Then and Now: 1958 & 2017


Tomorrow will be the opening of the Virtual Tea Towel Museum.  I wanted to carefully pick the blog that should herald the opening.  Was it to be an old one, a beautiful one, one about my favourite place, a gift from my best friend, one that I inherited???  Was it a difficult decision? No, because I wanted one that would demonstrate the ‘strap line’ to the Museum: Every tea towel tells a story.  It was an easy choice but a difficult blog to write.  I had to stop several times….

This isn’t the most beautiful tea towel that I own, but my most special.  In effect, I designed it by putting three photographs together, with the help of Bags of Love.

When someone close to you dies, you get loads of cards from people wanting to make things better for you;  they are sent out of kindness and with love.  Common phrases are ‘Time heals’ or ‘things will get better’.  If you have been through this process, you will know that this is just not true.  It may make other people feel better, but not you.  Life changes; it will never be the same; it will never return to how it was before that death. Think about it.  There is a big gaping hole where once that person was in your life.  As someone once said “It doesn’t get better, it gets different”.  This tea towel sums that up for me.

I was brought up in Ealing and lived there until I went away to university.  I used to go back, on a regular basis, to see my parents, spending weekends with them, celebrating Christmas, birthdays, Easter and a whole manner of other events.  My grandfather (my mother’s father) was an Alderman on Ealing Borough Council and in 1958 he became Mayor of Ealing. My grandfather’s wife had died many years previously and so he needed a ‘Mayoress’.  Something unusual happened, his predecessor died halfway through his tenure so my grandfather had to step in to be Mayor; he served a year and a half, rather than just a year.  My grandfather decided that his daughter, Eileen, should be Mayoress for the first six months and his eldest daughter, Beatrice, my mother, for the next year. My grandfather was always one to try and keep everyone happy; he didn’t always succeed.  This sharing of roles allowed Eileen time to plan her wedding and go to Italy to live after the wedding.  1958/9 was one of those weird periods for a young child, when I was dragged off to various functions, accompanying my mother: the opening of Christmas bazaars, playing bingo with older people, going in fancy dress to the Lord Mayor of London’s parade, attending Remembrance Day services.  I was always given a lot of attention by everyone because I was a very well-behaved child (well-behaved or actually incredibly shy).

My mother kept an amazing scrapbook, leather-bound, full of newspaper cuttings and photographs, which I have – the sort of thing that needs to be left to someone but there is probably no one that would want it.  In that scrapbook is the photograph on this tea towel.  It was the role of the Mayoress to plant the Mayoral Tree, an oak tree, in the Mayoral Walk in Walpole Park.  This was done in December 1958 and a little plaque was put at the base.  I always wanted to ask why the Mayor didn’t plant his own tree, especially in all that cold weather.  Look at my mother in her posh coat, hat, gloves and high-heeled shoes.  My mother had never planted a tree in her life, she’d never done any gardening because we had always lived in a flat.  However, I remember that coat, a dark fawn, almost mushroom, colour which was so thick and soft, made from wool with possibly some cashmere.  I loved sitting on my mother’s lap and stroking that coat.  I don’t think I thought a lot about what looks to be a dead animal around her neck.  I remember my mother having so many hat boxes to keep those stylish hats in, no woman would be seen without a hat in those days.  Her gardening skills were such that the tree in the picture died within a few months and had to be replaced.  After that, it survived and 59 years later it is still there.

My mother and I went to look at the tree every now and again, and had a walk in the park.  It always seemed difficult to find it, amongst so many trees.  On 5 June 1990, I went back to Walpole Park, with John, to look for the tree.  I found it; there was a bench by the tree; I sat down and cried.  My mother had died two hours before.  I wanted to be with ‘her’ tree.  I still have the photo that John took of me, sitting on the bench under the tree, wearing a pair of denim dungarees, with a ‘footballer’s perm’ and a pair of papier-mâché earrings (I thought I looked ‘cool’, probably no one else did).  John took the photo because I knew that, in reality, it was unlikely that I would return here.  That was the day  “when you realise nothing will ever be the same, time is divided into two parts, before and after this”.  I had no friends or relatives left in Ealing; her house would be sold.  It was the end of an era.  The pain was dire; I didn’t want to be at the top of the Family Tree.  That wasn’t my place.  A lot of things changed for me; no, that’s not right, I changed a lot of things for me.  I changed my name back to Howard, my family name; I changed my job; I got married; I converted the garage into another room so that I could accommodate so many things from my family home – the biggest, ugliest 1960s chair, her thousands of books, ornaments, jugs, china, paintings, scrapbooks, photos, cutlery, vases, tables.  I couldn’t get rid of any of them.  A lot were presents from the period in which she was Mayoress.  There were some tea towels, mostly came from me.  Life was different.

