#Oliver Messel

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George Hoyningen-Huene. Oliver Messel, 1929

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Merle Oberon as Marguerite Blakeney in The Scarlet Pimpernel (1934)

Costume design by John Armstrong and Oliver Messel

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Olga “Oggie” Lynn (1882-1961), born Lowenthal, was a singer and singing teacher, who, despite being somewhat older than most of the Bright Young Things, was a staple of their circle. She was “short,” “dumpy,” and “jolly,” and would often host tableuax vivants for charity or sing at parties with “a rather sweet, pure little voice” when she wasn't giving lessons. She “was inclined to get into situations with which she could not cope and was always being helped by her friends,” chief among them Oliver Messel.

For a time, she lived together with Gladys Cooper, Lady Idina Sackville, and Tallulah Bankhead. According to Chips Channon, she and Tallulah Bankhead were “the queens of London's wickedest world — la haute lesbie [coterie of smart lesbians].” Her girlfriend, Maud “the Admiral” Nelson (1904-1969), though “unable to type,” was secretary first to Napier, Lord Alington, and then Cecil Beaton. It is undoubtedly Maud Nelson to whom Anthony Powell refers when he describes the mixed make-up of the parties of the age:

At one end of the scale there'd be quite smart people, Diana Cooperish sort of figures and so on. At the other there'd always be a lot of these girls who were sort of living on the margin — you know, they'd do a little modeling; at the same time they were not quite tarts but they were being half kept. And then it would tail off into the queer, almost criminal world — lesbians dressed as admirals, that sort of thing. (emphasis mine, qtd. in Taylor, Bright Young People)

As a Christmas present, in 1933, Baba and Cecil Beaton gifted Olga Lynn a scrapbook filled with signed photographs of their friends, giving us a glimpse of her social circle. It included Lady Idina Sackville; Violet, Duchess of Rutland; Gertrude Lawrence; Lady Diana Cooper; Napier, Lord Alington; Sir Michael Duff; Audrey Pleydell-Bouverie; and Viola Tree.

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Marguerite Blakeney (Merle Oberon) Portrait dress.. The Scarlet Pimpernel (1934).. Costume by Oliver Messel.

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Oliver Messel - Portrait of Adrianne Allen

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Society photographer Cecil Beaton with the wealthy art collector and benefactor Peter Watson and Peter’s lover the stage designer Oliver Messel.

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Apollonia van Ravenstein photographed at Oliver Messel’s house in Barbados wearing Saint Laurent Rive Gauche. British Vogue, July 1973.

Photographer: Norman Parkinson

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Oliver Messel and Unidentified Male

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Oliver Messel, Headdress and wig designed for Vivien Leigh in Caesar and Cleopatra, 1945 (Victoria & Albert Museum, London)

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Vivien Leigh as Titania in A Midsummer Night's Dream, The Old Vic, 1937 (directed by Tyrone Guthrie, with sets and costumes by Oliver Messel).

Shakespeare's play was presented as an affectionate Victorian pastiche, and included large choruses of muslin-clad fairies flying in on wires. Mendelssohn's famous incidental music was much in evidence, with choreography by Ninette de Valois. Vivien Leigh's Oberon was played by Robert Helpmann, Ralph Richardson played Bottom, and Gordon Miller, Puck.

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Fenwick Cutting -Oliver Messel with one of his theatre masks, c. 1926 

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Three female models, including Barbara Goalen in centre, wear evening gowns entitled 'Gold Acorn', 'Jewels' and 'Twigs', made with silk fabric by Oliver Messel, at Sekers Fabrics in Bruton Street, London in February 1953.

Three female models, including from left, Pamela Crampton, Barbara Goalen and Sally Ann Vivian wear two evening gowns in silk by John Cavanagh and a third, on right, by Worth, in which the top of the gown is turned over to show the reverse side of the fabric, at Sekers Fabrics in Bruton Street, London in February 1953.

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Oliver Messel, Boy in a Red Shirt, c. 1962.

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The King’s cousin David Linley on his new career

The Times article by Lisa Grainger | Published 25 January 2023

The Earl of Snowdon talks to Lisa Grainger about his book on English crafts, and mentoring future creators at his furniture-making college at Highgrove

There aren’t many people who’ll admit that crafts can reduce them to tears. The Earl of Snowdon is one of them. At one event, he recalls, musicians including Jeff Beck, Mike Rutherford and the Clash were invited to meet and interact with “incredible luthiers, who make violins and guitars and cellos”. It was “just magical”, he says. “It really did bring a tear to the eye . . .”

Since David Linley, King Charles III’s cousin, became the first royal to follow a vocation — producing handmade furniture — and set up an eponymous business, he has been one of Britain’s most vocal champions of crafts. Which is why he wrote a book, Craft Britain: Why Making Matters, co-authored by Helen Chislett, to bring attention to extraordinary craftspeople around the country.

