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A Love Letter to Devon

June 24, 2019June 24, 2019by joannetickleLeave a Comment

Once upon a time there was a man named Isaac Singer that purchased a house in 1871 on beautiful lush grounds where he added gardens, tennis courts and bowling greens. He bought it as his private residence with the money that he made with the invention of the Singer Sewing Machine, which still stands today as the standard for the modern sewing machine. He lived from 1811 until 1875 and then this stunning house was rebuilt it in the style of the Palace of Versaille, by one of his children, Paris Singer.

This breath taking property is named Oldway Mansion and sits in Paignton, Devon England. Oldway Mansion was purchased by the Paignton Urban District Council in 1946 and was used as council offices and then marriage ceremonies till 2013 and since then it has sat empty.

I strolled around the massive home in the mist of a light rain with patches of fog rolling along the tennis courts and gardens.

There is a statue with the head of a woman and body of a lion protecting the steps going up to the back of the house. I’m not sure who it is. Perhaps a member of the royal family? I can’t tell.

Vintage faux leopard coat over a Zara jumpsuit

What I can say, is that this hauntingly beautiful estate sits empty and rotting. It is the saddest thing to see such a lonely empty historical landmark deserted and ignored because of a lack of funding. I know that local historians are gutted to see it just sitting there like a discarded pearl at the bottom of the ocean. It seems no one can come to an agreement with what to do with the enormous estate. It should be reopened to the public as a museum, if nothing else. One can only imagine what it was like when it was a private home with parties and dinners and events. I peered through the windows and snapped some shots of a ghostly interior trapped in a time warp of opulence. A grand piano sits alone in a vast room. Parkay floors are faded and stained but the windows still have curtains and the style of the room hearkens back to a period of decadence.

I yearned to go inside but there are bolts on the doors and no one is allowed.

Crumbling brick and dead leaves are starting to collect and if nothing is done this symbol of the 1800’s will collapse.

Chard, Somerset – Courthouse – circa 1640

I visited another amazing private residence in Devon that was built in 1640 and, originally, was the town courthouse. The judge was known as “the hanging judge”. It is a thrilling monument to the times with its turrets and lovely courtyard.

There is a ghost who has been there for centuries. One day an old woman knocked on the front door, which resembles the entrance to one of the castles on Game Of Thrones, and said she had lived there as a child in the 1920’s. She brought along an old photo of herself on a tricycle out front of the place, gifting it to the current resident. He brought her inside so she could revisit her childhood dwelling and she immediately asked if the female ghost was still there. And.. yes.. she was, still entertaining and watching over his children as she had watched over this woman so very long ago. It seems this spirit loves children and therefore they are the ones who have the gift of seeing her.

The courtyard

The back grounds are meticulously taken care of and the flowers are in full bloom. There is Ivy clinging to the walls and framing this idyllic English garden.

Moving back to the courthouse.

There were many hanged in the Gothic brick building with its heavy wooden door and concrete stair case.

I pleaded with Val to come into the old courtroom at night and we were terrified at the top of the stairs to see a mannequin dressed in period clothes at the back of the room. A dark specter watching over its ghostly tenants. I almost pee’d myself when Val’s blood curdling scream rang out and she scramble to the door in a desperate attempt to escape.

A mischievous tenant and keeper of all things spooky stood at the foot of the stairs giggling. A practical joker of the highest order.

I took some photos where I caught a large orb. They were zipping around so quickly it was difficult to catch them on film. I could definitely see them when the light flashed in the darkness.

It was cold and ominous and the light through the giant windows cast shadows on the concrete floor and ceiling.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I retreated to the warmth of the main house where there is always laughter and music and great food. I’ve been fortunate to have been invited for more than one Sunday roast and the host does not disappoint. Big thick slices of roast beef and home- made gravy, from scratch. Cheese topped cauliflower, parsnips roasted in Madagascar honey, a perfectly crispy roasted chicken and deliciously crunchy, yet, melt in your mouth, roasted potatoes.