While I no longer cry for my mother, there are times when I think “I wish she was here”, “What would she say?”.  I always feel awkward talking about her because people must think “Good grief, she died 27 years ago, why is she still reminiscing about her mother” but it doesn’t stop me.  I suppose that is why she appears so often in my tea towel blogs.  There is something different about the loss of a mother, from any other loss, I can’t explain it – is it to do with that bloodline, those 9 months (or 10 months in my case) in the womb?

I have been lucky enough, over the years since my mother’s death, to spend time with the parents of my friends – Gwyn, Fee, Liz, to appreciate the importance they have in their lives.  In January this year, Liz’s mother died, suddenly, unexpectedly, in hospital.  I was there.  And it all came back, for one brief moment in time, that grief.  But this was someone else’s mother.  I know the importance of being able to do something, special to you, to help in the grieving process.  Liz and I decided to go on holiday to London in April, to pretend to be tourists, although we both originate from London.  We decided that during this period we would pay homage to our mothers, in our own ways.  Liz wanted to go to Edmonton, by bus, passing Tottenham Hotspur Football Club, seeing the area in which she grew up.  By goodness, it was a long bus journey, fascinating, passing through so many areas of London, a truly multicultural world.  My choice was to go in exactly the opposite direction, to Walpole Park in Ealing in search of the infamous tree.  Ealing is another multicultural world but made up of huge Victorian houses rather than blocks of flats.

Liz was worried, having described the Mayoral Walk to her, that I would not find the tree or that it would have blown down or died.  The bench had certainly gone but I found the tree immediately, together with its plaque (many other plaques had disappeared).  And the second picture on the tea towel is me standing under the tree, a huge tree today; I am a tiny dot because Liz had to stand so far back to get most of the tree in the picture.  My grandfather had been a carpenter, maybe he had used his skills to make the plaque!

The strange thing was that I thought that I might be sad, or melancholy, seeing the tree, walking around Walpole Park but no, the return to the Mayoral Walk and Walpole Park was a sheer delight.  It brought back happy memories and a deep sense of contentment.  Like things were as they should be.  Having had my photo taken under my mother’s tree, we wandered around the Park.  It was 27 years since I had been there but I could still remember it.  I remembered the 200 year old Cedar of Lebanon, propped up by whopping tree trunks; I remember the duck pond with the island in the middle.  I knew the aviary wouldn’t be there any longer but I remember where it was and saw some of the remains of the aviary.  But what about the Sunken Garden? I’d been describing this to Liz but it wasn’t there.  There was still a stream but no tiered pathways, no picket fences, no signs saying unaccompanied children were not allowed in, no ducks, no flowering bushes.  I began to think that I  had been making it up, when I saw an information plaque with a photo of the old Sunken Garden and a quote from a resident of Ealing.  It had been removed as part of the refurbishment of Walpole Park and this plaque was part of a historic trail.  Mrs Atkins and I used to go to the Sunken Garden so I am glad that there is a reminder.  I expect Health and Safety had played a part in its demise.

Having laid some ghosts to rest, I thought that I would make a tea towel of this journey, a tea towel of, what I like to call ‘Mum’s Tree’, the two photos – 1958 and 2017.  I have used Bags of Love before to do this process but this time they had an offer – three for the price of two. Inspiration.  I could have three done: one for Andrew (Eileen’s eldest son and my mother’s nephew who lives in Italy), one for Chris (my mother’s brother and grandfather’s son) and one for me.  So, as the blog ends, there are three photos with each of us holding our tea towels.

