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ideas-on-paper · 19 days

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A hypothetical look at the childhoods of Carlo and Romeo

Despite Carlo and Romeo being two of the most central characters of Lies of P, what we know about their backstory is next to marginal. We know that the two of them went to school together and were best friends (perhaps even more than that), but their time in Monad Charity House is only presented in snippets and fragmented memories, and despite being highly significant, their characters remain elusive - like shadows cast over the entirety of the story, always present, never tangible.

Thus, many have filled the gaps left in their characterization with their own imagination. As for myself, I was curious what their early lives might have been like, before they met at Monad Charity House - and since it was the closest thing to the game's setting I could find, I did some research on Victorian children and their upbringing.

What I found out, however, left me absolutely shocked and made me keenly aware of just how awful Carlo and Romeo's childhood must have been, going by historic standards. As pretty much everything during the Victorian Era, a child's upbringing was very dependent on social class - however, no matter if you grew up in a rich or poor family, each came with its own kind of suffering, and regarding the question of "What were Carlo and Romeo's lives like before Monad Charity House?", the brief answer would be: "Probably not great."

As for the long answer... I should mention this is my own interpretation of Carlo and Romeo's backgrounds, and none of this is officially confirmed. However, given what we know about the two's origins, I consider it quite plausible, and what we can conclude from it might not only give us better insight into their personalities, but also some of the real-life background behind the original fairy tale of Pinocchio.

Just as a fair warning, though: This is about to get a little depressing.

[Spoilers for Lies of P!]

[CW: mentions of very questionable parenting methods, depression, suicidal ideation, poverty, parent death, child labor, abuse and exploitation of children]

Carlo

For this analysis, I'm going to assume that Carlo was born into a fairly well-off household. (The description of Carlo's portrait calls him "an aristocratic boy", and since Geppetto is the mastermind behind Krat's puppet technology, I assume he'd have his fair share of the profits.)

By the standard of their time, upper-class children were quite spoiled: Unlike their working-class peers, they never had to worry about who was going to provide food for them, and the horrors of child labor were never of any concern to them. You would think that being born into a rich family doesn't leave you a single thing to wish for - you'd have nice toys, fine clothes... and well, everything, except for parental affection.

For the most part of the day, upper-class children wouldn't even see their parents - they were only summoned to appear before them at a set hour of the day, and during these occasions, they had to address their fathers as "sir". Essentially, meeting your parents was more like an audience with a stranger, a rare privilege strictly regulated by formality. Children were expected to act prim and proper, only allowed to speak when spoken to, and thus unable to express their true feelings, thoughts, or opinions. Any show of affection was extremely rare - Winston Churchill (1874 - 1945) once remarked that he could "count the times he had been hugged by his mother" as a child.

The parents were more or less completely absent from their children's lives, and when there actually was interaction between them, the children were expected to unconditionally obey their parents. Osbert Sitwell (1892 - 1969) once commented: "Parents were aware that the child would be a nuisance and a whole bevy of servants, in addition to the complex guardianship of nursery and school rooms was necessary not so much to aid the infant as to screen him from his father or mother, except on some occasions as he could be used by them as adjuncts, toys or decorations." (Can you imagine? Geppetto taking Carlo to some big social event to show off his "perfect little son", and Carlo just standing there and silently enduring the ordeal, looking at his father all the while and wondering "Did he ever realize I'm not one of his puppets?")

So, by the standard of the time period Lies of P is set in, Geppetto neglecting his son isn't even anything terribly unusual - in fact, that's perfectly normal Victorian upper-class parent behavior.

Since they didn't take care of their children themselves, upper-class parents would hire a nanny to raise them. Nannies would be instructed what kind of behavior and morals the parents wanted instilled into their child, and they would be responsible for their education as well as teaching them manners, propriety, how to dress and so on. As such, the nanny effectively acted as a substitute for the parents - and given that maid puppets exist and Geppetto probably wouldn't let any strangers near Carlo, Carlo's nanny was most likely a puppet as well.

The daily life of upper-class children was based on strict routine - some like to say it operated with "clockwork regularity". Breakfast would be served at 8 o'clock in the morning, dinner at 12 o'clock, and tea at 6 o'clock.* Children would very seldom leave their room, except to take short walks in the park with their nanny. Education would mostly be given at home by a tutor, which included basic lessons like reading, writing, and arithmetic, but also "socially appropriate skills" like dancing and playing the piano. (Since we see a puppet giving piano lessons to a child in the intro, chances are Carlo's tutors were also puppets.)

*Eating times varied throughout the Victorian Era; a "dinner" might also be a meal eaten during midday.

The rest of the time, children would have nothing to do but to play with their toys (except on Sundays, which was forbidden). Rich families had the luxury of being able to afford the most elaborate of toys, such as automated dolls, clockwork trains, and jack-in-the-boxes, which were extremely popular among children. In fact, since clockmakers were also the ones to build toys, I could imagine Geppetto actually made the toys for Carlo himself. (However, I feel like this only would have made Carlo loathe them; in his eyes, it would've been proof that "father pays more attention to the toys he makes for me than actually looking at me".)

In short, the life of Victorian upper-class children was lonely, depressing, and stuffy to the point of suffocating. Given these circumstances, I would actually be surprised if this didn't leave mental scars on Carlo. It has been documented that a lack of parental affection causes psychological issues lasting all the way into adulthood, such as low self-esteem, trust issues, anxiety, difficulty with social relationships, and lack of emotional control. Also, considering Carlo was probably surrounded by puppet servants all day, he wouldn't even have had a single human being to interact with most of the time - something which most likely had a detrimental effect on his psyche.

Given this dreary existence, it would make absolute sense for Carlo to look nothing short of depressed in every depiction we see of him. The feeling of emptiness when being pressed into the corset of others' expectations is actually something I'm well acquainted with - it feels like walking beside yourself, like your body moving while actually feeling dead inside. A bit like a puppet on strings, if you will. With his life being a monotonous routine controlled by someone else, it wouldn't be surprising if Carlo had difficulty still seeing a purpose in it. (There have been some theories going around that Carlo committed suicide; at the very least, I think it's highly likely he had suicidal ideations during his youth.)

