I received this great e-mail from Eve in Tasmania. It is pure illusion, the pink dots in the image never change in reality, only in your mind. Weird but true!
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The picture on the right is of Osbert Sitwell aged 10. Later to become Sir Osbert Sitwell, famous poet, art critic, writer and journalist. He was born in December 1892, the son of Sir George Reresby Sitwell and Lady Ida Emily Augusta Denison. His mother was the daughter of the 1st Earl of Londesborough, William Henry Forester Denison. As a young boy, Osbert, for many years regularly spent Christmas, with his parents and his extended family, at Blankney Hall. In his book 'The Scarlet Tree' he relates some fascinating insights about life in the Hall in the early 1900s. In November 1903, at the age of 10, whilst in his third term at school, he wrote a letter to his mother, who was in Naples at the time. In it he asked if they would be spending Christmas at Blankney. The family did spend the holidays at Blankney and heavy snow ensured it was a white Christmas. Osbert described the scene as they approached the Hall. An immense stone building, standing a dead weight in the snow, of regular appearance, echoing in rhythm the empty syllables of its name and the colour of lead outside. He observed the interior was always brilliantly lit, its hospitable fires blazing, flickering like lions within the cages of its huge grates and compared it to a cave of ice, a magnificent igloo in the surrounding white and mauve negation. Few fine pictures in the large rooms, leading one into the other. Here and there, ivory mirrors and other sumptuous objects, some given by George IV and bearing on them the Royal Arms. The main sitting room was full of chairs and sofas, piled with cushions, with tables with many newspapers and weekly journals on them, and green-baize card tables ready for play. White fur rugs covered a light polished floor, with tall palm trees, carnations and poinsettias and standard lamps glowing softly under silk shades in evidence. There were writing tables, too, silver vases and square silver photograph frames, silver inkstands and lapis paper-weights. Near the fireplace two jocularly painted wooden screens, representing peasants in costume. He went on to recall broad white passages leading to thickly carpeted bedrooms and the white arches on one side of the corridor looking down on hall and staircase. He recalls the smell of wood ash and logs, the lingering odour perhaps of rosewater or perfume and a fragrance of Turkish cigarettes. He sees for a moment the women, with narrow waists, full skirts and hair piled up. Above all he remembers the sound of music. Sometimes a string band playing in the sitting room but more often tunes being ground out by several mechanical organs, operated by turning a handle,vast machines, tall as cupboards, standing along the passages. Osbert then makes reference to the large gathering of family members and he remembers the voices mingling with the music. He refers to them as seeming as if they were left over from other centuries. He also recalls the packs of pet dogs and their quarrelsome, rasping noises as they demanded to be taken out into the cold air. His attention then turns back to outside, and snowflakes scurrying past on the east wind. The house, the church, the stables, the kennels formed a dark solid nucleus, a colony in a flat landscape, he knew the village was somewhere near, yet out of reach under the snow. He was also aware that the ancient city of Lincoln stood eleven miles away.