To top it all off, the dessert was fresh berries with clotted cream and a sprinkle of sugar. A feast for a King or a Queen or a couple of Princess’s. At least I felt like one, when I visited this incredible house and it’s owner. Whatever the atmosphere has been over the years in this ancient place, I can say it is filled with love and happiness now. I doubt it has always been.

Dunkeswell

A stunner of a sunset in front of Val’s house

I photographed the old church and cemetery near Val’s place in Dunkeswell. I wanted to share some of them with my readers in case any of you decide to make the trip. It just such a beautiful place.

Tubbys Diner at the WWII Airfield – Dunkeswell

Val took me for breakfast one morning in an old hanger at a WWII Air Force Base. It was called Tubbys and there was one large gentleman cooking in a small kitchen in the back of the hanger.

He whipped up a great hearty British breakfast of eggs and ham, baked beans and potatoes and toast.

One thing I did a lot of was eat on my trip. The old myth about Britain not having good food is seriously a myth. I had delicious food everywhere I went… even Val’s house… because she makes a mean Chicken Fajita, that cannot be topped!

If I want to shop, while in Dunkeswell, I go to Exeter where there is a mixture of the old and the new. Top Shop and Zara and other fashionable stores are mixed with small bakeries and vintage shops. There is always a pub or restaurant to stop and have a drink or a bite.

I think the most heart felt thing I can say about anywhere I have been in the world is the connection to people that you meet. In my case I am fortunate to have a friend that always makes me laugh and is the best travel companion you could ask for. She selflessly goes to the most touristy, cheesy spots and shows just as much enthusiasm as I do and she deserves an Academy Award for that. So my hat is off to Val and her laugh and her wonderful Devon. If you are looking for a peaceful, lovely holiday I suggest Devon, England. You will not be disappointed.

Fashion, laughs at 50

Poke My Eyes Out Please

March 23, 2019March 23, 2019by joannetickle1 Comment

There are some things that should never ever be revisited in my opinion. Some things that make my skin crawl at the memory of “going there.” For example; mom jeans.I cannot believe that fashion designers thought this was a look that deserved to be seen again. I cringed when I saw them reappear in stores in 2016. When they were introduced originally, I’m not sure if it was comfort, or just a sudden need to change things up in the 1980’s , but I have never thought they were flattering to anyone. A rounded, high-waisted, pot belly container with puckered front pockets, encased us and fell to a tapered leg. When they first arrived on the scene, I actually combined those with “Earth Shoes”.. the anti -heeled shoe that encouraged a bizarre duck-walk, (supposedly good for the spine), and thus, a fashion sex repellent was invented.

I also remember wearing, pale violet, high waisted, corduroy “elephant pants”, which were tight up to the bust line and then fell straight to a really wide leg, and at my height of 5’4”, I was a walking drawing of a rectangle. Carefully making my way through the hallways in High School, with a really wide gait, to prevent the legs wrapping around me and depositing me on the ground like a freshly stuffed Burrito. I secretly knew this wasn’t my best fashion moment.

It takes wisdom and a developed eye to see the whole picture when you look into a mirror. When I was younger I saw the clothes only ,and not the whole package. In those days we didn’t have cell phones with instant cameras and, if we owned a Polaroid , the film was so expensive we took photos of our friends on special occasions. Rarely photos of ourselves.

I don’t want to be biased here because men were not exempt from bad fashion ideas either.

I do not miss the “Kiss” boot or platformed high heel shoe for men. The chunky Frankenstein shoe that transformed a man’s gait into that of an Andalusian Dancing horse should have been designated for rock bands on stage only and not boys in Highschool trying to be cool. NO one could be David Bowie except David Bowie. I remember going on a date with a boy who took me to the movies and when he parked the car he changed out of his sneakers and put on a bright red pair of platforms to go into the Theatre. I was horrified. (He, of course, couldn’t drive in them because they were four- inches high. ) When we walked in the building he was greeted by a giant, grand, staircase down to the cinemas. He bravely took the first step, tripped up, and, with his wobbly legs, ran full speed, flailing, completely out of control down the stair case, nailing the landing only by flipping onto his knees and bowing at a passing couple.