Perhaps this is where Pinocchio - the character from the fairy tale - might have become something like an identification figure for Carlo. Pinocchio was a puppet, but instead of doing what his creator intended - what his father expected - he did whatever he wanted. I'm sure Geppetto gave him the book as a measure to educate him, but it ended up having the opposite effect. In fact, it might have been what first taught him the concept of freedom: Geppetto's puppets only ever did what he told them to, executing the exact actions he had programmed them with, over and over again - but Pinocchio showed Carlo that it didn't have to be this way. (I've seen a lot of interpretations of Carlo disliking puppets, and while I can see where this is coming from, I don't think this is because Carlo disliked puppets in general. Rather, I think he saw them as "extended arms" of his father and a symbol of his need to control everything around him; otherwise, it would be a little strange for Carlo to be attached to the story of Pinocchio so much.)

However, I think beneath all the pent-up frustration and hatred, there was also the wish for his father to love and appreciate him. At the end of the book, Pinocchio returns to his father after all the hardships he had to go through, and the two reconcile and live happily ever after. Since Pinocchio's father goes looking for him when he disappears, perhaps Carlo believed that if he rebelled against him and put himself in danger, Geppetto would realize that he actually cared for him.

So, if Carlo was very prone to temper tantrums and acting defiantly towards his father, it might have been on one hand to show that he didn't want to be part of Geppetto's perfect stage play anymore, and on the other because he was vying for his attention. Due to his upbringing, however, Carlo wasn't really able to communicate his feelings in a proper way. (I like to imagine Carlo as a very emotional person, but having difficulty to actually express his feelings.)

Geppetto, however, wouldn't have the sensitivity to understand this - he most likely would've tried to rectify his son's "mischievous behavior" by disciplining, as was typical for the time period (in general, it was believed that you had to "beat the evil out of children" for them to become a good person). Of course, that wouldn't have made things better - in fact, I wonder if part of the reason Geppetto sent Carlo to Monad Charity House was that he was just at a loss what to do with the boy. Since all of his educational measures were fruitless, perhaps he thought that sending him to the boarding school would finally put Carlo on the right track - although the result of that probably was also quite different from what Geppetto expected.

Romeo

Meanwhile, poor Victorian children had to live in a completely different, brutal reality - for them, day-to-day life was a literal struggle to stay alive.

We know that Romeo was an orphan, and according to Eugénie, that's not much of a rarity in Krat. Indeed, street children existed in abundance during Victorian times: It wasn't uncommon for working-class children to lose one or both parents - due to unsanitary conditions in Victorian slums, many people died of disease, and given the hazardous working conditions in factories and coal mines, accidents were commonplace. However, the term of a Victorian orphan was actually a little broader than that, also extending to children who ran away from home due to hailing from alcoholic and neglectful families. Often, mothers who were single or had a child out of wedlock would also simply abandon their children. Whatever the reason for their situation, these children were forced to fend for themselves at a very young age.

In the Trinity Sanctum in Krat Central Station, there's a note mentioning a "pickpocket who was overconfident in a gamble" and "had his heart stolen and died". Since Romeo made "a deal with the devil" (the "devil" presumably being Geppetto who turned him into a puppet), people have interpreted this as referring to Romeo. Turing to crime to support themselves was not a rarity among poor Victorian children - in fact, half of the defendants tried at the Central Criminal Court of England and Wales between 1830 and 1860 were aged 20 or younger. There were even organized gangs of child thieves who were trained in pickpocketing by a "captain", similar to those from Charles Dickens' novel Oliver Twist. (However, the items that were stolen most often were actually not purses or pocket watches, but handkerchiefs; silk handkerchiefs had a pretty high resale value, and the thieves would take them from pockets, rip out the initials, and resell them for a good price.)

We can't be sure whether Romeo teamed up with a few other kids or not, but personally, I'd wager he did - it would be much safer to operate in a group in case one of them gets in trouble, and overall, Romeo's personality seems a bit too caring for a lone wolf. (As the King of Puppets, he was not only determined to save as many humans as possible, but also possessed the unconditional trust and loyalty of the other puppets. To me, this means he most likely cared about them, and they cared about him in return - if it was just programming, the puppets probably wouldn't be lamenting his loss after he dies. Compare this to Geppetto, who has to use force and coercion for others to obey him.)

Also, since the notes in the Trinity Sanctums always seem to have a connection to the place where they're located (factory worker -> factory; cleric -> cathedral; "greatest singer"/Adelina -> opera house), that would mean the train station was most likely Romeo's base of operations.* (Train stations tend to be very popular among thieves, since it's easier to pick pockets in the confusion of people boarding or getting off trains.) This would imply that Romeo didn't grow up in Monad Charity House since he was an infant, but arrived there at a later point during his childhood.

*EDIT: I just had a thought that the note in the Trinity Sanctum could also mean the train station is the place where Romeo died. (All the other notes are connected to murder or some other violent action, and since we can assume they were written by Arlecchino, he was probably more interested in that.) Since Geppetto has his secret workshop wagon in Krat Central Station, maybe the place where he built P is the same where he built Romeo.

Since there were so many orphaned children, the few orphanages that existed couldn't receive all of them. Instead, workhouses were established as institutions for all kinds of destitute people - including orphans - who were unable to support themselves and were given lodging and food in exchange for labor. However, many children actually preferred living on the streets, rather turning to crime than going to the workhouse. At a first glance, this may seem a bit unreasonable - surely, not having to run around in worn-down rags and steal your food just to survive would at least be an improvement?

Well... Turns out, not really. The conditions in Victorian workhouses were notoriously awful - they were overcrowded, unsanitary, and cruel places to live. Daily routine was strictly regimented, consisting of 9–10 hours of repetitive and physically demanding labor and very little free time. What little food there was was of poor quality, privacy was basically nonexistent, and the dozens of inmates sleeping together in dormitories often had to share their beds - children usually had to sleep up to four in a bed. The consequences for refusal of work or any kind of rule violation were beatings, deprivation of food, being locked up in solitary confinement in a dark cell, and other draconian punishments.

