corner of the globe. I am happy to report, however, that London's oldest restaurant Rules, has remained quite unapologetically unchanged. Situated on a small street behind Covent Garden, Rules is a bastion of old-fashioned classic British cooking.  It is the type of place where one sees immaculately dressed, well-to-do London gentlemen taking their godsons to lunch when visiting from the country on their school holidays.

Rules is always decked out so festively during the Christmas season

Photo: Chronica Domus

Of course, the only cocktail to order here is 'The Rules', a potent mix of Tanqueray, Dubonnet, and vintage Cremant

Photo: Chronica Domus

The king of cheeses, English stilton, served just as it should be

Photo: Chronica Domus

There are many dining rooms at Rules and each has walls jam-packed with interesting little works of art

Photo: Chronica Domus

  

A few days later, in contrast to our delicious luncheon at this most venerable old-line restaurant, my husband and I had the great pleasure of dining with Naomi, London's 'It Girl' of the blogger world, and the authoress of Coulda Shoulda Woulda.  We dined upon the very modern swanky Indian-British fusion creativity of Cinnamon Soho over lots of fun conversation and small plates and drinks.  After several hours of fun-packed jabber, we moved the party down the road.  Enjoying night caps within the chic surroundings of Ham Yard Hotel's bar, we did not want the evening to draw to a close. What fun we'd shared catching up since our visit last year and waxing lyrical on all manner of topics. Naomi had one more place to show us before biding adiu at an unusually deserted Piccadilly Circus (I think Londoners were still in bed nursing their New Year's hangovers several days into 2017).  We crept upstairs to view The Dive Bar, one of Ham Yard's many private event spaces designed by Kit Kemp. This one boasted a gargantuan orange juice squeezer which could easily keep the biggest Vitamin C junkie satisfied for life.

Photo: Chronica Domus

Of course, I do so enjoy being an aunty to four very lovely and well-behaved nephews and nieces and as such, along with my daughter Patience, we paid a visit to a favorite childhood spot of mine, London's Natural History Museum.  I have very fond memories of visiting there with my granny and I've also enjoyed many excursions with Patience over the duration of her young life.  It is a fascinating place to while away an afternoon, whether you are accompanied by children or not.  The gem room is a particularly engaging and creative exhibit not to be missed.

The architecture of this magnificent building never ceases to amaze me - what an entrance this is!

Photo: Chronica Domus

The grand staircase of Hintze Hall where visitors stop to admire the Charles Darwin statue

Photo: Chronica Domus

The ornithology exhibits are among my favorites at the museum and are some of the few things remaining unchanged since my inaugural visit as a young lass

Photo: Chronica Domus

Since arriving home to lashings of much needed rainfall, I've been in rather a lazy low-key mood.  So much so that this was the view of the dining room table this morning:

Epiphany has come and gone and the Christmas decorations have yet to be put away

Photo: Chronica Domus

I suppose I'd better get my act together and store it all away for another year.  I did, if you recall, make mention at the beginning of this post how time has flown by so rapidly this year.  I know, I know, excuses, excuses!


Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.

New Additions to The Hanging Wall Shelf

At last, the hanging wall shelf is full!

Photo: Chronica Domus

Last October, I wrote about my Morandi-inspired hanging wall shelf.  After arranging a small collection of earthenware vessels upon it, I was delighted to discover that sufficient room remained for additional bits and bobs to be added over time.

The hanging wall shelf as it looked last October

Photo: Chronica Domus

As you may have guessed, I'm a bit of a gatherer type.  I was certain it would not be long until an interesting and attractive object presented itself, begging to be added to the hanging shelf.

My opportunity came last December during a visit to London's Portobello Road Market, which I wrote about, here.  Rummaging through the crates and boxes of Mr. Peter Adams' stall, my husband and I selected several of the diminutive treacle and toffee colored ink pots and salt glazed polish vessels to take home with us.

Spoilt for choice!

Photo: Chronica Domus

We also snapped these up:

Photo: Chronica Domus

What, you might be asking yourself is Virol?  Well, we too were wondering the same thing.  It turns out that Virol was a perplexing concoction of bone marrow, among other ingredients, conceived during the early twentieth century.  It was marketed to British mothers of young children and carers of the elderly and infirm.  I suppose one could describe Virol as a type of super food of its day.

