VICTORIAN WOMEN'S MAGAZINES

During Queen Victoria's reign there was a flourishing market for women's magazines. The public's imagination was caught by the lavishly illustrated periodicals that offered a contant supply of thrilling serialised fiction, alongside features on fashion and home-making, and the latest sheet music to be played on the parlour piano or harp.

 In 1852, Samuel and Isabella Beeton achieved great success with Beeton's Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine. Isabella provided recipes and articles on household management, but the magazine offered much more than that. Apart from the usual fashion and  fiction there were biographical features, instruction on gardening and medicine, and a regular letters page. The magazine was initally priced at 2d, and by 1856 it boasted an advertising circulation of 50,000 copies.

Such inspired commercial success was followed in 1861 when the Beetons produced the society paper, The Queen - which continued to run until 1970.

The first edition cost 6d, and contained a specially commissioned photograph of Queen Victoria. The paper specialised in the latest Paris fashions, providing paper patterns and directions for elaborate needlework. And, although it may not have gone as far as publications such as The Female's Friend  (a short-lived magazine with the worthy aim of campaigning against prostitutes), it did not shy away from intelligent debate on politics and the place of women in society.

The English Woman's Journal (1858-1864) was another paper that sought to educate its reader on politics, both at home and abroad. And, from 1892-1900, Shafts was a particularly radical magazine with articles on birth control by Marie Stopes, and reports that ranged from sporting achievements to news of the latest activities of the Independent Labour Party.

BRAM STOKER AND VARNEY THE VAMPIRE

The Vampire by  Philip Burne Jones

About three years ago, the VV was sitting in a traffic jam, on her way to watch an Arsenal game, when she started to tell her companion about an idea for a novel - based on modern day vampires and set in the decidely spooky Tower Hamlets Cemetery. He laughed. "Don't you think that's been done to death?"

Ah well...it probably wouldn't have been any good...and arise, Stephanie Myers, and the current frenzy surrounding the release of the film, 'New Moon' - a global phenomenon, the like of which we have not seen since Anne Rice's wonderful 'Vampire Chronicles '- and  - Bram Stoker's 'Dracula' and - well, what did come before that?

Vlad the Impaler

The vampire myth of the 'upir' originated in medieval eastern Europe, personified in real characters such as Vlad the Impaler, and Countess Elizabeth Bathory, a mass murderer who bathed in her victims' blood. In 1484, the Witch hunter's bible, the 'Malleus Maleficarium' described how to hunt and kill the vampire scourge and, as the centuries drew on there were frequent waves of hysteria, with corpses being dug up, staked through the heart and decapitated.

The cover of the Penny Dreadful, Varney the Vampire

The stories began to take root in Western Europe; an increasingly popular theme in poetry, plays and opera. And, in 1847 - the year in which Bram Stoker was born - Varney the Vampire emerged. Sir Francis Varney's supernatural exploits were serialised in the Penny Dreadfuls, otherwise known as the Penny Bloods - what we would now describe as comics. The 'Feast of Blood' in which Varney starred ran for 2 years, over 220 episodes, finally ending when Sir Francis put an end to the torment, hurling himself into the bubbling cauldron of Mount Vesuvius. Wow! You can read the stories here.

Sir Francis Varney terrorises a victim

Bram Stoker must have been aware of Varney. I was amused recently when reading Philip Pullman's novel 'The Ruby in the Smoke' in which a young character called Jim, who devours all the Penny Dreadfuls, naively confides his own idea for a vampire plot to Bram when they chance to meet.

In reality, Stoker - who came late to writing, having had a long career managing The Lyceum theatre in London - published Dracula in 1897. The novel is written in the form of journals and letters and its original title was 'The Un-Dead'.

