Bernard Instone: Arts and Crafts jeweller

May27

Bernard Instone (1891—1987) is a highly regarded and very collectable jeweller, designer and silversmith of the later British Arts and Crafts movement. I am delighted and very fortunate to have a rare Bernard Instone ring for sale in my Etsy shop.

Instone was born in Kings Norton in Birmingham, and his artistic talent was apparent from a very early age. He was only twelve years old when he won a scholarship to the Birmingham School of Jewellery at Vittoria Street, part of the Birmingham School of Art, where he studied under renowned Arts and Crafts jeweller Arthur Gaskin and learned silversmithing from 1904—1912.

Bernard Instone turquoise crescent brooch, late English Arts and Crafts jewellery. For sale in my Etsy shop, Inglenookery: click on photo for details.

Carnelian, sterling silver and 9 carat gold pendant by Bernard Instone. For sale in my Etsy shop, Inglenookery: click on photo for details.

Bernard Instone. Arts and Crafts brooch. Silver, amethyst and citrine. Diameter: 4.1 cm (1.6 in). English, c. 1930. Sold by Tadema Gallery. Note the hand-tooled narrow silver leaves, so characteristic of his work.

After leaving the School, Instone worked for a while for another renowned jeweller and craftsman, John Paul Cooper, in his Westerham studio, and then studied in Berlin under Emil Lettre, Kaiser Wilhelm II’s Court goldsmith. In October 1913 he was back in England, and began part-time teaching at Vittoria Street. As well as making pieces for the Gaskins and Bernard Cuzner and other teachers at the school, he also made his first commissions at this time. In 1920 he set up his own jewellers and silversmith works—Langstone Silver Works—in Digbeth in Birmingham. The company worked from there until 1954 when it moved to Lode Lane in Solihull.

Silver and moonstone earrings by Bernard Instone, sold by Tadema Gallery.

Silver and moonstone earrings by Bernard Instone c. 1930, sold by Tadema Gallery.

As well as making his own designs, Instone produced jewellery for other jewellers, such as Sibyl Dunlop: a family website about Instone records “he visited [Dunlop] every Friday at her shop in Kensington, supplying her with made up designs already marked up with the SD mark ready for the retail market and [in the] 1940s Liberty became a customer after 25 years of trying to sell to them.” His two sons came to work in the business, and Instone retired in 1963 to the Cotswolds, where he died in 1987.

Instone was strongly inspired by nature, and floral themes occur in most of his pieces. His jewellery can be roughly divided into two types: that with enamel, and that without.

Citrine and silver necklace by Bernard Instone. For sale at Tadema Gallery.

His finest and showiest pieces belong to the latter category: fantastic brooches, rings, necklaces, bracelets, dress clips and earrings with semi-precious stones and sometimes pearls in intricate silver mounts, often with detailed hand-tooled foliage and scrolls. One of his trademark designs are long, fine handmade silver leaves with hand-tooled veins. His favourite stones to use were citrines and amethysts.

Silver, amethyst and peridot bracelet by Bernard Instone. Sold by Van Den Bosch.

The enamel pieces commonly have a floral theme, with leaves and multicoloured flowers often in sugary pastel colours, all picked out in enamel and sometime embellished with marcasites.

Bernard Instone enamel brooch. For sale in my Etsy shop: click on photo for details. (NOW SOLD).

Another Bernard Instone enamel brooch in a different colourway. For sale in my Etsy shop: click on link for details.

Enamel floral brooch by Bernard Instone, in the collections of the V&A Museum.

Instone sometimes signed his work ‘BI’ and ‘SILVER’, but just as often did not sign his work at all. His style is so distinctive it is easy to spot an Instone once you have got your eye in, though! (I recently saw a fabulous Instone silver and amethyst crescent brooch on eBay which was described by the seller as Victorian. It positively screams Instone! Sadly my pockets weren’t deep enough to buy it.)