Needless to say, that was the last date because I could not stop laughing. We can be so heartless at that age.

I think I have a much more compassionate outlook these days. I try not to laugh when I see a young man whose pants hang belong bum level with the crotch sweeping the pavement as they shuffle along. It’s not my thing but I get the need to feel cutting edge, especially when you are young, even if it looks like you are carrying a full load in your pants.

There should always be creativity in fashion and I am definitely drawn to that. I love seeing vintage combined with futuristic looks. Currently, I love a classic little black dress, designed by Maggie London, which is form fitting and has an illusion collar. It’s beautiful. I love a parachute skirt with a corset waist combined with a white blouse, combat boots and a leather jacket. I love some of the Steampunk and Victorian jackets that you can find in Goth Stores.

I love a good pair of jeans with a rock and roll tee-shirt.

But please burn the mom jeans, elephant pants and Frankenstein boots because they make me want to literally poke my own eyes out.

As an aside, there are some extremely tall, thin, women who look fabulous in an elephant pant. I am super jealous.

Have a great day!

Fashion

Lady Aristocrat in a Hat

February 9, 2019by joannetickleLeave a Comment

I really love vintage everything. I can’t remember the last time I had a new piece of furniture. Maybe back in my early college days when I used to shop at IKEA. I would buy something in my first year and have it assembled by graduation. My friend Bev taught me to have an eye for quality vintage. Her spaces harken back to old Hollywood and are filled with Art Deco figurines and lamps and big, soft, curved velvet, couches and matching club chairs. Any starlet would have loved to have fainted on one of her leopard print chaises lounge’.
I grew up in a house in the suburbs that was filled with the most modern furniture of the day and it was the 1970’s. Wall to wall burnt orange shag broadloom and gold and avocado velvet wallpaper. A chartreuse silk 8-foot-long couch that no one was ever allowed to sit on except for Christmas. A smoked glass round kitchen table replaced the old Formica and chrome one. When we finally sold my parents’ house I was able to acquire the 1950’s matching cracked glass ball lights and some old vases. A couple of the best 1970’s swivel chairs were a bit damaged but I just couldn’t toss them out. My mother hated anything old. She wanted everything brand new and, of the best quality, but she also didn’t want to replace anything, so when she finally moved into a senior’s apartment the house remained a shrine to the ‘70’s. My sister and her family were living with my mom at the time, and she took the things that she wanted, but my sister, like my mother, loves to have new things and isn’t as attracted to the past as I am.
One of the things that I took was a collection of hats that my mother had worn since the 1940’s.
My favourite hat was lost when my car was stolen in Toronto, it unfortunately, had been in the back seat. It was a 1950’s wide brimmed black silk and straw hat. I wore it all the time.
I still mourn the loss of that hat more than the loss of the car. I have my mom’s swirled velvet turban style hat in chartreuse with a matching hat pin which I love to wear on St. Paddy’s day.
The sixties and ‘70’s brought on a new and bigger style of hat. I’ve got a giant beige straw beehive style hat with brown netting, a silk flower, and little velvet balls adorning it. I remember going to a wedding with my parents and my mother’s head wouldn’t fit in the car with the hat on so she slumped forward, like a dead body, rather than remove the hat that she had spent an hour perfecting. My sister and I had little white lace combs hair sprayed onto the top of our heads. I remember my wispy baby hair being teased and lacquered to secure the hideous adornment.
Nowadays, I love my hats and I wear them as often as I can. When I was in England I went to a few antique markets and found some lovely art deco velvet hats and a straw saucer style with black and white feather’s around the brim. Britain is a great place to still find some vintage hats for a good price, even with the exchange. Some of my hats are strictly for weddings and outdoor summer parties, but others I will wear as often as I can and I will pair them with modern looks so I don’t look like I’m going to a costume party.
I really wish ladies and men’s hats would come back into full fashion like they were in the ‘40’s and 50’s and 60’s. I think this generation is missing out on the glamour of days gone by.
Chanel’s little black dress topped off with the fashion forward look of a Haute couture hat is a timeless standard of beauty and art in my opinion.
Wearing a hat can change everything about an outfit. I love the Royal family for continuing the tradition of wearing statement hats to every occasion. I’m not too sure if I love all the fascinator’s out there but I admire the creativity. I love that the Kentucky Derby also embraces the glamour of hats and the women who attend spend months picking out the perfect topper to their summer dresses.
In the days of the Rat Pack, Las Vegas was the place to be seen and everyone dressed for it. It’s sad that nowadays it has become a sweat pant wearing, slot machine pulling, buffet hunting crowd, just looking for a big win. You can see some great shows there but I don’t think people are dressing up to attend like they used to.
There are loads of sites online that sell vintage hats like Etsy and Amazon UK. I usually find something there, and get my British pal Val, to order it for me and then mail it to me. I’ve never had a hat shipped directly to me from the UK site. I hesitate because I don’t want to have to pay any duty on something that I didn’t spend a lot of money on.