Stoker was inspired after visiting St Michan's church in Dublin where the vaults have an atmosphere that encourages mummification, and there the 650 year-old body of a Crusader remains almost intact. At the time of writing Dracula, Stoker must have been aware of his own physical decay, and the fact that he was suffering from syphillis - though his eventual death was publicly cited as being caused by 'exhaustion'. In the Victorian era, syphillis was a horrible and incurable disease, and perhaps that is why his novel is so oppressive and moving in its descriptions of sex and death, and the vile corruption of the blood.

Bram Stoker (1847-1912)

SO, WHO DID INVENT THE TELEPHONE?

From time to time, the VV will explore some inventions born of the Victorian age, many of which we now take for granted, never imagining how they might have come about.

Alexander Graham Bell  (1847-1922) with his prototype telephone

Let's start with the telephone - and the common misconception that it was invented by Alexander Graham Bell. It is true that Bell, a teacher of the deaf-mute who worked alongside Helen Keller, was experimenting with forms of electro-audio stimulation. It is also true that he filed a patent for a machine that could transmit sound via undulating currents through vibrating steel rods. A lucrative deal was soon struck with the Western Union Telegraph company who linked his device to existing telegraph wires - causing a sensation when the usual Morse code system of dashes and dots was expanded into a harmonic blend of 'notes' through which Bell's voice could be heard reading and singing from miles away. 

And that, historically, was that...except that it wasn't because, once upon a time, there was an Italian by the name of Antonio Meucci who happened to live in America, and who happened to share a laboratory with Alexander Graham Bell.

Meucci studied mechanical engineering at the Academy of Fine Arts in Florence. While in Cuba in the 1830's, he worked on a means of transmitting electricity through copper wires to treat sufferers of rheumatism and discovered that, even when in the next room, he could hear what the patients were saying. Later, when living in Washington, Meucci's wife  became bedridden and he employed the same technique to communicate with her from his workroom.

In 1860, Meucci demonstrated his 'Talking Telegraph' in New York. However, he was unable to secure any financial backing, and was too poor to afford the $250 needed to patent his 'teletrofono'. Ironcially, he sent details to The Western Union company who claimed the material had been lost - only then to sign a deal with Bell when he patented his own machine in 1876.

Meucci was outraged and began proceedings to sue Bell for fraud, but the legal case was abandoned when the Italian died before the case could be heard. Nevertheless, he has not been entirely forgotten and, in 2003, an Italian postage stamp was issued to officially recognise Meucci for his contribution to the science of telecommunication.

PICTURES OF THE DEAD

The VV will not dwell on this subject, but it should be noted that one significant application of photography in the Victorian era was to create a permanent record of the deceased.

Some pictures showed the dead as if they were still alive, clothed in their Sunday best, even arranged in a 'living' pose side by side with parents or other siblings. The concept may appear bizarre - not to say horrific - today. But, for many poorer families, this would have been the single occasion on which they could justify the expense of a professional photographer. And, although we now take it for granted that family snapshots record the lives of our loved ones over the years, that single post-mortem image may have been the only visible record of a once cherished life.

I have only posted one image. Most were too distressing. Here, the living children beside their dead sibling look so brave and resigned. They are blurred, almost 'ghostly', and that is because of the the lengthy period needed for the photograph to be exposed, during which time they would have moved -whereas their dead sister would not. 

THE VICTORIAN ART OF PHOTOGRAPHY

Considered to be a fine work of art in its own right, this reproduction of Una and the Wood Nymphs by W E Frost, by the 'artists' Caldesi and Montecchi, was one of 1009 photographic images displayed at the V&A (then known as the Kensington Museum) in 1858. Such a method of reproduction was softer and truer than that achieved by engraving and proved a great commercial success.

But, some photographers preferred to go one step further, using life models to construct their own scenes from literature or history. This is Don Quixote in his Study (albumen print) by William Lake Price. He does look rather  mad!

The Victorians also used photography as a means of recording the industrialisation of the era and  Robert Howlett documented the construction of the SS Great Eastern (also known as The Leviathon) which was, at the time, the largest steam ship in the world.That symbol of the Empire's greatness was doomed to commercial failure, the ship being scrapped in 1888. But, regardless of that, I think this print really conveys the scale of ambition, invention and design - and dwarfed below the ship itself is that other 'giant' of the times, the top-hatted engineer and architect, Isambard Kingdom Brunel.