Instone’s pieces were very popular during his lifetime and have become increasingly collectable. His work is held in the collections of the Victoria & Albert Museum in London, and is sold by London galleries such as Van Den Bosch and Tadema Gallery: the Instone jewellery in the archive sections of their websites is well worth a look.

I am so happy to be able to offer a rare Bernard Instone moonstone and silver ring in my Etsy shop. A near-identical ring was sold by Tadema Gallery (photos here, scroll down a bit and here, in high resolution). The ring has Instone’s famous handmade silver leaves on either side of the stone. It dates from c. 1930.

Bernard Instone moonstone and silver ring, for sale at my Etsy shop. (NOW SOLD).

Click on the following photos to enlarge:

Okay I went a bit mad with the photos, but Etsy only allows you five and it is so pretty I wanted to show it off properly!

Update February 2015: The ring has now sold. Sorry!

UPDATE July 2016: I briefly had a rare early Bernard Instone brooch for sale in my Etsy shop, but it sold in under 24 hours. Sorry!

Early Bernard Instone brooch. For sale in my Etsy shop: click on photo for details. (NOW SOLD).

Tuna Turner

May26

And while we’re on the subject of Turners, bless The Grauniad and its typos, the cutting of one of which graces the pinboard in our kitchen:

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Miss Tuna Turner.

In the 70s The Guardian was notorious for the number of typos it contained in pretty much every edition. The satirical magazine Private Eye took the piss out of this mercilessly, calling the paper The Grauniad then and still doing so to this day. Three and a bit years on from when we first saw it, this typo still makes us laugh. Tuna Turner it is, every time.

Tiny, tinier, tiniest

May26

I’m not quite sure how or why this happened, but recently I seem to have been accumulating tiny pieces of jewellery in my Etsy shop. First up was a pretty Edwardian brooch with Persian turquoises, which is a squitchy 23 mm (9/10 inch) across its widest point.

Tiny Edwardian Persian turquoise and silver brooch. (NOW SOLD).

Just recently I bought an even tinier brooch: a pretty little sterling silver pin with an Art Nouveau design of leaves and a daisy-like flower. It measures 18 mm (7/10 inch) across by 12 mm (just under 1/2 inch) high. (Update: a kind lady on Etsy has since told me it’s a letter ‘C’ brooch – which of course it is! I wondered why it had that strange cut-off ‘top’ edge …. Turn it through 90 degrees and suddenly it makes sense. As Homer Simpson would say, ‘Doh!’. She also thinks it’s by Ortak, the jewellery makers up in the Orkney Isles in the far north of Scotland.)

Vintage tiny William Morris design sterling silver brooch forming a letter ‘C’, and made by Ortak in the 1970s. (NOW SOLD).

But the titchiest of all are the sweet little Hroar Prydz enamel and silver butterfly earrings I bought a few weeks ago. These little Norwegian beauties are so wee: each butterfly measures just 15 mm (6/10 inch) across at its widest part. Considering their size, the level of detailing in them is amazing.

Hroar Prydz enamel and silver butterfly earrings. (NOW SOLD).

I wonder if it’s something to do with having watched the 1966 film Fantastic Voyage the other day? I love that film!

Mr Turner

May26

Massive congratulations to one of my favourite actors, Timothy Spall, who has just won the Best Actor prize at the Cannes Film Festival for his portrayal of one of my favourite artists, J M W Turner (c.1775—1851), in the film Mr Turner. I can’t wait to see this film. It’s directed by Mike Leigh, and will be released here in the UK on 31 October, and in the US on 19 December. It looks ravishing:

It’s had some great reviews, including this one in Variety, and this one in Vanity Fair. I could look at Spall’s rumpled, crumpled face for hours: to see him portray Turner is almost too exciting for words!

Some examples of Turner’s towering genius:

‘Rain, Steam and Speed – The Great Western Railway’, by J M W Turner, 1844.

