#Book a table Gravesend

[mashkaromanova]

Crop of Princess Alix (‘Sunny’) of Hesse, 1894

[Beware, a long letter!]

“My own darling Ernie dear,

A good kiss & blessing for your dear letter, which made me so happy, & for the photo of my darling Nicky, which you were an angel to have had enlarged for me. It is an excellent one, & the expression so nice & natural. Really, darling, that beautiful parasole is much too good for me, you spoil me always with your presents. I took it out with me of course yesterday morning, but did not open it, it was so beautifully rolled up. No, it is too sweet & that splendid saphire [sic] on the top, I feel I must hide it with my hand & not let any one see it, & yet I am so proud of it, I want all to see it. -

But how I missed you, sweet One, is not to be described. Oh, I missed you sadly, but felt yr thoughts were at least with yr Sunny. It was a great joy having at least Victoria here, as I should have felt too miserable without one relation on my last birthday as a young girl. - Poor Orchie, she had never been away from me on the day before, & I think she felt rather low, from her letter. - But the weather was amiable & fine, after four days incessant rain. To-day it is also beautiful - really we deserve it after all this time. -

Grandmama gave me a delightful teabasket for four. Victoria gave me frames for photos of Nicky & a workbag & silver spoon to put the tea leaves in, like the egg I gave you last year at the Wolfsgarten. - Nicky gave me a magnificent bracelet in diamonds with a clasp of diamonds & two rubies, to be worn & a brooch too. - The cake with the pink roses was a great success, & reminded me so of home, - & all the flowers to decorate the table. -

I got a box sent me from I don’t know whom from London with glorious roses - the room is full of flowers now & smells gloriously. I am so happy as I adore flowers so, & in thoughts I bless the kind angel who sent them - if I could only find out who it was. - Irene sent me a little picture in oils of dear Papa’s sitting room, which I am delighted to have. - 

Then some amiable Ladies sent me glorious flowers, & one a little book written by her brother & so on, kind little attentions & great crowds running to see us go out driving & the the town flagged - most touching, - oh, & they had to wait so long, as we came home much later than usual. - A pencil drawing a lady (now dead) had done of Mama was sent me by a poor old servant, so I accepted & gave some money as an Unterstützung. - I was enchanted with photos of Fatinitza & the two little Jucker, Winky sent me; so nice. -

Victoria & I went for a delightful drive in our two tricycle bathchairs, & looked at a dropping well - if you put in anything, it turns to stone in a few months. - We had to walk a bit, & the consequence is more pain, so it is no good, I must not do it again; - I drink now to glasses a day, vile - one gets brought me at 8 in the morning, like hot salt water, loathsome - then at 11 I go in my bathchair & drink it at the wells, & the crowd gazes to see it run down my throat, very vulgar of them, & then to view me get into my chair bundled up - enshying as Irene would say. -

I am glad you at last are at Auerbach, & I hope you will enjoy your stay there & the neighbourhood of Schönberg. Give dear Marie my love when you see her, & tell her how often my thoughts run back to last year, & I see us sitting in Alexi’s room burning & painting away as tho’ to earn our daily bread. - And your hey cocks [sic] - I can imagine the length of Mino’s face when you returned after midnight, you 3 mad hatters, what will you be up to next? -

I feel for you when the time of yr visite [sic] to Mainz comes. I hear the town is already being grandly decorated - I fear it will be not quite easy for you the whole thing, but I am sure it will be a fine sight. - I may leave here on the 20th of June, wh. day U want to go to Walton & meet Nicky there, who would be arriving that day at Gravesend in his Father’s yatch, & would go straight on to Walton. About four days we should be there and then go to Windsor. 