I hope I’ve inspired some of you to give the fashion hat a go. Hats are fun and can hide a really bad hair day!

Fashion, laughs at 50

Fifty Schmifty

January 23, 2019by joannetickleLeave a Comment

When I turned fifty it was weird. There was a big surprise party and music and friends and family ,and yet, I felt a bit creep’d out. I felt ashamed for being that old all of a sudden and I had a flash of my mother, at 50, as she began her descent into the older woman syndrome.
Close cut short permed hair, stretchy pants, an overly embellished sweater and sensible flat shoes. The saggy bum of those shapeless, navy polyester’s, lent the observer to picture a loaded diaper beneath. The gorilla shaped sweater with the huge pieces of reflective mirror,
and plastic gems bedazzled all over it, and those black, faux suede, men’s- slipper inspired ladies’ shoes will never be erased from my memory banks.
My mother had gone from a fashionable woman who bought expensive crepe and silk dresses from Italy to a Sears bargain hunter. It was the 1970’s.
I still have her oldest dresses hanging in my closet. They are gorgeous and timeless …and I can’t fit into a single one. The last time I wore them was at the age of 18 and after that I became “big boned” with “lovely skin”.
When I was very young it was important for me to look like my friends and we all shopped at the same stores and bought the same clothes. We went to the same hair dresser and had the same haircuts. Here is the thing though; everyone has a different body type and skin tone and just because hot pink looks good on my best friend does not mean it looks good on me. In fact, it brought out the rosacea that I didn’t even know existed until it was highlighted by a hideous pink neon.
As I got older, I realized that freedom of expression and creativity could be blasted out to the world through our appearance. A light bulb went off as I entered my punk phase. Stealing my mom’s red, pointy toed, curling boots; shredding a couple of miniskirts; slapping on fishnet tights and hair spraying myself into a spikey rooster, I’d hit the clubs to pogo the night away. I’d look around the scene with my black coal rimmed eyes and see another 75 carbon copies of myself but I still felt like I was a rebel and doing something different. I was an individual.
I then had a chameleon phase in college where I would be whatever the situation called for. If I was going to see The Grateful Dead I would be a hippy. If I was going to see Elvis Costello I was a new wave punk. If I was going to see the B-52’s I had the biggest bee-hive. It allowed me to experiment with different looks and find whatever felt more like me.
At some point, I realized that they were all me.
Turning fifty. Turning fifty gave me an epiphany. I see that with age comes absolute freedom to express yourself. Some rules do apply though: do not wear something so short that you are exposing your sagging arse and, at some point, you’ve got to cover up that Neanderthal wrinkler cleavage. Getting older sucks but there are ways to celebrate the, “I no longer give a shit” period of our lives.
Working in the film business has allowed me to present myself at work in whatever phase I was going through, finally landing where I am today.
My philosophy is this. Dress for how you are feeling. Don’t let your best dresses hang in your closet waiting for the right opportunity to wear them. Combine fancy with casual. Experiment because, at your age, you can be eccentric now.
With some laughs and fashion ,and loads of makeup, I think I’ll get through this next stage of my life,
I hope you enjoy my posts geared for those of us who are in our “golden years”. Barf.