800px-Turner,_J._M._W._-_The_Fighting_Téméraire_tugged_to_her_last_Berth_to_be_broken

‘The Fighting Temeraire tugged to her last berth to be broken up’, by J M W Turner, 1838.

‘Wreckers — Coast of Northumberland, with a Steam-Boat Assisting a Ship off Shore’, by J M W Turner, between 1833-4.

and here he is in my neck of the woods:

‘Stonehenge’ by J M W Turner, c. 1827.

‘Fonthill Abbey from the south west’, by J M W Turner, 1799.

I love to think I have walked in Turner’s footsteps!

Mmmm, comfy.

May25

The Humbug at her repose.

Now I know why the cyclamen in that particular pot failed to flourish …

Sunday stroll: Fonthill Lake

May25

Chap (my better half) and I went for a walk this afternoon around Fonthill Lake, in south Wiltshire, near the small village of Fonthill Bishop. Here the eccentric and phenomenally rich William Beckford (1760—1844) built his famous (or perhaps that should be infamous) Fonthill Abbey—while it still stood one of the great tourist attractions of the country. Construction on the Abbey, which despite its name was never a religious house, was started in 1796 and after its 300-foot high tower fell for the third time in 1825, the Abbey was demolished. The Fonthill Estate is now owned by Lord Margadale.

Fonthill Abbey, before it fell down. A modest little pile, wasn’t it?

As well as building the Abbey, Beckford landscaped the estate grounds. He dammed a small stream to form the long, sinuous Fonthill Lake, and built an impressive gateway into his estate on the Fonthill Bishop to Hindon road. He scattered grottoes and statuary around the estate. Money was no object.

We parked up near the village cricket ground, where a match was in progress. Neither Chap nor I follow cricket so we had no idea what was going on. It looked very picturesque though.

Sunday cricket match at Fonthill Bishop.

We walked past sheep and lambs grazing on the lush green pastures to the gateway with its fabulous green men keystones—talk about making an entrance!

Fonthill Estate gateway near Fonthill Bishop

Green men on both sides of the two archway keystones.

View from the other side. They look a bit grumpy, don’t they?

The lake might look familiar—all the river scenes in the Johnny Depp and Juliette Binoche film Chocolat were filmed here.

Fonthill Lake.

The estate parkland is beautifully planted, with some wonderful mature trees, including pink-flowered horse chestnuts. I love this time of year—the green of the grass is almost unreal it’s so zingy. May is definitely my favourite month.

Parkland in Fonthill Estate.

The may blossom (hawthorn) is just starting to go over, and the cow parsley is too—together they make such a beautiful white froth of blossom.

Cow parsley (Anthriscus sylvestris).

Looking northwards up the lake.

At the head of the lake by the dam is a hydropower unit installed in 2011 that generates enough electricity from the dam outflow to power 11 typical houses. Yay for green power!

Beyond the dam once stood a massive woollen mill, long-since demolished.

Where the little building is now, in 1820 stood a 105-foot long, six storey woollen mill, powered by three water wheels and employing 200 people. It wasn’t a financial success and so was removed in 1830 by the new owner (Beckford had sold up by then) to restore the aesthetics of the lake.

Yellow flag iris (Iris pseudacorus)

Pretty yellow flag irises grow around the lake edge.

On the way back we saw a fresh, newly-hatched lacewing fluttering about, and it settled on Chap for a bit. They have the most beautiful coppery coloured eyes.

Lacewing (Chrysoperla carnea) on Chap’s finger. (For the benefit of readers of a nervous disposition, I’ve cropped out his hairy knuckles!)

We stopped to investigate one of the grottoes—this one was built out of tufa blocks and had the most massive ivy plant (more like a tree, really) growing atop it. Someone had been having a fun evening there: there were the remains of a bonfire and an empty glass perched on the grotto (bonus points if you can spot it!)

One of the many grottoes at Fonthill Estate. This is a wee one compared to most of them!

As we walked back to the car the cricket match was finishing to the sound of clapping—and then tea and cakes in the pavilion, no doubt.