Grandmama would be too disappointed if I did not remain with her till she goes to Osborne, about the 15th July, but one cannot settle it quite. She is still upset I am going so far away, & grumbles at us in each letter, poor dear. - I must say I too dread the moment when I shall have to say goodbye to her, as who knows when we shall ever meet again - she is no longer young, poor darling Grandmama. -

I am going to be good & do all Dr. Oliver says, so as to be as well as possible when I at last shall be home, at beloved Wolfsgarten, the dearest place on earth, & yet where I miss beloved Papa the most. - I heard from Nicky, he sends you his fondest love; - we hear from each other daily. - Will you thank Ducky & Mino for dear letters & presents - how charming she worked the basket. I shall write to them to-morrow, I cannot write much at a time on the sopha [sic], it is too tiring, & I must be off to my water. -

So Goodbye & God bless you, my own beloved Ernie dear. Many tender kisses, Ever yr own loving old Sister Sunny. - 

P.S. Zwilling sent me a touching telegram - he is always so kind to me, it nearly makes me cry. Oh, how I thank God you have got such a true friend, who I think would do anything for you. - By the by, Irene asked in a humble way, whether she might venture to come to Wolfsgarten about the 20th of July. - Toddie would be away at a bath, Harry away, & she all alone, & I know it is a sehnliche Wunsch of hers to come to the Wolfsgarten. You know she has never lived there since she married. - Won’t you or Ducky write & ask her, I can’t now; it must come from you. -

Aunt Helena of course begged for you to invite Thora whilst she is at Nauheim - Thora got quite red, as she I know hates inviting himself, but I know she is dying to come for one night, only is afraid Ducky might not care to have her. If she is not in your way - mind you don’t do it for my sake, - then one of you will and ask her, & perhaps you could put in a word to her & Christle about their present which you never thanked them for personally. -

Louie is in C.[umberland] Lodge you know. Well, if she asks, should I not better say there is no room, or I don’t know whom you have invited, & that she must write to Ducky, & then she can answer how sorry you are there is no place, because I am sure it would not be good for her to come. - Poor Thora is mad about L.[ouie]’s behaviour towards Zwilling; - I wish she would go back to Aribert, those seperations [sic] I am sure are bad for her. - The amount of telegrams I got yesterday was appalling, just now one came from Aunt Minny from Abastouman. -

To-day a year ago poor Sahl came to us to Kranichstein. Did you write to him, I am so sorry I gave you unintentionally all that trouble. And what was his answer - please write it to me, I am so anxious to know, because he is so nice, poor boy. - Schneiderlein is there, I must fly to my water. - Many kisses. -”

- Alix to Ernest of Hesse, 7th June 1894

[holmesoverture]

The Telegraph Boy, Chapter 5

Chapter 1 Be Here Chapter 4 Be Here

Three-quarters of an hour after that nonsense with the watch, which transpired precisely as Holmes predicted it would, the train pulled into the Gravesend station.  I slept the entire journey, but I’m certain Holmes didn’t shut his eyes except perhaps occasionally to blink.  He never slept while on a case.  One particularly thorny problem took us nearly a full week to resolve and left Holmes jabbering about blue spiders in his pipe by the end.

From the station we took a cab to the Kendall Estate, an elegant rectangular building of grey stone with a small wing jutting from either side.  A wide gravel path brought us directly to a set of stairs and then to the front door, where a maid let us into a lavish entrance hall with a gilt staircase and gold-framed paintings upon every wall.  From here she directed us to the drawing room and curtsied as she left, promising to inform Lord Kendall of our presence without delay.

The drawing-room was just as worthy of being a part of that grand house as was the entrance hall before it, though the wallpaper was a shade of green so vivid as to make me glad we would not be staying long. The ornate glass above the fireplace reflected most of the room, including the windows of stained glass depicting key scenes from Homer’s Iliad, the gleaming upright piano, and the plentiful pot plants that would have lent the place a cosy atmosphere had they not been of that variety of fern for which I have already documented my dislike.  Holmes, to my relief, was far too engrossed in the examination of a book that had been left upon a side table to concern himself with trivial matters like harassing his keeper.

“Another clue?” I asked.

