Harry Rollo Writes and Rufus Pitman Comments

Saturday 25th July 2020

I think a┬ábridal┬átrump for Beatrice – the Queen Mary Fringe Tiara. The other brides had to make do with unworn Queen Mary tiaras. The Fringe was not only the Queen’s tiara at her own wedding (although broken and hastily mended just before: you can see the gap in the graphs) but still worn by Majesty. And Beatrice had the beauty of it properly repaired. Then her gown: Rufus Pitman comments, ‘an old frock that Granny wore to the pictures.’ Incredible that these things are kept. The little added puff sleeves were odd with the shoulder straps and why was the skirt altered to hang just above the ground? Conservation perhaps? To keep it off the stones when worn outdoors. Originally it was a great puff of silk with no hem. The Beatrice skirt was quite different with a band of different fabric at the bottom.

Funny how women often wear each other’s clothes. Men never do. Merle Barr visited Hastings this week. Genevieve Suzy supplied her with a dress for after sea-bathing and then said, ‘Keep it. It suits you better.’

At least, from this Time of Wrong, Poor Little Rich Gays here and throughout the World, have acquired a sure grasp of the tiaras.

Rufus told me that Conrad (a novelist) wrote a novel called Chance which is about how a family lost both their tiaras at once but rose above it. I must read it.

Meanwhile Harry Rollo writes: my entire world has been murdered – no perfs, no tours. Nothing but tiny pathetic shoots, weeds in a scorched landscape.

In normal times I would have circled the world twice so far – two trips to America, Japan – also perfs in Amsterdam, Paris – and every night would have been a different scene, friends, colleagues, bores, other people.

Instead: just family circle and interior of own homes month after month. Of course wonderful and totally grateful but I not being a nineteenth-century lady novelist am increasingly tendu.
Mother took to National Gallery yesterday to see the seven Titian poesie reunited for the first time in 550 years.
Worth it for the dogs – all the different expressions of dog in each story – sometimes, it can now be revealed, the same dog in different moods.
Worth, but only just, the dark, dystopian atmosphere! Herded into queues by demoralized guards in plastic vizors – Member or Non-Member? (Awful shades of schwitz.)
Neither! Trustee!
But VIP ticket not recognized by them until it was too late and precious time already lost in queuing.
Then inside – more queueing – only twenty allowed in room at once -people getting arsy “why then give us times…” . Much masking.
One-way system – directions all over the floor and art routes with timings (25 minutes baroque, 35 minutes if you add Impressionists…)
Then suddenly on the dot of four all the walkie-talkies explode into life – closing time! and we are abruptly thrown out – all at once, from the same exit – so all that strenuous separating is thrown away in a moment.
Surely reform is needed. Why not finally go the whole hog and make it VIP only again? – As in the days of Titian.
E.g. one has to know the director (or c.1 degree of separation) to gain.
It was clear from their dress that many were the opposite of VIP.
VUP – very unimportant person.
We live on in the ruins…
We will prevail!

 

 

 

 

 

Posted Saturday, July 25, 2020 under Adrian Edge day by day.

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