If this doesn't sound like a very hospitable atmosphere, that's because that was the exact intention behind it. Workhouses weren't meant to support poor people - they were supposed to scare them into finding work and make a living for themselves. Victorians viewed poverty as a self-imposed misery, and if you were a pauper, that was because you were lazy, retarded, or made bad choices in life. That's why beggars, vagrants, orphans, criminals, and mentally ill people were all indiscriminately housed in workhouses, because from the Victorian point of view, they all belonged to the same category of people: A stain that had to be removed from the public eye, either by forcing them to support themselves or by making use of their work force once they had donned the workhouse uniform. They were a nuisance to society, and their treatment in the workhouse was sure to make them feel that.

One of the worst fates for workhouse children, however, was to be hired out as pauper apprentices: Usually from 10-13 years of age, but sometimes as young as eight or seven, workhouses would send pauper children to factories in the countryside for an "apprenticeship". This "apprenticeship" involved factory owners buying children from orphanages and workhouses and making them sign a contract that lasted until they were 21 years of age, dictating that the apprentices had to be provided with food and accommodation, and in exchange, the factory owner was free to make use of their working power.

So in summary, workhouse orphans were essentially sold into slavery. This was all that much easier to do with children who had no parents and no other means to support themselves, and thus were free to be exploited by their employers. Some of the recollections from these former pauper apprentices are just utterly horrific - and in this case, I think it's appropriate to let the victims speak for themselves.

John Birley, who lost his father when he was two, lived in the Bethnal Green Workhouse for a time after his mother died of illness when he was around six. He was sent to Litton Mill as a pauper apprentice, and he had this to say about his experiences in an interview with The Ashton Chronicle in 1849 (source):

The same year my mother died, I being between six and seven years of age, there came a man looking for a number of parish apprentices. We were all ordered to come into the board room, about forty of us. There were, I dare say, about twenty gentlemen seated at a table, with pens and paper before them. Our names were called out one by one. We were all standing before them in a row. My name was called and I stepped out in the middle of the room. They said, "Well John, you are a fine lad, would you like to go into the country?" I said "Yes sir". We had often talked over amongst ourselves how we should like to be taken into the country, Mr. Nicholls the old master, used to tell us what fine sport we should have amongst the hills, what time we should have for play and pleasure. He said we should have plenty of roast beef and get plenty of money, and come back gentlemen to see our friends. The committee picked out about twenty of us, all boys. In a day or two after this, two coaches came up to the workhouse door. We were got ready. They gave us a shilling piece to take our attention, and we set off. I can remember a crowd of women standing by the coaches, at the workhouse door, crying "shame on them, to send poor little children away from home in that fashion." Some of them were weeping. I heard one say, "I would run away if I was them." They drove us to the Paddington Canal, where there was a boat provided to take us. We got to Buxton at four o'clock on Saturday afternoon. A covered cart was waiting for us there. We all got in, and drove off to the apprentice house at Litton Mill, about six miles from Buxton. The cart stopped, and we marched up to the house, where we saw the master, who came to examine us and gave orders where we were put. [...] Our regular time was from five in the morning till nine or ten at night; and on Saturday, till eleven, and often twelve o'clock at night, and then we were sent to clean the machinery on the Sunday. No time was allowed for breakfast and no sitting for dinner and no time for tea. We went to the mill at five o'clock and worked till about eight or nine when they brought us our breakfast, [...] We then worked till nine or ten at night when the water-wheel stopped. We stopped working, and went to the apprentice house, about three hundred yards from the mill. It was a large stone house, surrounded by a wall, two to three yards high, with one door, which was kept locked. It was capable of lodging about one hundred and fifty apprentices. Supper was the same as breakfast - onion porridge and dry oatcake. We all ate in the same room and all went up a common staircase to our bed-chamber; all the boys slept in one chamber, all the girls in another. We slept three in one bed. [...] Mr. Needham, the master, had five sons: Frank, Charles, Samuel, Robert and John. The sons and a man named Swann, the overlooker, used to go up and down the mill with hazzle sticks. Frank once beat me till he frightened himself. He thought he had killed me. He had struck me on the temples and knocked me dateless. He once knocked me down and threatened me with a stick. To save my head I raised my arm, which he then hit with all his might. My elbow was broken. I bear the marks, and suffer pain from it to this day, and always shall as long as I live. I was determined to let the gentleman of the Bethnal Green parish know the treatment we had, and I wrote a letter with John Oats and put it into the Tydeswell Post Office. It was broken open and given to old Needham. He beat us with a knob-stick till we could scarcely crawl. Sometime after this three gentlemen came down from London. But before we were examined we were washed and cleaned up and ordered to tell them we liked working at the mill and were well treated. Needham and his sons were in the room at the time. They asked us questions about our treatment, which we answered as we had been told, not daring to do any other, knowing what would happen if we told them the truth."

In case there were any surviving family members, the children were sometimes deported without their knowledge. In 1849, Sarah Carpenter related the story of her lost brother who was taken away from Bristol Workhouse to The Ashton Chronicle (source):

When I was eight years old my father died and our family had to go to the Bristol Workhouse. My brother was sent from Bristol workhouse in the same way as many other children were - cart-loads at a time. My mother did not know where he was for two years. He was taken off in the dead of night without her knowledge, and the parish officers would never tell her where he was. It was the mother of Joseph Russell who first found out where the children were, and told my mother. We set off together, my mother and I, we walked the whole way from Bristol to Cressbrook Mill in Derbyshire. We were many days on the road. Mrs. Newton fondled over my mother when we arrived. [...] My brother told me that Mrs. Newton's fondling was all a blind; but I was so young and foolish, and so glad to see him again; that I did not heed what he said, and could not be persuaded to leave him. They would not let me stay unless I would take the shilling binding money. I took the shilling and I was very proud of it. They took me into the counting house and showed me a piece of paper with a red sealed horse on which they told me to touch, and then to make a cross, which I did. This meant I had to stay at Cressbrook Mill till I was twenty one.

So, if the situation in the Lies of P universe in any way resembles that during the real-life 19th century, and if these street children are in any way smart, I think it's very understandable they'd want to stay the hell away from the workhouse or any similar institution. Of course, it would be easy to attribute this to laziness, but honestly, I'd say they just wanted to avoid the abuse. (You could pose the question whether there are even any lowly paid jobs for children to do in the LoP universe, since a lot of those were probably taken over by puppets. However, if you ask me, that might only lead to employers trying to underbid the price that puppet laborers would cost, which would lead to serious wage cuts for any human workers - we know there was a violent protest of the factory labor union, which might have happened for a reason like this. Also, I reckon the puppet industry itself would create new branches of "dirty work", like recycling parts from scrapped puppets, disposing of puppet junk, etc.)

