It begins with my mother’s recollection of a visit to Belgium on her honeymoon 50+ years ago.
To fill in their story just a bit; my father was young, British, Protestant, an only child. A rather dashing chap with an avid love of travel and geography.
Mom was a black haired, blue eyed Irish-Catholic. One of 7 children, and in her own words “having barely traveled out of the borough of Dublin” she thought my father a fine catch with his fancy car, film star hair and English ways. He thought she had beautiful eyes, elegant hands and, I suspect, fun brothers.
Despite major family oppositon due to the Catholic-Protestent issue, they married and off they went. To hear them both tell it now, which in fact I did just last night, is a tale of two very different honeymoons but that, dear readers is another post book.
Their itinerary included 7 (or 8 ) countries, possibly a boat, or not (father rolls eyes here), untold amounts of bacon & eggs (according to him, she wouldn’t eat anything else-mother rolls eyes here) and the car robbed of everything ( clothes, camera and all the honeymoon photos) outside the Folies Bergere.
But, this post is about the day they went to Belgium.
My father’s grandfather had been a soldier in the 1st World War. He lost his life, alongside literally thousands of others that day in Belgium, in 1915. Seemingly endless tides of brave yet unimaginably terrified young men and mere boys rising from the trenches to be caught in barbed wire and machine gun fire. He left a widow with 7 children back home in England. Some 40 years later, his grandson now wished to pay his respects at his grave.
My mother; ”Of all the places we’d planned to see, your father’s visit to his grandfather’s grave was very important to him.”
When they arrived at their destination in Belgium they were overcome with emotion at the immense size and immaculate condition of the beautiful cemetery. On this they both agree. Meticulous care had been taken honouring the memory of all the heroic foreign souls who had lost their lives in battle on Belgian soil, even after all these years. My mother remembers searching the rows of identical headstones for what seemed like hours, to no avail, almost reaching the point of giving up. My father recalls he had a map of sorts; a grid of numbers & letters, I presume sent to the families of the deceased after the war. In any case, after quite a hike, they came upon a lone gardener to whom my father spoke a few words en francais. When the gardener heard my father’s last name, he lifted his jacket from where it was placed…directly upon my great grandfather’s headstone.
My father; “Can you imagine the emotion, upon finally arriving there amongst thousands of graves, to find it was my grandfather’s headstone being tended at that precise moment?”
~
So I’m dedicating this post to my great grandfather, and his son, my grandfather, who also served in the British Army in World War II
and to all the brave troops who are serving now.
Without them we have nothing.
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw *sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
~
Cemeteries of the Great War 1914-1918, Belgium,
~
PS. Thank you to my parents for allowing me to share their tapestry of memories with you.
Have a Beautiful Memorial Day Weekend!
xoxo
SP
but with my newly invigorated passion for bright pink coinciding with getting bolder in my dotage I said to myself ;
Until this week.
Having recently been so inspired by the colours and textures of Morocco, along with my love for lively Sri Lankan style,
All of a sudden I wanted the room done like yesterday.
One of my favourite vintage Suzanis in hot pinks & purples served as my colour wheel
The roses are from my garden
Verging on vulgar in the garden but so great brought inside, these orange roses are for real. NO photo enhancement.
Tons of inspiration in the beautiful book “Rajasthan”
Striped “dhurrie” from Pottery barn, ottoman “George Smith”, vintage leather poof
Yellow throw pillow “Pottery Barn”, straw hat “Maison K” Montecito
A couple of fav. mags always beckon one into a room
Now I can’t wait to get up in the morning and have my tea in the conservatory-it’s positively singing with sunlight
and the perfect place for cocktails at Day’s end (or Day’s middle-towards-end..ish)
,
Two views of the “study room”
The Honesty Bar
*
Halls are hung with old maps and cool art, even the baseboards are blackboards where inspiration may be chalked up daily.
**
How fun is this custom carpeting in the rooms?! (yes, that’s my foot- for scale)
Plus these egg custard pastries are mandatory every day. It’s a Portuguese law.
Chanel Resort 2013
Chalkboard candles & Chargers both from Chalkboard China
Love the art propped against the fireplace in this contemporary space.
These are Von’s roses, not from my garden. No scent, but they lasted about 9 days! Viagra roses.
Take note how many of these images have some form of natural wood working beautifully with the orange & black combo.
Such a cool kitch!
Amanda Peet’s entry hall via Vogue
Here, natural wood, orange & black are adding a contemporary pop to an otherwise traditional room.
I want to hang a hammock inside somewhere, don’t you?!
Michael Smith
This is a favorite photo so I’m sorry I don’t have the credit.
Here fiery orange & deep charcoal in my “Boy Barn”
Ben Stiller’s library by Roman-Williams
Black bookcases are terribly chic.
and Hermes blankets always make Mommy happy.
Oh, you naughty young Parisian man in Hotel Costes! How did you get on this post?!
I like the warmth of this living space looking out on to the snow and pines, but can you tell what’s going on on the ceiling?
![image_thumb[50]](http://slimpaley.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/image_thumb50.png?w=870)
This gorgeous, long lasting and, may I add, impressively virile climber is called
Just put your face in that
They even raise plastic cattle.
Roses simply do NOT get any better than these.