“On the contrary.”  He closed the volume and I was pleasantly surprised to find myself looking at the cover of the 1887 Beeton’s Christmas Annual in which had been published A Study in Scarlet, the first and at that time only one of my works available to the general public.

“At least someone appreciates my efforts,” said I.

“Temporarily setting aside the fact that we have no evidence to show whether Lord Kendall liked or disliked this particular story, I feel as though that remark was intended for me.”

“You said you could not congratulate me for publishing my book and that I had overshadowed your brilliant deductions with unnecessary romanticism.”

“And you took my criticism to mean that I did not appreciate your efforts?  You misunderstand me entirely, my dear fellow.”

“Do I now?”

“Of course.  I was most flattered by your creative endeavours.  I simply meant that your chronicle would be improved by removing the bits about the Mormons.”

“‘The bits about the Mormons,’ as you refer to it, happens to be the entire second half of my book.”

“Yes, that.”

“You hated half my book.”

“I would not say I hated it, merely that I think the paper used to print those bits would have been put to better use as gift wrapping.”

“That means the same thing!”

“There is a subtle difference—”

“There is nothing subtle about—”

The door opened, bringing an abrupt end to our literary debate and signalling the arrival of Lord Reuben Kendall.  He possessed a crop of copper curls and a conspicuous predilection for the colour orange, as well as a turned-up nose, sharp cheekbones, and exceedingly shiny shoes.

“You are fortunate to find me in residence,” he remarked once the customary introductions had been attended to.  “I am generally at my club at this hour.”

“Something has thrown you off your schedule?” Holmes asked, innocently.

“Oh nothing, nothing at all.  You simply chose a convenient day to visit.  That is all I meant.  And glad am I that you did so, for it gives me the opportunity to tell you how keenly I admire your work.  That is to say, both of your works.  You are both a credit to the empire!  In fact, I have your book here upon the table.  Could I perhaps trouble you for an inscription?”

I fulfilled his bashful request, though not without a conflicted conscience.  Our errand in Gravesend was not a happy one and might very well cause Lord Kendall such grief that I felt like I was providing an advance on a consolation prize.

“Now how may I be of service?” Lord Kendall asked when he finished his effervescences.

“Some facts will more than suffice,” Holmes replied. “For instance, have you by any chance heard of this morning’s unfortunate events at Shrewsbury House?”

“If they happened only this morning, I hardly see how I could be expected to receive news from there so quickly.”

“Perhaps you have had a visitor from the area and that is why you are not at your club.”

Lord Kendall gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles retained not a trace of colour.  “You present a most interesting theory, no less so for its incorrectness.  I have had no visitors today, from Mayfair or anywhere else.”

“Not even Lord Walmsley?”

“Especially not Lord Walmsley.  He took a train to Cheltenham this morning.  He wrote me yesterday of his intention to do so, and unless the misfortune to which you earlier alluded has prevented him from acting upon his plans, I imagine he is taking the waters as we are sitting here conversing.”

“Lord Kendall, I fear you may have misheard me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You asked how you could be of service and I replied that facts would suffice, but every statement you have uttered thus far has been a lie.  I cannot blame you for your deceit in itself, only for its poor execution.  Had my companion asked me to prevaricate on his behalf I should have done so without a moment’s hesitation.  But never mind.  Perhaps Lord Walmsley would like to speak for himself.  Pray come in, sir.  It is the height of impropriety to linger in doorways, so I’m told.”

Lord Walmsley was not a large man, though his proud bearing and rich dress gave him the appearance of one.  He was about thirty years of age and had a well-trimmed beard, two shades darker than the sand-brown hair atop his head, and the smooth pale complexion so common among men of leisure.  His eyes, the same soft grey as the sky before a snowfall, held an element which I could not measure, but Holmes evidently believed it to be perplexity and took the opportunity to elaborate upon his earlier statements.

“I heard someone much heavier than the maid descending the stair,” he said.  “You then briefly ventured too near the doorway of the drawing-room, allowing your shadow to pass through the gap between the door and the carpet.”