In fact, these harrowing stories happen to have quite a few parallels to the original fairy tale of Pinocchio. Did you notice? The children are taken away in coaches and carts, in a way that conceals their presence (e.g. in a covered cart or in the dead of the night), which is very reminiscent of the Coachman picking up boys at night (in the book, the coach is described as having wrapped wheels, so it doesn't make noise and can't be discovered). At first, the children are told they can make a fortune by working in the textile mills and will have plenty of time for leisure - in A memoir of Robert Blincoe from 1828, it's even mentioned they tried to lure children into working in a cotton mill by telling them that "they would be transformed into ladies and gentlemen" when they arrived there, that "they would be fed on roast beef and plum pudding, be allowed to ride their masters' horses, and have silver watches, and plenty of cash in their pockets". This sounds quite similar to the Coachman promising the boys unlimited play time and freedom if they come with him to the Land of Toys. However, as both the pauper apprentice children and the boys from Pinocchio had to realize, all of this was a fraud to exploit them for what is essentially slave labor.

This also suggests that with his depiction of the Land of Toys, Carlo Collodi was doing more than just telling a horror story to scare kids into behaving. He was commenting on a real-life problem - and this, exactly this, is what Collodi wanted to warn his young readers about. In that sense, the boys turning into donkeys might also be a metaphor for what their employers saw them as: livestock, to be used and abused as they pleased.

Because the living conditions of workhouse children were so appalling, there was clamor for change, specifically among the reformist middle class. It was argued that orphans and destitute children should be housed in an institution meant exclusively for them, rather than together with criminals, cripples, and lunatics. The movement really began to pick up speed in mid-19th century, and many orphanages were founded by private benefactors and philanthropists. One of the most influential was Thomas John Barnardo, the founder of the charity Barnardos, who built homes for waifs, strays, and all kinds of children in need to provide them with a place to live, food, and education.

In general, there was an effort to make education accessible to even the lowest classes. Sunday Schools and Ragged Schools were established, which allowed poor children to take classes without having to pay a fee, giving them more opportunities in later life. However, the parents of working-class children were often against them going to school, since it meant that they couldn't work to earn additional income for the family. This is why attending school was made mandatory for all children between 5 and 10 in 1870, with the leaving age being raised to 11 in 1893. (This is also what Carlo Collodi meant by saying "for the love of God, get yourself some education" - because if you didn't, you would be stuck in a circle of bone-breaking labor forever.)

The Monad Charity House fits quite well into this historical frame: We do know that the Rose Estate was originally a charity organization for poor children, but was turned into a boarding school after Lady Isabelle and the Monad family started sponsoring money. Since charities for poor children are a phenomenon of the mid- to late-19th century, it's possible the situation was a lot worse before in the Lies of P universe as well. Romeo might not have gone there willingly (perhaps he was caught during one of his thefts), and truth be told, Victorian schools weren't the most rosy of affairs (if you'd like to know the details, feel free to check out this page). However, given what could've been his fate, Romeo probably considered himself lucky to be alive and not exploited by someone else for donkey work. (Still, one thing that should be kept in mind is that the Alchemists' patronage of the Rose Estate probably isn't based on purely altruistic motives: Since all of the children are trained as Stalkers, Alchemists, or Workshop Technicians, all of them ultimately become part of Krat's economic apparatus.)

It seems almost miraculous that two boys coming from such different worlds would develop such a strong bond. However, despite this, they had one experience in common: pain. Although the way in which they suffered might have differed, they both knew what it's like to be abandoned. Romeo had to grow up in a society that didn't care whether he lived or died, and since all Carlo ever received from his father was scrutiny or cold ignorance, he probably felt the same about him. Living in a cruel world where the odds were stacked against them, it's easy to see why these kindred souls sought comfort in each other.

In any case, if the untold backstory of these characters was crafted with this in mind, my sincerest compliments go to the people of Neowiz for not only taking such a nuanced approach to child education in a historical context, but also for doing so with respect to the original story by Carlo Collodi. It may be really subtle at times, but you can't deny how much effort the devs put into the themes - themes that are so universal to human psychology that they continue to be relevant today, and undoubtedly made the story resonate with a lot of people.

#lies of p #lies of p carlo #lies of p romeo #lies of p geppetto #analysis #lore theories #the adventures of pinocchio #carlo collodi #I've never used so many content warnings in a post before xD #Carlo seriously has one of the most messed up family situations I've ever seen #like I knew it was bad; but I had no idea it was THAT BAD #also I was floored when I found out that the Coachman essentially had a real-life inspiration #anyway here I am back to trying to deduce story contents based on historical comparisons xD

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fashionbooksmilano · 1 month

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The Sitwells

Joanna Skipwith

National Portrait Gallery, London 1994, 240 pages, 22x27,5cm, ISBN 978 1855 141414, The 250 illustrations, 150 in color, include works by Cecil Beaton and Pavel Tchelitchew.

euro 50,00

email if you want to buy [email protected]

Published for the exhibition: The Sitwells and the Arts of the 1920s and 1930s, held at the National Portrait Gallery from 14 October 1994 to 22 January 1995.

'Battle is in the curve of their nostrils', wrote Arnold Bennett of the Sitwells. 'They issue forth from their bright pavilions and demand trouble.' Poets, patrons of the arts and ardent self-publicists, the three siblings, Edith, Osbert and Sacheverell, rarely missed an opportunity to promote themselves or denounce their sworn enemy, the philistine. They were natural subjects, and targets for the media. Unconventional, aristocratic, physically imposing (all more than six feet tall), they were bold, talented and provocative, and there were three of them. This book celebrates their lives and their artistic crusade, which brought them into contact and conflict with many of the leading figures of the arts in the early part of this century. Gertrude Stein, T. S. Eliot, Dylan Thomas and Evelyn Waugh were among their friends; their favourite enemies included Wyndham Lewis, Noel Coward and D. H. Lawrence.