  

Photography was often used as a record of travel. This is The Rameseum of El-Kurneh, Thebes by Francis Frith. I think it is an amazing picture  with fine detail of shadow, texture and light afforded by the use of wet collodian negatives. This scene surely captures everthing that entranced the Victorian public regarding the myth, romance and fallen grandeur of the Near East.

MR LINLEY SAMBOURNE'S PHOTOGRAPHIC PASSIONS

Edward Linley Sambourne began his working life as an apprentice draughtsman in a marine engineering works in Greenwich. His artistic career blossomed when his cartoons came to the attention of the editor of the satirical magazine, Punch. The cover shown above is a fine example of his style.

But, Edward's talents did not end there. He developed a passion for photography - a growing art form in the second half of the nineteenth century. Very soon, one of his attic rooms had been converted into a studio. A bathroom became his dark room, the walls entirely covered with examples of his work.

The enthusiastic Mr Linley Sambourne was not averse to using members of his family and household staff as models and, in an archive of over 30,000 images, you can see his coachman dressed up at the Emperor Nero, plucking a firescreen lyre - a pose that was later replicated as the basis of a political cartoon...

When commissioned to illustrate a version of Charles Kingsley's The Water Babies, while Edward's daughter, Maude, posed for the character of Ellie, his son, Roy, was used to depict the little chimney sweep, Tom. Even Marion, Edward's wife, was persuaded to model now and then, though she was said to be far more concerned with the running of her house than to play out such frivolous fancies...

And, I can't help but wonder what Marion would make of those times when she and the children departed for holidays at the seaside, when Edward was far 'too busy with work' to leave London, instead using his freedom in the house to bring in professional models who were happy to pose in the nude. On the whole, he was careful to use non-descript backdrops, hiding the identity of his willing accomplices - many lured from the Kensington Camera Club. But, in one somewhat provocative pose - which I am unable to show on this page - a girl is clearly seen to be seen sitting in Marion's own armchair, her face masked and, somewhat ironically, holding a puppet of Mr Punch. I'm not sure if Marion ever saw that snap, but she was certainly aware of developments in her husband's hobby - often referring to 'Lil's secrets' in her diaries.

Edward Linley Sambourne (looking a little bit guilty and glum!) 1844-1910

WELCOME TO LINLEY SAMBOURNE'S VIRTUAL VICTORIAN HOUSE

Should you ever wish to enter a virtual Victorian home, then you need go no further than Number 18, Stafford Terrace, London, W8. The original owner, Mr Edward Linley Sambourne was the eccentric and rather racy Punch cartoonist and photographer who married Marion, the daughter of a wealthy stockbroker. In 1874, with her father's help, they paid £2,000 to secure an eighty-nine year lease on a house in the classical Italianite style. And, there they remained for 36 years, living in a dark, cluttered opulance made up of Chinese ceramics, Turkey rugs, ornate brass beds, Morris wallpapers and stained glass windows - not to mention all the letters, diaries and bills that provide a fascinating insight into the day-to-day running of such a house.

Subsequent generations hardly lived in the house at all, using it for entertaining actresses, a pied a terre and party venue. And, at one such party on Guy Fawks night in 1957, Linley's granddaughter Anne was to propose founding the Victorian Society to preserve the house as a 'living museum'.

Walk in through the front door and enter this hallway to take a virtual online tour.

If you decide to visit in person, you can make the choice between a conventional viewing or one where costumed guides dress up as members of the family and staff.  You can even attend one of the 'Twilight' Encounter' evenings where scandals and eccentric 'goings ons' will be performed around the dinner table for your delight and delectation.

All details are to be found here. See base of page for 'Visiting'.

