More from Your Latter-Day Victorian

Hello again, Viewers!

Strengthened by my smelling salts and a little rest on my chaiselongue, I now feel much better. Let us proceed with our investigations of the Victorian psyche...

Schedules & Timetables
The Victorians were sticklers for punctuality and the inventors of extensive, detailed schedules and timetables. Theirs was the notion of a butler banging the gong when it was time to dress for dinner. (I always wonder how much time the butler would allow for dressing…?) One of the most sacred duties of the master of the house was the daily, ritual winding of the clocks by which the entire household was run.

This Victorian mantel clock is truly a temple to time!
(Image from laurelbankantiques.co.uk)

Punctuality became a moral and almost religious virtue, which fed well into that other specialty “Designated Tools & Spaces” that we touched on previously – there now also had to be a program of suitably designated time slots for every activity, which must be rigorously adhered to. Indeed, household manuals admonished their readers to produce elaborate and detailed schedules for housekeeping, wherein the desired time frame and frequency of each task was carefully delineated. 

Timekeeping seems sometimes to have been performed almost for its own sake - time was seen as highly valuable, and wasting it was considered every bit as bad as wasting money. Of course, some of this fascination with timekeeping had to do with the explosive development during this era of train travel, which necessitated proper time tables, but it spilled over into many other spheres of life as well. Ms. Flanders shows us a world as rigidly scheduled as a NASA launch. 

Does it come as a surprise to anyone that my childhood fantasy games often revolved around lists and schedules? I remember vividly sitting there as a ten year-old with my notebook and pencil, outlining some new scheme in painstaking detail, with much pondering over the proper timetables for the imaginary participants in my mental scenarios. Many of my daydreams still do – sometimes I have to stop the whole thing, because of all the fanatic schedules that keep cropping up in what ought to be pleasant fantasies.

And if you want to really make me crazy - just don't show up on time! Incidentally, one of the many fine characteristics that distinguished the dear Prince Consort from other, lesser suitors, was his punctuality. This counted heavily in his favor, and remains a reliable source of satisfaction for his Queen...

Modesty

Like our dear Queen Victoria I am “not amused” by vulgarity, but let us set something straight here: We make fun of how the Victorians used to put little skirts on their piano legs, but don’t most of us use bed skirts? I rest my case.

Bagpipes & Scots in Kilts

(Image from alivenetwork.com)

The Monarch had an inexplicable fondness for bagpipes that I have shared for as long as I can remember. She made them part of her daily routine, with a bagpiper parading about the premises as a reveille every morning, rain or shine. 

The mournful, yet dramatic tones of this pre-medieval instrument have always captivated me in a way that entirely defies logic. 'Tis the Victorian blood in me, Ah tells ye!

Regarding the Scots in their kilts, let us not descend into vulgarity (see above!), only briefly establish that they do present a charming, yet manly, picture. 

Her Majesty with her Highlander
(Image from educationscotland.gov.uk)

(Once upon a time, I have been told, before the kilt was the constructed garment it is today, and part of it covered the upper body as a cloak as well, it used to be that men would spread out their kilts - a good eight or nine yards of wool fabric - directly on the ground, then lay down and roll themselves into it. I find the mental image absolutely irresistible!) 

In this context I cannot warmly enough recommend the touching, truth-based drama “Her Majesty, Mrs. Brown” with the wonderful Dame Judi Dench, wherein the widowed Queen develops a tender friendship with her Highland servant John Brown - who is looking awfully good in his tartan and sporran...

Privacy
As I have mentioned before, My Home Is My Castle. This devise, which turns the home-dweller into the ruler of his personal kingdom, or - in my case - her queendom, was not invented by the Victorians, but they were the ones who brought it to the forefront of the national psyche. Yes, like myself, the Victorians were obsessed with privacy. The concept of the Designated Spaces that I touched on in a previous post, was very much concerned with correct space allotment, not for the sake of functionality, but for the sake of preserving privacy and guarding the eye from unseemly views. 

Personally, I have always had a horror of the "open layout" or the "loft style" apartment. Breaking down walls, opening up doorways, combining functions in favor of having to eat your dinner in full view of the kitchen sink - all these seem to me utterly absurd and offensive. Give me a door that closes well!

Perhaps it is a universal trait of children to enjoy the privacy of a secret little hide-out - but I have retained this fondness well into the mature years. My current dream is to have a very private and very secret garden shed to hide in, a play house of my own! The shed might look like this one, perhaps:

Why does this not belong to me? Whomever it does belong to is to be warmly congratulated!
(Image from gardenidea.me)

I could be perfectly happy in this one too...
(Image from indulgy.com)

Additionally, we Victorians must obviously also take great care to have our tea every afternoon, and to sit up straight at all times. Do not let anybody trick you into believing that it is easy, in today's world, to have a Victorian mindset. 