14/03/24

#The Sitwells #exhibition catalogue #National Portraits Gallery London 1994-95 #Cecil Beaton #Tchelitchew #Sargent #Cocteau #Arts 1920s 1930s #fashionbooksmilano

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grandmaster-anne · 1 year

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Gone to rack and ruin?

By Vice Admiral Sir Timothy Laurence | Published 29 July 2020

Country Life Guest Edited by HRH The Princess Royal

What on earth do you do with a ruined, but historically significant country house?

This is a question that plagues the average workaday heritage chairman, causing headaches, insomnia and occasional bouts of teeth-grinding. Here, I will use four examples from the English Heritage portfolio to illustrate the challenges we face. Country Life readers may have their own views about how we should deal with them; if so, I anticipate a flood of letters offering advice. Each site is different and no one solution fits all.

Kirby Hall

Kirby Hall in Northamptonshire was built in the 1570s by Sir Humphrey Stafford and, after his death, by Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord Chancellor. This magnificent house shows all the creative energy and architectural innovation of the first Elizabethan age.

In the 17th century, it hosted five royal visits and boasted one of the finest gardens in England. After four generations of Hattons (all called Christopher in that charming, if rather confusing, English way) it passed to the Winchilsea family, who lived there until the 1770s. Abandoned in the 1830s, it is now roofless, but retains enough of its form for us to imagine how astonishing it would have looked when first built.

John Summerson wrote: ‘The beauty of Kirby’s decline is that it was private and without violence. The house was never burnt, ravaged, used as a quarry or assaulted by mobs.’ English Heritage looks after buildings that suffered exactly those fates, but because Kirby was spared all of them, one can still appreciate there the romance of a lost grandeur.

What should we do with it? The Ministry of Works in the 1960s did its usual thorough, if, by current standards, a little over-zealous, conservation job. Part of the house is still roofed, but leaks are threatening the ceilings underneath. One proposal was to re-roof a further part of the house — the Great Gallery — and use it to display a collection of contemporary furniture, paintings and so on.

That idea has not yet passed the ‘value for money’ test. We are currently working on a modest new exhibition, which will be completed later this year. Major additional work would require a substantial funding package to match.

Sutton Scarsdale Hall

Sutton Scarsdale Hall in Derbyshire is another example of the rise and fall of a noble country house and is one of our greatest conservation challenges.

It was a Baroque masterpiece, built in the 1720s for the 4th Earl of Scarsdale using some of the notable craftsmen of the day. The splendid exterior stonework was carved by Edward Poynton of Nottingham; the Italian master craftsmen Arturi and Vasilli carried out the fine stucco decoration in the principal rooms, remnants of which are still visible.

The cost of the building over-stretched the Scarsdales — an all-too-familiar story, I’m afraid — and the house was sold in the 19th century to a local family, the Arkwrights. In turn, they were forced to sell in 1919 to a company of asset strippers.

Despite the fact that Lord Curzon’s 1913 Ancient Monuments Consolidation and Amendment Act had by then provided the Government with protective powers, many of the hall’s finely decorated rooms were sold off as architectural salvage.

Amazingly, some still survive, but sadly not in Derbyshire: three interiors are displayed at the Museum of Art in Philadelphia and a pine-panelled room is at the Huntington Library in California. The latter was given to the library by a Hollywood film producer, who had used it as a film set for Kitty in 1934. He had bought it from the newspaper magnate and collector, William Randolph Hearst.

More happily, the hall was saved from intended demolition in 1946 by Sir Osbert Sitwell. His descendants handed it to the nation in 1970.

The roofless hall stands proudly on a prominent hill, an important part of the visual landscape of the area and visible from Bolsover Castle across the valley. However, the exposed hilltop location and lack of protection from a roof or glazed windows make the building itself, and especially the exceptionally important plasterwork, acutely vulnerable.

We are currently spending considerable sums patching and making good, but, for a charity such as us, this cannot be a long-term solution. What should we do? One option would be to re-roof the whole hall — at huge expense. Another would be a partial re-roofing to cover the best areas of plasterwork.

A third would be to devise some form of tailor-made protection for the plaster-work in situ, but anything of this nature would have significant aesthetic impact. We have even thought of a private investor taking it over and turning it into a hotel or apartments. All options remain under consideration.

Witley Court

My third example presents a very different set of issues. A new house was built on old foundations at Witley Court in Worcestershire in the early 1500s, but eight generations of the Foley family (all called Thomas — rather proving my earlier point) progressively modernised the Tudor original in Jacobean, then Palladian style, enlarged the park, built a new parish church next door and, in the early 19th century, commissioned John Nash, the leading Regency architect, to remodel the house extensively.

In 1837, ownership passed to Lord Ward, later Earl of Dudley. During the Dudleys’ tenure, the house was transformed into a ‘Victorian palace’ in the Italianate style made fashionable by Prince Albert at Osborne.

The whole house and church were encased in Bath stone; a new wing and a conservatory were added. Among many additions to the gardens was the magnificent Perseus and Andromeda fountain, fed from a new reservoir in the hill behind.

As happened so often elsewhere, the estate began to be broken up after the First World War and, in 1937, a serious fire gutted much of the building. From then until it was taken into public guardianship in 1972, it was stripped of materials and vandalised, but, thereafter, it was stabilised and made accessible. The great fountain continues to operate for an hour each day and looks magnificent after a major restoration in 2004 and further work in 2016, the latter generously funded by Unilever.

Visitors can now enjoy the park and gardens and wander through the house, where the fire has revealed the various stages of its development.

There are no plans to re-roof the main house, but how can we enhance the pleasure of visiting the place and bring more of its history to life? For example, we are considering digitising the many excellent photographs of the interiors taken during its heyday, so that people can call them up on their mobile phones as they walk round.

We would like to refurbish the conservatory as a cafe. This would require expensive works to bring in services, yet those might enable us to produce more events there, following the very successful art exhibition held in 2019 — perhaps that was a harbinger of things to come.

Belsay Hall

Now, at last, for something with a roof — Belsay Hall in Northumberland. The site comprises three distinct, but related elements: a medieval castle, a 19th-century hall and, linking the two buildings, an outstanding garden. The Middleton family has owned the estate since 1270 and still lives nearby.