CHAMPAGNE CHARLIE AND THE GREAT VANCE

Jo Sanders was born in Newcastle in 1842. He began his working life as a labourer. But, with such good looks and a fine baritone voice, Jo travelled to London and transformed himself into George Leybourne -the very first superstar of the London music halls.

His career really took off when he met the composer Alfred Lee. Together, they wrote such songs as That Daring Young Man on his Flying Trapeze, based on the acrobat, Jules Leotard.

It was the song Champagne Charlie that brought the greatest wealth and fame, when George was sponsored by Moet and Chandon, appearing on stage as a West End swell - very elegant in his top hat and tails, carrying a silver-topped cane; always waving a bottle of champagne. But, life imitated art a little too closely. George was often warned by the law for being too lewd and suggestive and, at the age of only 42, he died in penury, suffering from excesses of alcohol.

At the height of his fame, George had an arch rival. The Great Vance was another 'Lion Comique' who also performed boisterous drinking songs and was sponsored by Cliquot Champagne. But the competition didn't end there...

When Vance had a great hit with 'Walking in the Zoo,'  (his shortened slang term for the Zoological Gardens soon coming into common parlance), George answered with 'Lounging at the Aq', inspired by the London Aquarium.

And, if you want to hear some of the songs, why not watch Alberto Cavalcanti's 1944 film, 'Champagne Charlie', which starred Tommy Trinder as George and Stanley Holloway as The Great Vance.

THE VV AS A MAID AT THAT MR LINLEY SAMBOURNE'S HOUSE

The Virtual Victorian has been a little subdued of late. All of that chasing George Leybourne around the  Aquarium and Zoological Gardens, not to mention the constant supply of the best vintage Moet and Chandon Champagne, has brought on something of an attack of the vapours.

But, fizzing with the efficacious cure of Dr Robert's Constitutional Powders, her spirits are rapidly rising and she's been persuaded to let you peek at this very rare photograph where, if you look closely, you may see Essie Fox when she first began her Adventures in London - engaged at the time as a parlour maid in that racy Mr Linley Sambourne's house, exposed for all the world to see on the front cover of the Telegraph Sunday Magazine.

THE CHARM OF WILTON'S MUSIC HALL

The Entrance to Wilton's Music hall

Wilton's is the oldest of London's music halls. It was built in the 1850's at the back of The Prince of Denmark Public bar, in Graces Alley, in the East End. The bar itself is still functional, but sadly it has been stripped of its famous mahogany fittings.

The hall - which was known as the Temple of Apollo - is an intimate rectangular space. The floor rakes down to a stage which is low enough for everyone in the audience to fully engage with the performance. All around the walls are arched niches, once filled with glittering mirrors, and the high vaulted ceiling boasted a sun-burner chandelier which held hundreds of jets and dripped with thousands of crystals. There are still scorch marks on the ceiling from the time when it actually burst into flames.

Still in good condition today are the elegant, brass barley twist pillars which support a balcony fronted with ornate papier mache designs. And, right at the back, on the balcony floor, there are the murals of dancing Indian women - surely some influence from the nearby East India Docks: the trade in tea, cloth, and other exotic substances.

John Wilton produced a variety of shows, often cramming well over a thousand punters into a hall which, today, is licensed to hold 300. He lured singers from the Royal Opera House, who stayed in stage costume and jumped into Broughams, driven at breakneck speed across town to perform their arias over again - and no doubt to a more lively audience! There were circuses, ventriloquists and dancers, but perhaps Wilton's most famous artiste was George Leybourne - otherwise known as Champagne Charlie, after his hugely popular song. But more of Mr Leybourne in a forthcoming post...

Sadly, after John Wilton's death in 1880, the hall became less salubrious: a rowdy haunt of prostitutes, sailors, dockers and thieves, with many a naive punter being robbed, or found in the Thames with a knife in their back. By 1888, it had been closed down and became the Methodist Mission hall - where, no doubt, Soup and Salvation was served up for free to many who previously paid to go in.