Danish daisy jewellery: decorative resistance

May23

Enamel daisy brooch by the Royal Jeweller to the Danish court, Anton Michelsen. For sale in my Etsy shop: click on photo for details. (NOW SOLD).

On 16 April 1940, Princess Margrethe of Denmark was born. She was born in troubled times. A mere seven days before her birth, her country had been invaded by Nazi Germany.

To celebrate the Princess’s birth, jewellers in Denmark produced daisy jewellery: ‘marguerit’ is the Danish for daisy, so this made a nice play on her name. Daisy jewellery was produced in various forms, including brooches, pendants, bracelets, earrings and necklaces, all in gold-washed sterling silver and white enamel. It became immediately popular, not just as a mark of respect for the monarchy but also, and perhaps more importantly, as a symbol of national resistance against the Nazis. To wear a piece of daisy jewellery was to give a tacit ‘up yours’ to the occupying forces.

Anton Michelsen daisy clip on earrings For sale in my Etsy shop: click on photo for details. (NOW SOLD).

Danish white enamel daisy ring. For sale in my Etsy shop: click on photo for details. (NOW SOLD).

Anton Michelsen daisy bar brooch, for sale at Inglenookery.

Anton Michelsen daisy bar brooch, rare, for sale at Inglenookery on Etsy. Perhaps one of the prettiest possible forms of passive resistance? (NOW SOLD).

The daisy jewellery was initially made by several firms of silversmiths in Denmark, with that of Anton Michelsen (1809-1877) being the most famous. The firm that bore Michelsen’s name was founded in 1841 and by 1848 Michelsen had become the Jeweller to the Royal Danish Court. The firm was based in Copenhagen. Other firms making daisy jewellery in the wartime period included Viggo Pedersen and Bernhard Hertz. Those making them shortly after the war included Hans Hansen and Aarre & Krogh Eftf.

Aarre Krogh & Eftf daisy clip on earrings, for sale at Inglenookery on Etsy. (NOW SOLD).

The earliest daisy brooches fasten with a ‘C’ catch or a safety pin-type catch (rollover catches were used on the later brooches). The first pieces of jewellery were produced for domestic consumption only so were generally marked just with ‘925 S’ (referring to the silver purity of 925 parts per 1000, ie sterling silver), whereas the later ones also had ‘DENMARK’ and/or ‘STERLING’, indicating they were intended for the international as well as the domestic market.

Anton Michelsen three daisy brooch, sold by Inglenookery on Etsy. (NOW SOLD).

Large daisy clipon earrings by Anton Michelsen. For sale in my Etsy shop: click on photo for details. (NOW SOLD).

Daisy jewellery was so popular and struck such a chord with Danes that it was made through the postwar period and continues to be made to this day. The famous silversmith company of Georg Jensen later took over the firm of A. Michelsen, and continued to make daisy jewellery. Recently they have produced jewellery based on the earliest Michelsen designs.

Although Denmark does not have an official floral emblem, in 1980 the daisy won an unofficial competition and was voted the ‘unofficial official’ flower of Denmark, no doubt in part because of the fondness the Danes have towards this flower and all it represents.

And little Princess Margrethe, who was born as Nazi tanks rolled across her country? She ascended the Danish throne in 1972 and as Queen Margrethe II, still rules today as the sovereign of Denmark.

So to wear or own an item of Danish daisy jewellery is to possess not only a beautiful piece of personal adornment, but also a moving little piece of history.

Daisies (Bellis perennis) growing in Wiltshire, may 2013.

Daisies (Bellis perennis) growing in Wiltshire, May 2014.

Anton Michelsen daisy brooch, for sale at Inglenookery on Etsy. (NOW SOLD).

“Adlestrop”, by Edward Thomas

May23

Adlestrop station sign, now in the bus shelter at Adlestrop. Photo by Graham Horn.