But it can be kind of fun... So, if you are in the mood to remain further immersed in this delightful theme, it is my great pleasure to refer you to the charming film “The Young Victoria” with Ms. Emily Blunt.

Regards from your Victorian Rosebud!

A Latter-Day Victorian

Those of you who came on the tour of my Victorian drawing room will not be too surprised when I tell you that I often feel like a not-so-modern version of Queen Victoria. I don’t mean in a creepy, National Enquirer “My Previous Life as an Empress” sort of way; only that I have found that I share certain values and ways of thinking with this estimable lady, her contemporaries, and her zeitgeist.

(Image from blogs.scientificamerican.com)

“Inside the Victorian Home” (written by Ms. Judith Flanders), is the title of a deeply engrossing and eminently readable book that I have perused several times in my quest for historical verification of my lifestyle. Ms. Flanders expounds in great detail on the many issues of the Victorian era, and it seems that the Victorians developed certain peculiar obsessions that – to my delighted surprise – I find that I have shared since childhood. Let us explore some of these fixations.

The Complete Set

One of these peculiarities I even remember learning about as time-specific in my earlier days as an art historian. It was during this era that the production of household goods, such as linens, silver and fine china took off in scope and volume in a way never seen before or after. Never previously had a dinner table been set with such elaborate profusion of vessels and utensils, and never before had such a deeply felt need of uniformity and perfection been experienced. Hence, the 248-piece, or the 562-piece dinner service in one single, compulsive, cohesive pattern was born. Yes, of course there had been dinner services before, but never with the same obsessive need to have a “complete set", with endless bone plates, consommé bowls and salt cellars, where everything had to match, from beginning to grand final. The same principle was soon applied to other areas of domestic life and interior decoration as well, with complete sets of everything from furniture to toiletries. This gave rise to the whole concept that we in the decorating business like to refer to as “matching stuff”.

Even as a small child, I used to be incapable of picking just one acorn, say, and take it home and be satisfied – no, no, it had to be a “complete set” of acorns, whatever that may have been, the “completeness” being some arbitrary number that would present itself in my young brain: maybe six or ten acorns would be satisfyingly complete. Slightly weird, but I can see the pattern now… As an adult, I have retained a fondness for matching sets of stuff, seldom capable of buying just one pretty plate or glass – because it just feels so much better, somehow, to buy a minimum of eight. (When it comes to shoes in particular, I’m terrible – I can never be happy with just one single shoe, however pretty; I always, obsessively, buy two!)

It may therefore come as a shock to us all that I have wholeheartedly embraced the current fad for “mismatched” table settings – because it feeds into the collector’s mindset of basically buying a bit of EVERYTHING and enjoying it all AT ONCE – but there are times when I do a mental double-take, and have to gently talk myself down from the peaks of anxiety that sometimes interfere with this relaxed outlook. 

Incorrect application of the "mismatched" concept - one that would, rightly, give the Monarch the hiccups!

But be warned – it isn’t as relaxed as “they” would have you believe! The whole “mismatched” business is an art in itself: you still can’t have eleven matching wine glasses with just the twelfth one breaking the trend – you have to have a balance in this system as well, with six or four of each kind, or twelve different ones altogether, or some other mathematical formula that will produce a charmingly “spontaneous” look… Am I getting out of control here? Aaargh! Give me a Complete Set!!!

Correct interpretation of the concept - two pairs and four singles - a delight to behold!

Designated Tools & Spaces

The Bowl Quiz

In the Victorian universe each space, each tool, each object has its own, specific use and may not – positively CANNOT – be interchanged, confused, or otherwise mixed up with another purpose. And no, I don’t have an Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, I really don’t. I’m just charmingly archaic. And it disturbs me on a very deep level when I sometimes see a person – such as a certain Significant Other – eating his cereal from (oh, no!) a mixing bowl, when it ought to be so crystal clear to every discerning mind that mixing bowls and cereal bowls – or even soup bowls, for that matter – differ vastly from each other. How? They just do.

So, here is a quiz for you: Which two of these bowls may be used for correctly eating cereal - whether hot or cold? If you answered anything other than the two bowls on the middle level, you are as sadly mistaken as that SO I just mentioned.

On the top shelf we find a serving bowl (left) and a pasta bowl (right); on the counter top, from left to right: a soup bowl, a mixing bowl, and another serving bowl. See - that wasn't so difficult, was it? (And before you call the Husband-Protective Services I want to inform you that, with my usual tact, I do not interfere with my husband's life choices; I merely shudder, imperceptibly.)

No, if I do have an obsession it would be with containers. Round tins, square tins, oblong tins, drawstring pouches, zippered pouches, stationery boxes, pillboxes, hat boxes and just plain boxes, cases, jars, bags, purses, caddies, folders and envelopes. I buy them, I collect them – and I never have the one size or shape I need! 