Lord Walmsley tucked his hands into his pockets. “It would seem I owe you an apology, Dr Watson,” he said.  “Reuben had me read your account of the Jefferson Hope affair and I dismissed it as fantastic hyperbole, a judgment I now realise was hasty and unfair to you both. Your Mr Holmes is in every way the master detective you described him as.”

My manners overcame my surprise long enough to insist I utter a thank you.  Lord Walmsley turned to our host.

“Reuben, would you be so kind as to give us some privacy?”

Lord Kendall’s gaze skittered from Holmes to Lord Walmsley, not unlike a mouse mistrustful of which wall will provide the safest refuge. It was with no great hurry that he finally left us.

“I will happily confess every detail of the events of last night,” Lord Walmsley said when we were alone.  “All I ask in return is that you not implicate Reuben Kendall in any way.  He was in no way party to my actions and is only dimly aware that some catastrophe has chased me here, though I have not yet divulged to him its true nature.”

“I have no interest in Lord Kendall.  He will face no harassment from either myself or Dr Watson.”

Lord Walmsley, thus assured, invited us to sit as he made a few false starts at commencing his narrative, overwhelmed by the length and the intricacy of it, before deciding upon the following.

-

Chapter 6 Be Here

-

Notes of Interest

Vivid green wallpaper – Victorian wallpaper, particularly varieties made with green dye, frequently contained dangerous levels of arsenic.  The hazards were well-known by 1888, but lawmakers did nothing and people thought it looked cool, so it was totally worth the risk of putting yourself in a coma in exchange for an awesome drawing room, right?

Pot plants – “Pot plants” is Brit speak for “potted plants.”  Seriously, stop giggling.

Could not congratulate me for publishing – Holmes’ rather rudely expressed opinion of A Study in Scarlet can be found in the first chapter of Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Sign of the Four.

Mormons – No spoilers, but the second half of A Study in Scarlet is really weird, man.

Cheltenham – A popular spa town in southwestern England.

[nusdante4518096-blog]

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[viewfromthedrumstool]

View From The Drum Stool #51

USA and Canada ‘18

The return of Saint Etienne to the great United States, a year on from our last transatlantic adventure. This time we’re touring to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the album Good Humor on a route that visits a few familiar spots and a few new ones including a trip up to Canada for shows in Montreal and Toronto.

A quiet pint on the eve of departure with friends at the Half Moon in Oxford however goes a couple Guinness deeper than it should of and I awaken the following morning in my digs on Abingdon Road with a sore head and a hazy memory of something awry. There’s a lingering hole in the hallway the size of a bike and I recall a journey home from the pub that shouldn’t have taken anywhere near as long ... alas my precious bicycle! In typical Oxford tradition it was thieved from the front of Sainsburys on The Plain, the only remnant as I emerged from the pub: the lock, discarded on the floor.

But America is calling so I’ll put my bicycle woes to the back of my mind for a few weeks and cab out to Saint Etienne HQ and then on to Heathrow. Manager Martin honours me with the Captains Hat, more a token position than anything that involves any responsibility and I endeavour to wear it until landfall in USA (perhaps Notes from the Captains Log might be a more suitable title for this account).

Despite my headwear I’m hastily turned away from Crew Check-In at the airport and have to join the back of the line with the civilians. At the end of this tour I’ll be staying on in L.A. for a few days which means that my flights are on a different booking to the rest of the gang, a detail that would soon prove unfortunate...

When we arrive at the gate my boarding pass is scanned and wouldyabelieve I’m ‘randomly selected’ for additional screening, testing, swabbing and checking. And with the contents of my case strewn across the table and security guard Ian elbow deep in my undies (I’m travelling on hand luggage only) the rest of our party swan by with screams of delight: for the entire party has been upgraded! With one exception: he on the separate booking.

Security man Ian, sympathetic to my plight but thorough in his work, having swabbed every last pair of pants eventually allows me on board where I find the rest of the gang lounging comfortably, champers in hand, in what Virgin now ominously refers to as ‘Upper Class’.