Almost exactly one hundred years ago, a man caught a train from Oxford, heading north-west to Worcester. Nothing special about that, you might think. The train stopped at the small station of Adlestrop in the Cotswolds, waited a while, and then moved on. Again, nothing untoward there. But the circumstances of that stop made such an impression on the passenger, the poet Edward Thomas, that he later wrote what was to become perhaps his most famous poem:

Adlestrop

Yes, I remember Adlestrop—
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

Rosebay willowherb growing alongside railway tracks (Photographer David Wright on Geograph: http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/197870)

Rosebay willowherb growing alongside railway tracks. Photo by David Wright.

I adore this poem.

It is so poignant for so many reasons. The journey was made on 23 June 1914. Five days later, on 28 June, Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated in Sarajevo, an event which is generally considered to have precipitated the First World War. The UK entered the war on 4 August 1914. Thomas enlisted in the Army, and was killed at the Battle of Arras on 9 April 1917. The poem conjurs up that lost, innocent period before the horrors of global and mechanised warfare devastated Europe and decimated a generation.

It also summons up the midsummer heat of a lost, rural England. The station of Adlestrop was closed in the 1960s, during the Beeching cuts that finished off so many of the small rural train lines. Haycocks are no longer made; songbirds are in desperate decline. But the beauty of the poem is everlasting.

What is interesting too about this poem is how its skeleton can be so clearly seen in Thomas’s field notes for that day:

23 June 1914. A glorious day from 4.20 a.m. and at 10 tiers above tiers of white cloud with dirtiest grey bars above the sea of slate and dull brick by Battersea Park. Then at Oxford tiers of pure white with loose longer masses above and gaps of dark clear blue above hay-making and elms.

Then we stopped at Adlestrop, through the willows could be heard a chain of blackbirds‘ songs at 12.45 and one thrush and no man seen, only a hiss of engine letting off steam. Stopping outside Campden by banks of long grass, willowherb and meadowsweet, extraordinary silence between two periods of travel—looking out on grey dry stones between metals and the shining metals and over it all the elms willows and long grass—one man clears his throat—a greater than rustic silence. No house in view. Stop only for a minute till signal is up.

(The Collected Poems of Edward Thomas, edited by R George Thomas, Oxford University Press 1981 (1985 reprint), 135-6)

Thomas wrote the poem sometime between 1 January and 24 May 1915 (op. cit., xvii); it preserves perfectly those small, still moments in late June 1914 before all hell broke loose.

Lest We Forget.

A male blackbird singing. Photograph by Malene Thyssen.

A male blackbird singing. Photo by Malene Thyssen.

Molly the Witch

May23

We had a very long-awaited arrival in our garden at the beginning of May, and she caused great excitement (well, for me! I’m easily pleased).

About eight years ago I came home from my favourite local plant nursery with a small plant of a species paeony, Paeonia daurica subsp. mlokosewitschii. You won’t be surprised that its name is such a mouthful that it has a nickname: Molly the Witch. Much easier to say (unless you speak Polish – its discoverer was the Polish botanist, Ludwik Mlokosiewicz). I’d seen photos of this paeony in gardening magazines and slavered and added it to my wish list. It has the most beautiful pale lemon yellow blossoms, and is among the earliest of all the paeonies to come into flower.

So I waited for the flowers. And waited. And waited. It probably didn’t help that I had the plant in a smallish pot, so after a few years I potted her up. And waited. And waited. And then, this spring, in amongst the beautiful deep red leaf spikes, I saw a small bud. Just the one, but that was more than enough! I watched it like a hawk as the bud fattened and grew.

On May Day (1 May) she looked like this, full of promise:

Molly the Witch in bud (Paeonia daurica subsp. mlokosewitschii).

and she stayed tantalisingly closed like that for a couple of days. On 3 May she finally opened:

Molly open

I am so happy! She has finished flowering now, but I am hopeful that if I feed her and cosset her, next year I might get more. Fingers crossed.

As The Mead Nursery says about her: definitely worth the wait!