An early metal sign depicting an earthenware jar of Virol

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Virol promised everything from "perfectly moulded features, clear bright eyes, firm flesh with good healthy colour, and well-formed limbs ... a Virol constitution".  Sign me up please!  Or, maybe not.  I have a sneaking suspicion that Virol may have fallen flat on its face in its attempts at exciting the gastronomic juices of this gentle author.

Our Virol bottles look perfectly at home alongside their earthenware companions, would you not agree?

Photo: Chronica Domus

The taller of the two measures a mere three and a half inches, and the smaller bottle is a fraction shorter.

Now that I've filled up my hanging wall shelf, I'm afraid I haven't a clue where to put this charming little fellow, which I could not pass up when doing my rounds of The Alameda Antiques Faire earlier this month.

A 19th century ink pot complete with the potter's fingerprint embedded in the glaze for posterity

Photo: Chronica Domus

No matter, for I am sure it won't be too long until I find an appropriate resting place for it.  Do I see another hanging wall shelf in my future?  Perhaps so.

From Antiquities to Dinner In A Former Motorcar Showroom

Photo: Chronica Domus

Nota bene: Sadly, photography is not permitted inside Sir John Soane's museum.  I will, however, include a few unabashedly sneaky (and fuzzy) snaps that I managed to capture with some degree of trepidation and speed before being gently scolded, in the nicest possible way.  I hope that these images will provide my readers with an inkling of the spirit of this fascinating museum.

London is full of surprises and to Regency architecture enthusiasts like myself, the city is brimming with handsome examples.  I've already mentioned John Nash in my previous post, and his famous terraces and crescents, and his fine church, All Souls. However, this fair city has indeed been most fortunate, for it has reaped the riches of more than one stellar architect to help shape its appearance. Take, for example, Sir John Soane.

Sir John Soane by John Jackson, circa 1828

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I have long admired Soane's work, whom many regard as England's greatest Neoclassical architect. Alarmingly, many of his creations have vanished through the short sightedness of demolition, all in the name of modernity. To most, their discovery of Soane probably comes as a result of visiting his extraordinary former residence at Lincoln's Inn Fields. This, of all of London's surprises, has captured my imagination and intrigued me like no other.  I know I am not alone in this.  One-hundred and twenty thousand visitors passed through the buildings' doors last year.  Mr. Soane's fascination with the ancient world, and his willingness to eschew the architectural conventions of the day in order to create beautiful and unique spaces, made him a true original and a pioneer in his field.  His clever use of roof lanterns, colored glass, and mirrors to illuminate the interiors of his buildings, is a common theme he relied upon throughout his career. I cannot truthfully tell you how many times I have had occasion to visit his former home, really an idiosyncratic hodgepodge of buildings (for there are three) because, frankly, I have lost count. What I can tell you is that with each visit, more and more of the house is revealed through the series of extensive restoration efforts undertaken by the trustees.

The entry door to the museum - one of four Gothic architectural fragments, seen at right, gives a clue to what surprises lay beyond the threshold

Photo: Chronica Domus

Never has the misfortune of a pair of renegade brothers been so advantageous to a nation such as befell Sir John Soane's sons, John and George.  You see, their father had the good foresight to bequeath his unique residence and substantial collections of antiquities, artworks, furniture, and architectural salvage, not to his wayward sons but to the British people.  This is why today the house is a museum, left mainly intact, just as Soane had wished it, for all to enjoy. The space is nothing short of captivating, and the curious labyrinth of rooms, which was constantly expanded and rebuilt during Soane's lifetime is, without doubt, unlike any other place I've ever stepped foot in.

My husband and I orchestrated our latest visit to coincide with an early afternoon tour of the restored private apartments and architectural model room, freshly opened to the public in May, 2015. We had allowed ample time to meander and wander around the numerous rooms of the museum and reacquaint ourselves with the staggering collections so uniquely and densely displayed.  The arrangement of objects, depending upon one's perspective, can either border on absolute madness or sheer brilliance. You decide.  Just take a gander at this corner of Soane's little study, located on the ground floor, just beyond his dressing room:

Photo: Chronica Domus

And this, a view looking up from the basement:

Photo: Chronica Domus

Not an inch of the house escaped Soane's attention to detail and burgeoning collections. The following photograph shows the narrow passageway between his bookcases and the front three upstairs windows of the south drawing room.  This is the most formal room in the house, which also served as the principle reception room.