Meanwhile it’s the long walk back to coach for Captain Mike, still daubed in ironic hat, where I’m met by my seat-mate Betty, a seventy-something from Gravesend who informs me that her favourite way to pass a 7 1/2 hour flight is by chatting...

We’re barely over Ireland and already we’ve covered the full medical history of her five grandchildren, her favourite TV shows (Designated Survivor, Naked And Afraid, Emmerdale Farm), and played a fun game in which I had to guess her favourite blind singer from the sixties (it turns out to be Roy Orbison...).

When she briefly departs to the restroom I seize the opportunity to don headphones and explore the in-flight entertainment. Sarah nips back with a glass of champers and it’s a fine compliment to Alan Partridge’s Scissored Isle (if 17 year old me could see me flying to America with Saint Etienne while Sarah Cracknell brings me back bubbly I’d eat my hat).

Contrary to most I love flying and have long done so. Watching the world drift by from even coach class comfort at 35,000 feet is a pretty spectacular way to travel. And despite her compulsion to converse Betty, a non-drinker, has taken to slipping her white wine allowance sideways, softening the bumps and easing any turbulence woes.

The view from the plane seat brings back fond memories of the first time I flew to America back in 2010. I went out to LA on a whim and spent three memorable weeks at a friends place in LA before a couple more in New York City. Contrary to what the atlas might suggest the route from London to the west coast comes in over Canada and cuts down right across the American heartland - I couldn’t tear myself away from the window that October day and can still recall my first sight of the great US of A: circular crop fields, towns in grids and straight roads as far as the horizon. And then as we descended into LA I saw for the first time baseball diamonds, enormous highways and the palm trees! Palm trees everywhere - who knew it would be so exotic.

But we’re flying to Newark in New Jersey on this trip and eventually we come in over the east coast of Canada. It’s a more natural scene than the heartland of 2010 and from such great height you can I can see rivers and sandbanks, mountains, valleys and lakes. It’s humbling, inspiring and a vivid contrast to Betty’s mumblings in my right ear about Dot Cotton.

Thankfully, as if on cue Pep appears from afore with a glass of business class Baileys and we prepare for descent.

_________________________________________________________________________

There’s a favourite Mexican dish of mine called Huevos Rancheros and it’s my intention (in life as on this tour) to sample them where possible. The dish can vary greatly from State to State, restaurant to restaurant with the general consensus being that it should contain eggs - normally a couple fried - along with a few Mexican staples: pinto beans, sour cream, guacamole and a tortilla or two.

My first of the trip comes at Jimmy’s Diner in Brooklyn. It’s a trendy little spot full of fashionable ephemera, craft-brewed refreshments and hipster folk with hipster tattoos of the outline of their home state. But their Huevos Rancheros is a welcome opener to the tour with a home cooked vibe and a sensible portion size. I look forward to many more.

Our first show is at the Bowery Ballroom in Manhattan. Not only did we play there around this time last year but we stayed in the same hotel so it’s a deja vu of sorts. We’re playing the Good Humor album in it’s entirety on this run followed by a short interval and then a second set of hits, crowd pleasers and fan favourites.

Tonight is the first time we’d be attempting the Good Humour portion of the set but despite our collective apprehension the response is rapturous and there’s a great vibe on stage. At the interval we return to the backstage and celebrate like the team that won the trophy.

Other than a minor post-show incident involving my headphones and an ill-placed pot of garlic mayonnaise dip, it’s a solid start to the tour! Next stop is Warsaw in Brooklyn.

For now,

Mike

[skyebanks83]

Pamela Butcher heads to Las Vegas to defent world champion table tennis title

An 88-year-old woman has booked her flight to Las Vegas - to defend her world champion table tennis title. from KentOnline News http://www.kentonline.co.uk/gravesend/news/world-domination-beckons-for-pam-160962/

[yuminov]

Wedding Casino in Gravesend

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