During the docker's strike of 1889, the Mission provided 2,000 meals a day for the starving workers, and in 1936, the hall was used as the headquarters for those who demonstrated against Mosley and his fascists in the famous Battle of Cable Street.

Today, this magical, crumbling hall has been given Grade II* listed status and it is hoped that it may be preserved. I recommend a visit. I guarantee you will be charmed. There are many evening productions, along with regular open days when you can take a tour and learn more of its fascinating history.

GOOD TASTE ALERT...MORE MACABRE STUFFED PETS!

I found this fine fellow today when searching for the image of a monkey, wearing a monocle and cravat, and holding a copy of Charles Darwin's 'Origin of Species'. I'm sure I saw him once! Any leads greatly appreciated.

I have no idea what's going on here, though probably some form of dentistry - and the hideous kittens below are clearly having a lovely time...

But, the finest collection of taxidermy that I've had the 'pleasure' to see, in the flesh, was when dining at the London restaurant, Les Trois Garcons...a gloriously camp and baroque experience, though such surroundings may dampen the appetites of those of a more delicate constitution...

Still, you've got to love the angelic little dog above. And, finally, speaking of dogs, I have discovered the story of Owney...

Owney wandered into Albany post office in New York in 1888 and was found sleeping on some mailbags. Soon, he was riding on the trains that ferried mail across state and country. In 1895 he traveled around the world, sailing by steamship to Asia and Europe.

Owney was considered good luck - no train he travelled on ever crashed and, following each successful  trip a lucky charm was attached to his collar. Eventually, the postmaster had a jacket made to take the weight of so many jingling medals.

Owney came to a sad end. In old age, he grew a little bad tempered and, following an unfortunate incident, when a newspaper reporter appears to have been bitten, Owney was shot. But the mail workers raised funds to have their beloved mascot preserved and, today, Owney is on display in the Smithsonian Institute - looking somewhat less of a threat, a little less shaggy, and a lot less perky than he ever did in life.

STATION JIM AND LONDON JACK

This is Station Jim. From1894-1896 he worked for the Great Western Railway as a canine charity collector. Based at Slough Station, and now stuffed, Jim is on permanent display on Platform 5. His glass case has its very own collection slot - still raising funds in doggy heaven. The Virtual Victorian is very fond of Jim, though it has to be said, he does look a little moth-eaten these days.

And this noble fellow is London Jack. He worked at Paddington Station from 1894-1900, collecting coins in the box on his back for the orphaned children of railwaymen who were killed in the early days of steam trains. He raised more than £450 in his lifetime, and like Jim, he went on to collect even more when dead and stuffed. Today, Jack is on display at the National History Museum in Tring which contains many examples of nineteenth century taxidermy.

A WALK IN TOWER HAMLETS CEMETERY

 

Whether you long to stroll through a gothic Victorian graveyard, or simply to explore a natural wildnerness, Tower Hamlets Cemetery is a hidden gem - not as grand as Highgate, but certainly well worth a visit.

The cemetery is a secret world set in the heart of London's bustling East End. The first internment was in 1841, the last in 1966. Essentially a graveyard for the working class, its 27 acres of consecrated ground are full of interesting monuments, with many obelisks and angels dedicated to trade unionists, and champions of workers' rights, philanthropists, merchants, sailors and shipbuilders.

Some tombs are listed with English Heritage and many are scarred with schrapnel - the cemetery having been bombed 5 times during the second world war.

I love it... an eerie and inspiring place - and only 5 minutes from Mile End Tube.

THE VICTORIAN GAME OF FOOTBALL

The Virtual Victorian loves football - and, why not, when so many of our modern teams have their origins in the 1800s?

A dribbling form of the sport (as opposed to the handling game developed at Rugby) was played at schools such as Eton, Shrewsbury and Charterhouse. But the rules often varied (even from one half of a game to the other) and those fixtures played by the more robust 'old boys' whilst at Cambridge or Oxford University, or by those who joined the army, often descended into violence and chaos. Spectators were not encouraged!