A small part of my obsession

A particular favorite - from Blue Q

When I prepare to travel, I can buzz about my packing for surprisingly long stretches of time looking for just the tin, the pouch, or the perfectly sized box that will serve as the ultimate protective case for whatever item it is I want to bring on my journey. Traveling light? Not Queen Victoria – not me. 

And a couple of close-ups...

... and let's not forget the hat boxes on top of the Pink Cabinet...

I do not (yet), as Queen Elizabeth II does, travel with my own white leather toilet seat, but I have given it some thought… But every other tasteful accoutrement that could possibly become useful in some remote emergency scenario, and that is not positively nailed down – I’m packing it! Just ask the dear Prince Albert - he can tell you! “Poor man” you are thinking now, “all that heavy lifting.” Not so. He explained to me at an early stage of our marriage that his – rather impressive – muscles were purely cosmetic. They are no use at all. I do my own heavy lifting.

 

Queen Victoria with dear Prince Albert and some of the royal offspring in 1846. 
Painting by Franz Xaver Wintherhalter 1805-1873.
(Image from fineartsamerica.com)

Oh yes, dear Queen Elizabeth II – so modern, so sporty and casual; practically a hoyden by our standards – I am just now reading “Dressing the Queen: The Jubilee Wardrobe” by Ms. Angela Kelly, about the royal wardrobe (blessedly free of any malfunctions), and funnily enough, fascinated though I am by fashion and style (in which area Ms. Kelly, the royal designer and curator, sadly seems to be somewhat lacking), I find myself even more inexorably drawn to the comments dealing with the arcane details of court procedure, all the while deploring the descent into modernity that has become so rampant even in this elevated place.

In fact, I am so agitated by this that I must go and look for my smelling salts now, and I may have to conclude this discourse when I feel stronger... 

Regards from your Victorian Rosebud!

Bring Out the Pretty Cups!

The other day I went to visit a dear old (or rather, long-term) friend. She is retired and has some time on her hands. Together, we lamented the fact that nobody in our part of the world ever gets together anymore, just for a simple coffee morning or anything at all, really, unless it is a properly scheduled family event. It has to be said that "our part of the world" is populated by very busy women in the sandwich generation, with large families and endless commitments. Most of them are working outside the home - as am I. Nobody has time to just relax quietly for an hour with a friend or two. "It's such a shame," we said to each other. 

That simple, unpretentious weekday socializing of a woman dropping by her friends in the neighborhood for a coffee or a lemonade, and a heart-to-heart or just some regular gabbing, seems to have all but vanished. Because it did exist once, didn't it? (Said in a trembling voice.) Maybe it still exists in smaller towns, where life goes at a humane - human - pace? I used to have it once, I think, and I miss it! Nostalgia! Must make more lemonade! I want my Rosebud... no, sorry, I'm rambling.

Then we went on to establish how it really doesn't take that much to get a little extra pleasure out of life. She reminded me of that time we had been sitting on her porch with our morning tea in the pretty cups, instead of the ordinary mugs. Ten years later, the image is still cherished in her memory! It has been said before, by many others, but that doesn't make it any less true originating from my keyboard: We must use the pretty cups more often!

Perhaps the pretty cups shouldn't be used every day, because I do believe in saving certain things for "special occasions" for otherwise, how could any occasion be marked as special? Then every day would again be the same, which is ultimately no good. We all know that unlimited ice cream every single day will erode the magic for even the most fanatic Häagen-Dasz devotee. Nevertheless, we should make more weekday moments count, and maybe we should make more occasions special too. Life is too short and too precious to be wasted on ordinary mugs.

My collection of Pretty Cups -
getting ready for the good times!

And here we are really touching on one of the main themes of this blog – the gilding of the everyday. Those little pretty moments that remain in our memories. The beauty in the midst of the mundane. 

Of course, one might argue that pretty cups – or any other equivalent in the material world – are largely irrelevant; that life is about higher, spiritual values. To that I would respond that it is not a question of either/or; we should aim to elevate our lives both in the spiritual and the material realms, and that if a bit of material beauty can bring some fleeting joy to your life – then it is worthwhile. And in the case of my friend above, that little spot of joy wasn’t fleeting at all! Perhaps I should stress, though, that I am speaking of beauty here – however that may look in the beholder’s eye – not of material accumulation for the sake of keeping up with the Joneses.

In fact, I’m not endorsing materialism at all – this is about the soul. Working with people, as I do, I frequently see how a little beauty can affect the spirit. One instance that will always stand out in my memory is the day I came to work dressed all in black, but with one big, blowsy, hot pink silk rose pinned to my scarf. An elderly client twinkled at me and said: “You will get your reward in Heaven for that rose – because it makes us smile!”

Therefore, let us guard and cherish the little things we can do to bring more color to an average Wednesday. Take the time to relax with a friend – if just for a half hour. Make your own lemonade from live lemons. Pin a rose to your scarf. Don’t routinely reach for the ordinary mugs – but let the pretty cups come out to play!

Regards from Rosebud!