The hall’s designer, Sir Charles Monck, drew on the classical ideal he had seen on honeymoon in Greece and transposed the style of a Greek temple into an English villa from 1807 (Fig 6). Its sense of space, balance and rigorous architectural logic were unlike anything seen in Britain. Incidentally, Monck demolished the old village of Belsay on the site and rebuilt it in its current position outside the park — the sort of thing you could do in those days.

He deliberately quarried the stone for the hall in a way that left space for a unique garden, the ravines, pinnacles and sheer rock faces he created inspired by the ancient quarries of Syracuse, Sicily. The gardens still showcase the interplay between natural beauty and the sublime, between wild and tame, from natural woodland through the exotic-ally planted quarry to the more formal terraces and garden rooms near the house.

The family moved from the draughty castle to the new hall on Christmas Day 1817. Sadly, flaws in Monck’s internal guttering system led to wholesale infestation with dry rot. By 1980, when the family handed the buildings and garden into public guardianship, it was unoccupied, unfurnished and stripped of much internal wood and plasterwork. The silver lining of this cloud is that it is now possible better to appreciate features of its design. Standing in the beautiful central atrium,

it does feel more like a temple than a house. The windows are huge, allowing in plenty of natural light, and the acoustics are exceptional, thanks to the empty rooms, vast cellars and a network of flues.

Sound, light and empty space may hold the key to its future use; it is an ideal place for creative programming. We have in the past held innovative fashion and art shows there and have staged acoustic experiences, one with voices broadcast down the chimneys. There will, I am sure, be more of this.

We are in the middle of a major project, part funded by the National Lottery, which includes urgent conservation work, a full restoration of the gardens and a new cafe. The Middleton family and its trustees remain engaged, supportive and, I hope, appreciative of the promise of a new lease of life for Belsay.

These four examples illustrate the enormous technical and financial challenges we face with these and other houses. It’s not unreasonable to ask: why are we doing this? What is the purpose behind a heritage body preserving and/or conserving a building?

Well, we want the places to be informative — to tell us something about the people who built them, about their architectural style, about the people who lived in them or who visited them. It’s all part of explaining the story of England to current and future generations, not only to please or inform expert historians and architects, but to encourage a much wider body of people to see and enjoy our buildings.

From school groups (we host many) to local enthusiasts and anyone who has become fascinated by these places — perhaps after reading about them or seeing a Google arts fly-through online. We hope they will all want to see more, to learn more and enjoy (that word again) the experience.

We have to ask: should we preserve such buildings as they are now, strip them back to their original state when first built or restore them to how they appeared at the height of their glory? With our intact houses — such as Osborne, Apsley or Audley End — the answer is as self-evident as it is with a completely ruined castle or abbey: there really is no option. However, my examples here and others fall between those stools. There are no straightforward answers; we have to look at each on its own merits.

Total returns to past glories are rarely feasible, but allowing further decline is not in our DNA. More commonly, we seek to stabilise each place in a state of ‘sustainable conservation’ — a condition that we can maintain in the long term, avoiding costly repeated repairs. It is an evidence-based way of prioritising work according to historical significance, current condition and a better understanding of the specific causes of deterioration. Once in that state, the typical approach is ‘adaptive re-use’: bringing a building back to life by giving it new uses, which complement, rather than obscure the original.

Above all, these houses must be nurtured and loved so that they can tell their part of the story of England. English Heritage will do what it can, helped by the communities living nearby, many of which provide terrific support — and, perhaps, by the occasional generous benefactor.

#tim laurence #article #english heritage #country life

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eppysboys · 1 year

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The following is a list of ‘Books to Read’ by Stuart Sutcliffe, written sometime before or during his art school days in Liverpool.

Books to Read:

E. Newton. Introduction to European’s Paint.

Herbert Read. Meaning of Art

The Story of Art. E. H. Gombrich

Benvenuto Cellini Autobiography

Les Misérables Victor Hugo

Dostoyevsky Short Stories - Crime and Punishment

François Mauriac: (Unable to read)

Steinbeck

Chekhov Short Stories. Plays. Cherry Orchard.

Uncle Vanya

Turgenev. On The Eve

Somerset Maugham. Moon and Sixpence

Autobiography of Helen Keller

Richard Aldington - Portrait of a Genius... But

Sons and lovers. D.H Lawrence

James Joyce. Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Osbert Sitwell: Left hand Right hand, Laughter in the next room

#Stuart Sutcliffe #Stuart #Books #Stuart Things

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justforbooks · 1 year

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The prolific historian and biographer Philip Ziegler, who has died of cancer aged 93, was never less than scrupulously fair – but also honest – about the shortcomings of his subjects, who included some of the most prominent men and, occasionally, women of modern British history.

Lord Mountbatten’s personal vanity, deviousness and ambition, Edward VIII’s meanness and superficiality, even Edward Heath’s charmlessness were all remorselessly revealed, even though they amounted to official biographies and are books that have shaped the men’s reputations for posterity.

“The biographer’s first responsibility is to the truth and to the reader. If he is not prepared in the last resort to hurt and offend people for whom he feels nothing except goodwill then he should not be writing a biography,” Ziegler said in 2011.

The foibles of Mountbatten, the last viceroy of India before independence, were such that Ziegler wrote a note on his desk while writing the biography in the mid-1980s stating: “Remember, in spite of everything, he was a great man.” That is not necessarily the view any longer of many British and Indian historians, though it is hard to overlook Mountbatten’s significance to the modern subcontinent and his relatives in the Royal family.

If Ziegler’s patrician, establishment status and urbane charm helped to smooth his path to selection for such monumental biographies, his industry and the punctiliousness of his research meant that they come close to definitive. He said: “Ideally the biographer should know everything about his subject and then discard 99% of his information, keeping only the essential. Of course one can never hope to discover anything approaching everything, but one can find out a great deal.”

Ziegler was born in Ringwood, in the New Forest, to Dora (nee Barnwell) and Louis Ziegler, a retired army major. He was educated at Eton college and then studied law at New College, Oxford, graduating with a first. After national service with the Royal Artillery, he entered the Foreign Office, serving as a diplomat in Laos, Paris and Pretoria.