Photo: Chronica Domus

The following photograph shows the ceiling treatment, reminiscent of a starfish, used in the airy breakfast room of Number 12.  Surely, a favorite motif of Soane's because he decorated the library ceiling of his country house, Pitzanger Manor, in much the same fashion.

Photo: Chronica Domus

The entire museum is dimly lit, which is especially noticeable on an overcast winter's day where natural light is at its lowest and struggles to find a way in.  Electrical lighting is kept to a bare minimum, a conscious decision by the museum, so visitors can best experience how Soane lived. One will occasionally notice glass storm bowls lit with the aid of a single candle. To be more accurate, the wax candles I recall from prior visits have, sadly, disappeared, only to be replaced by those battery operated flickering impostors.  I wonder if Mr. Soane would have approved.

A corner of the basement crypt lit by modern battery operated candles

Photo: Chronica Domus

Our group of ten was escorted up to the second floor of Number 13.

Photo: Chronica Domus

We gathered on the landing and listened to the knowledgeable guide talk about Soane's private life and how he used the floor not only for his living quarters, but also as a show piece for prospective clients.

The many watercolor drawings of the private apartments, still in existence, aided the museum in their restoration of the rooms, which had, since Soane's death, been altered by the live-in curator of the museum.  Nothing was left to interpretation.  If evidence was lacking on the manner in which an area should be restored (such as with the closet in Mrs. Soane's morning room that was used for washing), it was left undisturbed.

Joseph Gandy's watercolor of Soane's bathroom, circa 1825

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What struck me about this portion of the house, hidden behind iron railings, was how different in appearance it was to the downstairs areas.  This was all so cozy.  I am certain that the bold diaper patterned wallpaper employed in each of the private rooms, a departure from the painted plaster walls elsewhere in the house, had much to do with this.  Our guide explained that during the two year research period of the restoration project, wallpaper was unearthed beneath layers of paint in the room that Soane had used as his bathroom.  The discovery provided more than enough evidence to determine the paper's pattern, a small repeating geometrical motif.  Alas, the only mystery remaining was the true colorway which had altered considerably in the ensuing years since its installation, by way of age and fading.  A search of the archives at the Victoria and Albert Museum provided a record of Sir John's wallpaper purchase from Cowtan & Son. Not only that, but a small wallpaper sample had been safely squirreled away from the damaging effects of daylight.  This provided the museum with an exact color match which was faithfully and meticulously reproduced through hand blocking by Adelphi Paper Hangings in New York, makers of historic wallpaper.  

An image of the Cowtan & Son wallpaper order book showing a sample of Soane's wallpaper order from August 11, 1830

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The first room our group was escorted into was Mrs. Soane's morning room, the most personal space in the entire house.  It is decorated exactly as Mrs. Soane had left it, with the addition of a few paintings that Sir John added after her death.  One of these is a watercolor by Clara Maria Pope depicting Shakespeare and every flower mentioned in his works.  Even in such an intimate space, Sir John's influence abounds.  The arrangement of the artwork and the convex looking glasses strongly suggest that he had a dominant hand in the decoration.  On the mahogany mirrored panel door, which leads to the model room, hangs yet another convex mirror, a trick Soane relied heavily upon in his work to maximize natural light. This room was not only used to receive Mrs. Soane's guests, but also as a place from which to run the household.  Meetings with the housekeeper to discuss menus and to communicate Mrs. Soane's instructions was a daily activity in the morning room.