With the sport of football growing in popularity, it soon became necessary to impart a sense of Victorian discipline and fair play. In1863, the newly formed Football Association drew up a set of rules and regulations, proposing the inclusion of referees to offer protection against the, all too frequent, bone-breaking tackles. Teams were also encouraged to wear more than coloured caps or scarves to identity themselves and, in 1872, at the first FA Cup final, The Wanderers donned what must have been a rather fetching combination of pink, black and cerise, while the Royal Engineers were more subdued in a manly dark red and navy blue.

In truth, the working class players of the era could ill afford such sartorial splendour. Many were factory workers, such as the founding members of Arsenal FC, who worked at the Woolwich Arsenal Armament factory where, inspired by the arrival of two players from Nottingham Forest, fifteen men volunteered to pay sixpence each to set up a club called Dial Square - named after one of the workshops. They purchased a football and played on Plumstead Common, soon changing their name to the Woolwich Arsenal, and the dilemma of a kit was solved when Nottingham Forest donated a set of red shirts - the colour in which Arsenal still play today.

Arsenal FC in the 1880's - a  fine and dashing squad of men!

If anyone knows of a Victorian novel in which football is a theme, I'd love to know about it. Meanwhile, I'm trying to devise a way of introducing the Arsenal Woolwich into a story I'm currently writing, following the lead of the author Rosy Thornton who, for a bet, has alluded to her beloved Ipswich Town (founded in 1878) in every one of her books to date.

EDGAR ALLAN POE'S SECOND FUNERAL

Edgar Allan Poe's work has been hailed by some as the foundation of many contemporary detective and horror stories. Conan Doyle was a great fan of such classics as The Murders in the The Rue Morgue.

An illustration from Murders in the Rue Morgue

In my teens, I was intrigued by Poe - discovering that he married his first cousin, Virginia, when she was only 13, that she died tragically of Tuberculosis at the age of 27, that her husband died only two years later at the age of 40 - his death attributed to many things including alcoholism, cholera, drugs, syphillis, rabies, and even murder!

Virginia Poe

But, I suppose my obsession really began when watching the spate of low-budget horror films directed by Roger Corman in the 1960's. The Fall of the House of Usher was a favourite: a sinister and thrilling tale of tormented souls and premature burial - with the wonderful Vincent Price hamming everything up.

With that particular story in mind, it seems fitting that on October 12, 200 years after his birth, Edgar Allan Poe's funeral was re-enacted in Baltimore's Westminster Hall. In scenes that could have sprung from the writer's own macabre imagination, a coffin containing a mannequin, fashioned on the man himself, was drawn through the streets in a glass-sided hearse by black horses. Mourners who came to pay respects were even dressed as Victorians. Perhaps some of them will continue the mysterious ritual in which, on every January 19th since his death,  a bottle of cognac and three red roses have been placed on the writer's grave.

The original tombstone was engraved with: QUOTH THE RAVEN NEVER MORE. Click onto that quote and you can watch a very spooky 'virtual' rendition of Poe reading his famous poem.

THE FEJEE MERMAID

When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with mermaids. Hans Christian Anderson had a lot to answer for, as did John William Waterhouse who painted this romantic and sensual image.

And, how thrilled I would have been, if I'd lived in New York in 1842 and chanced to see this advertisement for PT Barnum's American Museum - and its latest aquisitions of exotic Peruvian Mummies, a duck-billed platypus and last, but not least, the Wondrous Fejee Mermaid...

Many children must have been horrified to witness the truth: the grotesque monstrosity that had been so 'puffed' by Mr Barnum - what was, in reality, the mummified torso and head of a monkey sewn onto the tail of some enormous fish,  the sight of which must have caused many a sensitive soul to succomb to an attack of the vapours.

Nevertheless, the Mermaid proved to be a great lure until the museum, and everything in it, burned down in 1865 after which, despite imitations being shown in freak shows around the world, the original Mermaid was thought to be lost, along with thousands of other exhibits - including a fragment of The True Cross, which had been so carefully displayed next to that other sacred object: the bed of one Robbie Burns!