In 1966, with his wife Sarah (nee Collins), whom he had married in 1960, and two small children, he was posted to Bogotá, Colombia, as head of chancery at the British embassy. It was there the following year that, returning home from an embassy reception, he and his wife found armed robbers rifling the house. Sarah was killed in the melee and he was badly wounded.

The tragedy persuaded him to leave the diplomatic service and take a job with Sarah’s publisher father, William Collins, then the head of one of the largest publishing houses in the country. Ziegler became editorial director in 1972 and editor-in-chief of the company seven years later. He had already published two books, a biography of the Duchess of Dino, mistress of the wily French diplomat Talleyrand, in 1962, and one of the Georgian prime minister Henry Addington (later the reactionary home secretary Viscount Sidmouth) in 1965. A book about the Black Death followed in 1969, though that was to be his only venture into pre-modern history, and one on the battle of Omdurman (1973), as well as biographies of William IV (1971) and the Victorian prime minister Lord Melbourne (1976).

In 1980, Ziegler became a full-time writer, and a regular and eclectic stream of books followed: biographies of the 1920s’ society beauty Lady Diana Cooper (1981), Harold Wilson (1993), the minor poet Osbert Sitwell (1998), the publisher Rupert Hart-Davis (2005) and the actor Laurence Olivier (2013), as well as Heath (2010), Mountbatten (1985) and Edward VIII (1990), and a short biography of George VI (2014). There were also histories of Barings Bank (1988), London during the second world war (1995), the Rhodes Trust in Oxford (2008) and Brooks’s gentlemen’s club (1991). Not forgetting, Elizabeth’s Britain 1926 to 1986 and a book of photographic portraits of the Queen (2010).

All were assiduously researched. Given access to the royal archives, Ziegler ploughed through 25,000 letters of Edward VIII, revealing the shallowness of the king who abdicated and, allegedly to her displeasure, the Queen Mother’s relentless hostility towards him. His verdict that Edward was well meaning and that no monarch could have been more anxious to relieve the sufferings of his subjects though “few can have done less to achieve their aim”, was suitably waspish.

The biography of Mountbatten, for which he was chosen by the Broadlands trustees, custodians of his legacy, was followed by three volumes of the admiral’s diaries. The biography of Heath was also both official and comprehensive, but struggled to find the man’s elusive charm.

Of the Olivier biography, he told an interviewer at the Cheltenham literary festival in 2013: “In the course of my alarmingly long biographical career I have written about an inordinate number of prime ministers, kings and the like and I suddenly decided in old age that I would indulge myself and do myself an actor.” What he found to his alarm that there was very little substance beneath the parts the great actor played.

Following the death of his first wife, Ziegler married Clare Charrington, a social worker and bereavement counsellor, in 1971. She died in 2017. He is survived by the two children of his first marriage, Sophie and Colin, and by the son of his second, Toby.

🔔 Philip Sandeman Ziegler, biographer and historian, born 24 December 1929; died 22 February 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Philip Ziegler #in memoriam

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themuseumwithoutwalls · 2 years

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MWW Artwork of the Day (5/17/22) Wyndham Lewis (Canadian/British, 1882–1957) Edith Sitwell (c. 1923-35) Oil on canvas, 86.4 x 111.8 cm. The Tate Gallery, London

Lewis became known as an acerbic writer as well as a painter. Edith Sitwell was a poet and, with her brothers Osbert and Sacheverell, part of a cultural elite. Although Lewis had been close to them in the early 1920s, he heavily satirised them in "The Apes of God" (1930) as the epitome of cultural decline and vulgarity. The early sittings for this portrait were fraught with problems, such as Lewis’s ‘alarming’ behavior, and in the end Sitwell refused to sit any more. He shows her as a beautifully painted doll, deprived of the slender hands of which she was known to be proud.

For more of this artist's work, see these MWW galleries: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2713812972057388&type=3

#wyndham lewis #edith sitwell #british artist #portraiture

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wahwealth · 1 month

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youtube

👻James Mason, Barbara Mullen, Margaret Lockwood | A Place Of One's Own

A Place of One's Own is a 1945 British film directed by Bernard Knowles. An atmospheric ghost story based on the 1940 novel of the same title by Osbert Sitwell, it stars James Mason, Barbara Mullen, Margaret Lockwood, Dennis Price, and Dulcie Gray. Mason and Mullen are artificially aged to play the old couple. It was one of the cycles of Gainsborough Melodramas. The Smedhursts, newly retired, buy Bellingham House, which has been vacant for over 40 years and is rumored to be haunted by the previous owner, Elizabeth, who is widely believed to have been murdered by her guardians. Mrs Smedhurst employs a young lady, Annette, as a companion. Annette becomes haunted by Elizabeth, who waits for her lover, Dr Marsham. Mr Smedhurst asks the police to find Dr Marsham, and he comes to visit Annette/Elizabeth. The next morning, everyone in the house feels "lighter" and Annette wakes up recovered. A local policeman arrives and announces that Dr Marsham has been found but will not be able to visit as he has died... Cast Margaret Lockwood as Annette James Mason as Mr. Smedhurst Barbara Mullen as Mrs. Smedhurst Dennis Price as Dr. Selbie Helen Haye as Mrs. Manning-Tutthorn Michael Shepley as Major Manning-Tutthorn Dulcie Gray as Sarah Moore Marriott as George O. B. Clarence as Perkins Helen Goss as Rosie, the Barmaid Edie Martin as Cook Gus McNaughton as Police Constable Hargreaves Muriel George as Nurse John Turnbull as Sir Roland Jervis Ernest Thesiger as Dr. Richard Marsham Henry B. Longhurst as Inspector Aubrey Mallalieu as Canon Mowbray Never miss a video. Join the channel so that Mr. P can notify you when new videos are uploaded: https://www.youtube.com/@nrpsmovieclassics .

#youtube

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alrederedmixedmedia · 5 months

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Alredered Remembers London poet and writer Osbert Sitwell, on his birthday.

The British bourgeoisie

Is not born

And does not die,

But, if it is ill,

It has a frightened look in its eyes.

"At the House of Mrs. Kinfoot", line 49 (1919).

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homomenhommes · 8 months

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1887 – Throughout her life, poet and novelist Edith Sitwell (d.1964) surrounded herself with gay men, some of whom became her artistic collaborators. Although it is not clear that she ever experienced a sustained sexual relationship with anyone of either sex, her closest emotional bond was with another woman.