The glossy tome, with an erudite introduction by the design writer Stephen Bayley, is not only a directory of all the key crafts organisations from Cornwall to the Hebrides but a compendium of some of our nation’s most remarkable makers. It takes in embroiderers based in Hampton Court Palace and chair craftsmen from Orkney, leather sculptors and cobblers, marquetry specialists and even a whip-maker.

Sadly, Chislett says, some crafts were left out of the book because the skills have died out. For instance, England no longer has a cricket ball manufacturer even though the game was invented here, “and we probably won’t make bats for much longer”. Hand-stitched kilt-making is on the Heritage Crafts Association Red List of Endangered Crafts, as is neon sign-making; even bell-making is on its way out, with churchgoing declining.

On the other hand, there are crafts that are growing. Ceramic-makers, for instance, have sprung up in the southwest of the country. In Newcastle metalworkers whose families previously might have made ships are constructing metal furniture. Chislett adds that crafts fairs are becoming increasingly popular, particularly with the younger generation. “They’re a lot more into sustainability . . . and you are less likely to throw something away if you know who made it.”

There’s a growing appreciation of bespoke objects at the very high end of the market, Linley says. At his furniture company (from which he resigned in November) clients loved coming in to commission bespoke pieces with little quirks: a secret drawer with a martini shaker in it, or an inkwell filled with a specific colour of ink. “You can fantasise about what you like and get someone to bring it to life,” he says.

His own London home — “a little flat, which I am very lucky to have” — is filled with handcrafted items that have meaning: a pair of candlesticks that belonged to his theatre-designer uncle Oliver Messel; cushions embroidered by British seamstresses; tables turned by fellow carpenters; a pair of bespoke British shoes made “in precisely the colour and style and shape I like”. Each of them feels special, because “there is something rather lovely about a piece that’s come from the hand of a human”, he says. “It resonates with the human spirit.”

The next part of Linley’s professional journey, he says, will be nurturing others who want to work with their hands. At Street Farm at Highgrove, the Gloucestershire home of the King, an old barn has been converted into the Snowdon School of Furniture, where Linley is going to help to mentor the next generation of furniture-makers. “I am 61 now,” he says, “and it’s time to step back and allow the young people at Linley do things how they want. I have worked all my life creating a brand. And I can now do things for the Prince’s Foundation that are enjoyable and freeing.”

Having made furniture for almost 40 years, Linley says he’s relishing the fact that crafts are becoming more mainstream. “Today you’ll hear Tracey Emin talk about craft, and even sportsmen. This morning on Radio 4 a commentator was talking about a footballer as a craftsman and comparing him to Picasso. That might have been a comparison too far — but there is now far more recognition of the skills needed to do something well. And that can only be a good thing.”

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Leslie Howard and Norma Shearer in Romeo and Juliet (George Cukor, 1936)

Cast: Norma Shearer, Leslie Howard, John Barrymore, Edna May Oliver, Basil Rathbone, C. Aubrey Smith, Andy Devine, Conway Tearle, Ralph Forbes, Henry Kolker. Screenplay: Talbot Jennings, based on a play by William Shakespeare. Cinematography: William H. Daniels. Art direction: Cedric Gibbons, Frederic Hope, Oliver Messel, Edwin B. Willis. Film editing: Margaret Booth. Music: Herbert Stothart.

If Shakespeare's Juliet could be played, as it was in its first performances, by a boy, then why shouldn't she be played by 34-year-old Norma Shearer? Truth be told, I don't find Shearer's performance that bad: She lightens her voice effectively and her girlish manner never gets too coy. It also helps that William H. Daniels photographs her through filters that soften the signs of aging: She looks maybe five years younger than her actual age, if not the 20 years younger that the play's Juliet is supposed to be. I'm more bothered by the balding 43-year-old Leslie Howard as her Romeo, though he had the theatrical training that makes the verse sound convincing in his delivery. And then there's the 54-year-old John Barrymore as Mercutio, who could be Romeo's fey uncle but not his contemporary. In fact, Barrymore's over-the-top performance almost makes this version of the play a must-see -- we miss him more than we do most Mercutios after his death. Edna May Oliver's turn as Juliet's Nurse is enjoyable, if a bit of a surprise: She usually played eccentric spinsters like Aunt Betsy Trotwood in David Copperfield (George Cukor, 1935) or sour dowagers like Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Pride and Prejudice (Robert Z. Leonard, 1940). In the play, the Nurse rarely speaks without risqué double-entendres, but most of them have been cut in Talbot Jennings's adaptation, thus avoiding the ridiculous spectacle of Shakespeare being subjected to the Production Code censors. (Somehow the studio managed to slip in Mercutio's line, "the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.") Some of the other pleasures of the film are camp ones, such as Agnes deMille's choreography for the ball, along with the costume designs by Oliver Messel and Adrian, which evoke early 20th-century illustrators like Walter Crane or Maxfield Parrish. No, this Romeo and Juliet won't do, except as a representation of how Shakespeare's play was seen at a particular time and place: a Hollywood film studio in the heyday of the star system. In that respect, it's invaluable.