Click onto this link to learn more about Barnum's American Museum.

THE MAN IN THE MOON

Yesterday, Nasa crashed a rocket into the moon. 

In 1865, Jules Verne wrote his novel, From the Earth to the Moon - in which a rocket is fired from America - Florida to be precise - and after safely reaching its destination, the craft returns to Earth, splashing down into the Pacific Ocean. Something familiar about that plot. What could it be?

In 1901, H G Wells wrote The First Men in the Moon, a romantic science fiction in which, by means of an anti-gravity shield, two adventurers are propelled to the Moon.

And in 1902, La Voyage dans La Lune or A Trip to the Moon was the first science fiction film to be screened. Admittedly, this was a year after Queen Victoria's death and, therefore, not strictly Victorian, but I think it's fair enough to say that the conception and preparation would have been well under way before the actual release date. Based on the novels of both Verne and Wells, it was written and directed by Georges Melies, and shows a rocket being fired straight into the eye of The Man in the Moon - which brings me back nicely to Nasa's explosion yesterday.

A scene from La Voyage dans La Lune

You can download a free version of La Voyage dans La Lune here.

And while on the subject of solar matters, you might also be interested in today's Quack Doctor,  in which Dr. Sibley's Re-Animating Solar Tincture is discussed. As it claimed to bring the dead back to life, it might well have helped some of those more sickly-looking souls in the moon scene above.

A RIGHT ROYAL PAIR OF BLOOMERS

In old age Queen Victoria was as stout as she was high. Only five feet tall, and yet she possessed a 50 inch waist - and a most impressive 66 inch bust.

But, I wonder if she would be amused to know that, in July 2008, a pair of her bloomers was auctioned at Mackworth in Derbyshire. Attracting interest from as far afield as Hong Kong, Brazil, Russia and New York, after much frenzied bidding they were finally sold to a 'lady of leisure' in Canada for the sum of £4,500.

I wonder if that lady was as large as Victoria. I wonder if she has tried them on.

UPDATE! Another pair of Victoria's undergarments have just been given National Designated Status, having been purchased for display in the Royal Ceremonial Dress Collection. This particular item of clothing was originally found in the laundry rooms at Kensington Palace and has been 'held' in private hands for over 100 years before being  auctioned only this past Tuesday, for the far more reasonable price of £600.

The bloomers are open crotch, with a drawstring waist and a finely embroidered monogram.

HERO

The theme of this year's National Poetry Day is Heroes and Heroines. I've chosen Ulysses by Tennyson. Based on the classical Greek hero, the poem is a moving description of bereavement and loss, the inablity to accept old age and death, and how man is constantly striving against it. 

Ulysses was written in 1833 when Tennyson was 24 years old, looking a great deal less world-weary than he would in later years.

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breath were life. Life piled on life
Were all to little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads you and I are old;
Old age had yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are,
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

LOST IN TRANSLATION...

My first novel, The Diamond was published in Russia late last year - under the title of Brilliant. This translated blurb makes me chuckle...

BRILLIANT
Description of the lot (should that be plot?)

Dashing twirled plot! Full story riddles! Gothic flavour soaked mystery and intrigue...Immerse yourself in the ghostly atmosphere of the novel, written in the best traditions of Thirteen Tales of Diana Setterfild!

The quiet life of a young  Alice Willoughby ends in the night when she becomes involved in a séance with the Queen Victoria...To his dismay at the time of contact with the spirits she saw this ghost.

Discover the true gift of Alice, bastard Gregory wants to take  possession of the will and the body of a clairvoyant. He intoxicating drugs and seduces her. Some time later, the girl discovers with horror that the abuser was contemplating using it to steal the legendary Indian diamond...

If you want more, you’ll just have to read it – that is if you can read Russian! I can’t.

Who knows what has actually been translated. But it’s still a real book.

And I like the cover.