Sitwell was the daughter of Sir George and Lady Ida Sitwell. Like most young women of her class, she was educated at home. In 1903, Helen Rootham, an aspiring poet who translated the works of Arthur Rimbaud into English, was engaged as her governess. Under Rootham's tutelage, Sitwell was introduced to the French symbolist poets whose influence is evident in her work, and, in 1913, the two women left the Sitwell family home and set up lodgings in London.

Freed from parental restrictions, Sitwell embarked on a literary career and published her first volume of poetry, The Mother and Other Poems, in 1915. The following year, as the center of a literary circle that included Rootham and her brothers Osbert Sitwell (1892-1969) and Satcheverell Sitwell (1897-1988), she initiated Wheels, an avant-garde literary anthology issued in yearly "cycles" until 1921.

Sitwell disdained what she deemed the traditional "weakness" of female-authored poetry, believing that Sappho, Christina Rossetti, and Emily Dickinson were the only women poets worthy of emulation. Her own growing fame and notoriety as an experimental artist culminated in 1923 with the first public performance of Façade, an "entertainment" in which she recited her cycle of poems from behind a screen and through a megaphone to the accompaniment of music composed and conducted by William Walton.

Although her artistic activities drew much critical derision, they also propelled Sitwell to the forefront of Modernism; she became friends with Virginia Woolf and Gertrude Stein, the latter of whom she introduced to the British public.

The 1930s, by contrast, brought Sitwell personal and professional sorrow as well as severe financial exigency. She moved to Paris in 1932 with the terminally ill Rootham and remained there until her companion's death in 1938. During this sojourn, she concentrated on prose works, including her fantastic historical novel I Live Under a Black Sun, and participated in various literary salons that included Stein, Natalie Barney, Sylvia Beach, and Adrienne Monnier. She also formed a close friendship with Bryher Ellerman, the wealthy lesbian author who served as a generous benefactress for the rest of Sitwell's life.

Her growing cultural pessimism, which became evident in her ambitious narrative poem Gold Coast Customs (1929), was deepened by World War II. "Still Falls the Rain" (1942), later set to music by Benjamin Britten and originally performed by Britten's lover Peter Pears, juxtaposes the bombing of London with the crucifixion of Christ and indicates Sitwell's desire for personal and cosmic spiritual healing.

Her post-war poetry is almost entirely concerned with human suffering on a global scale. The fear of nuclear annihilation produced by the Cold War and the infirmities of age led to her conversion to Catholicism in 1955, with Evelyn Waugh serving as her sponsor.

Both personally and professionally, Sitwell surrounded herself throughout her life with gay men, including her brother Osbert. She was emotionally attached for many years to the painter Pavel Tchelitchew. Additionally, she formed artistic collaborations and friendships with Ronald Firbank, Wilfred Owen, Cecil Beaton, Alvaro Guevara, Stephen Spender, W. H. Auden, and James Purdy. Her last poem, "The Outcasts" (1962), was a gesture of support for the reform of British antihomosexuality laws.

Edith Sitwell was named Dame Commander of the British Empire in 1954. She died December 11, 1964. Her autobiography, Taken Care Of, was published the following year.

48 BC – Albius Tibullus is born near Rome (d.19 BC). Known primarily as a love elegist, his poems tell of his lust for the handsome Marathus but alas, he never gets him.

1988 – Max Emerson is an American actor, model, author, director and YouTuber. He is known for his modelling and social media profile, particularly on Instagram, and he wrote and directed the movie Hooked. He has appeared on TV in small roles, including the season 5 finale of Glee.

Emerson was born in Vero Beach, Florida and studied for a BFA in performance and directing at the University of Miami, from where he graduated in 2009. Emerson began modeling while he was a student.

He wrote, produced, co-directed and acted in two short films, DipSpit and Earwig, which were shown for the first time at the Miami Gay and Lesbian Film Festival on April 26, 2011. Earwig is a drama about a closeted gay college student, while DipSpit is a comedy about two straight male models who get kicked out and move in with a gay college student.

In October 2015, Emerson announced his intention to produce an independent film called "Hooked" for which he had written the story, telling the story of a homeless gay prostitute called Jack and addressing the problems faced by homeless LGBT youth. He aimed to raise $150,000 for the project via Indiegogo and give half of any profits made to charities benefiting LGBT people. The launch video for the Indiegogo campaign featured Todrick Hall and musician Tom Goss. As part of it he released a single with Goss called "Not Enough". The campaign was supported by Out magazine.

In October 2016, he posted the trailer for the new film. Hooked had its world premiere at NewFest: The New York LGBT Film Festival on June 26, 2017, and its European premiere at the 7th Homochron film festival in Cologne on October 20 the same year.

Emerson wrote an autobiography, Hot Sissy – Life Before Flashbulbs, describing his teenage years growing up in a "redneck" area of Florida. Hot Sissy was released as an e-book and in a limited print run of 500 hardcover copies in December 2014. The limited editions were each signed and came with an original Polaroid picture.

In 2015, Emerson described his move toward sobriety in an Instagram post.

In June 2016, he publicly introduced his boyfriend, Andrés Camilo, an officer in the US Army, in a YouTube video. Emerson has an active social media presence and posts regularly on YouTube where his username is "TheMaxVicious". As of December 2018, he has 1 million followers on Instagram (@maxisms) and 19,500 on Twitter (@TheMaxisms). On YouTube and on social media, Emerson is known for his humor and for showing off his body.

In May 2017, French comic TV presenter Cyril Hanouna used one of Emerson's torso pictures to set up a catfishing profile on a gay dating site, and tricked the men who responded to the profile into revealing sexual fantasies to him while he was live on his show Touche pas à mon poste!. The segment triggered nearly 20,000 complaints to regulators and condemnation from LGBT groups.

2001 The world’s first 24-hour LGBT TV network called PrideVision TV is launched in Canada. It is now called OutTV. Owned by Headline Media Group, it was Canada’s first 24-hour cable television channel targeted at LGBT audiences. It was also the second LGBT-focused channel to be established in the world, after the Gay Cable Network in the U.S., which shut down in 2001.

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