Watercolor of Soane's model room by C.J. Richardson, circa 1834

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A few years before Sir John's death, he converted Mrs. Soane's bedroom into a spectacular showpiece, the model room.  This was my favorite room of the tour.  I believe this had everything to do with the fact that there was absolutely no doubt as to it's creator.  All the hallmarks of Mr. Soane's interests and curiosities with the ancient world and its buildings blissfully collided in a delicious melange within the room. Upon the wallpapered walls hang architectural watercolors by Joseph M. Gandy, some depicting Soane's own designs.  Central to the room sits a magnificent mahogany and brass display stand, commissioned by Soane in 1826.  The multi-layered structure holds various architectural models constructed  of wood, plaster, metal, and cork.  At one point in the museum's history, the curator deemed the stand too large and, shockingly, had it cut down to half its size.  For the restoration of the model room, the missing section was skillfully recreated to match that of the original.  Soane's idea behind the model room was to provide a "grand tour" experience for architectural students that were themselves unable to travel to Europe and visit such sites as Pompeii and the ancient temples of Italy and Greece.  Some of the models on the stand illustrate Soane's designs, thereby encouraging comparison and discussion among his students with those of both the ancient world and works by Soane's contemporaries.  Sir John relied heavily on models during his career, something other English architects were slow to adopt.  No wonder the museum is awash in them; there are over one-hundred in residence.

Another watercolor by Joseph Gandy showing Sir John's bedroom, circa 1825

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Soane's bedroom was the final room we toured of the private apartments.  Following his death, the four-poster bed had been sold by the trustees, but a reproduction was specially commissioned for the purpose of the restoration project.

At the conclusion of the tour, one passes through the book passage and notices an unusual display case containing the mummified remains of a rat and two cats.  Our guide explained that these poor creatures were found within the walls of a demolition project that Soane had undertaken during his work at the Bank of England, the subject of a future posting on this blog.

Having had the privilege of viewing Soane's private apartments after many years of familiarizing myself with the public rooms downstairs, I felt as though I understood the man a little better for it. Sir John obviously had a great passion for architecture and learning that went far beyond mere vocation. Yes, the private apartments were certainly more domesticated in appearance, and decidedly more cozy than the lower floors, but here, all around, was evidence of a man who could not be separated from his passions, even in the way he lived privately.

Touring the private apartments and model room was the highlight of our visit to London, and one that I would encourage you to experience firsthand as well if you are as fortunate as I to find yourself in London.  Please do check the museum's web site for specific tour times to avoid disappointment.  I eagerly anticipate my next visit as the restoration project progresses into its final phase.

We exit through another door, Number 14, painted a beautiful shade of bronze green and embellished with imitation bronze nail heads to mimic those found on ancient tomb doors

Photo: Chronica Domus

The excitement of our day was not quite over.  We had scored a table a deux at our beloved favorite London restaurant later in the evening so returned home to dress for dinner.

The Wolseley is located in St. James' along Piccadilly

Photo: Chronica Domus

The Wolseley is one of those surprises I spoke of earlier in this posting.  You see the elegant space currently occupied by the restaurant was once the very glamorous car showroom of The Wolseley Motor Company.

An image of the showroom in the early 1920's

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Although both the motorcars and the company have long disappeared, not much has changed since the showroom was opened at the beginning of the glitzy Roaring Twenties.  One truly feels as though one has taken a step back in time upon entering this lovely building.  Designed by architect William Curtis Green, the space possesses a graphic black and white marble floor, towering black lacquered columns, staircases, industrial looking chandeliers, and sweeping arches to full dramatic effect. Simply put, dining at The Wolseley is a grand sensory treat.

Thankfully, the main dining hall of The Wolseley has barely changed since its conversion from a motorcar showroom in 1921

Photo: Chronica Domus

We've enjoyed both lunch and dinner here over the years, and would highly recommend either. Apparently, breakfast is not too shabby either.  We have found the service to be top-notch and professional, and the food fresh and delicious.  I would best describe the fare as a combination of traditional British with more than a dash of grand European café.  The atmosphere is always abuzz with excitement as patrons tuck into their meals. People watching, of course, is always a fun pursuit here.  One never knows with whom one might rub shoulders.

One day I shall score a table upstairs in this dramatic dining alcove, but first I'll have to invite some friends because, according to our waitress, only larger parties are seated here

Photo: Chronica Domus

Legging it to the tube station to catch our late-night train home, we passed this exotic and opulent display of lights on Bond Street.  This was all rather fitting, I thought, for Bond Street is home to some of the world's most exclusive and luxurious consumer goods.

Photo: Chronica Domus

I do hope you've enjoyed this rather wordy post on two of my favorite spaces and places to visit in London.  Perhaps you'll put them on your list of "must sees" the next time you find yourself in town.

 Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.