So that is why I think this tea towel is the most appropriate for the launch of the Virtual Tea Towel Museum.  I know most people think that collecting tea towels is quirky and idiosyncratic, possibly frivolous; I can see why they might think that, but, for me, while I can make fun of myself, the fact is that my collection is important to me for a number of reasons (a) they are a great source of social history; tea towels have changed in style over the years and you can see this in the Museum Collections.  You can date them by their style but today you can also make a one-off for yourself, something unique and special (b) they are a means of displaying different art forms: digital photography, traditional watercolours and painting, textile design, Infographics, typography, collage, all transformed into the humble tea towel (c) there is a move towards using tea towels as a means of getting your message across, promotional material and for political reflections (d) and for me they are a means of preserving memories and recording family history.  I know where all my tea towels come from and, in this process of blogging and setting up the Virtual Tea Towel Museum, I have been able to give away things that I don’t particularly want or even like but have kept to remind me of those that have died.  In the case of my mother, books would be a good example.  I can read them all on a Kindle rather than have a library.  Tea towels serve the same purpose and are less bulky.

When I jokingly said to Jai that I would write the story for each tea towel, so that when she inherits them she would know what they meant to me, and would find it harder to give to a charity shop, I didn’t realise that the journey would take me this far.  Every tea towel tells a story.  Welcome to my world.  Welcome to the Opening of the Virtual Tea Towel Museum on 1 July 2017.

The Curator


The Cockerel and the Hen: 2008 and 2016


In the process of going through all my tea towels, in preparation for the opening of the Tea Towel Museum, I realised that there were some that had a ‘shared connection’ and could be blogged about together.  These two, the Cockerel and the Hen, bought at separate times from different places, fit into that category.  I bought them both just because of their majestic stature; chickens are ideal artistic material.  If you are a good artist, you can easily pick out the specific qualities of a chicken: their bearing, their run, the haughtiness of the cockerel as compared with that fluffiness of a hen, their cute faces, little chicks.  I bought the Cockerel in Hunstanton (a good place for tea towels); it was hanging, amongst many others, on a wooden clothes dryer. I couldn’t resist that arrogant stance, those clear lines from the artist. Very dramatic, a proud cockerel.

I bought the Hen in 2016, in the gift shop at Sandringham.  There was everything ‘royal’ there except for this. Perhaps the Queen keeps chickens.  She (the Hen, not the Queen) was also on a clothes dryer.  I love the background colour and the fact that she (the Hen, not the Queen) dominates the canvas.  A good Ulster Weavers tea towel.  The fact is, this tea towel no longer belongs to me.  I bought it for Jai, for her birthday but before I handed it on, I photographed it in order that I could blog about it (I couldn’t justify buying one for myself when I had so many chicken tea towels and that Jai would inherit it anyway. Then she would have two!).

The reason that they have a ‘connection’ or a ‘link’ is not for obvious reasons (they are chickens) but because they are reminding me that I haven’t made a proper decision about the future of my chickens.  I am a chicken lover and was devastated by the loss, to a greedy fox, of five of my six layers about two months ago.  These were my best bunch of layers, friendly, funny, no ‘top hen’ and all I was left with was five piles of feathers scattered around the pen and Houdini trotting around happily.  I think she had been laying at the time of the devastation.  I moved Houdini in with the two ‘retired’ hens, no longer laying, because I couldn’t bear to think of Houdini going the same way if the fox returned.  Houdini continues to lay one egg a day without fail; she seems happy.  One of the ‘retired’ hens has since died (of old age) and I know it won’t be long before Houdini is on her own again and chickens are very sociable creatures.

These tea towels keep reminding me of the dilemma I face.  At first, I thought that I wouldn’t replace the hens where I am currently living because the bungalow is up for sale.  It is horrendously difficult to move chickens on the day of a house move; you have that window of opportunity to move all your stuff out before the next people move in.  It is difficult enough with cats but with chickens, catching them, dismantling the house, transporting it, re-erecting it and unloading the chickens; just too difficult.  So perhaps I would wait to restock.  I had some expectation that there might be some interest from someone in buying the bungalow.  In nearly four months, only one person has viewed it and they thought the garden was too small!!  How long will I wait without chickens?  I do miss them so much.  I miss that routine of feeding them, cleaning them, collecting the eggs, putting aside scraps, talking to them.  I will hold on a big longer and make do with the tea towels.  But will I give in eventually? Who knows?

Clan MacKenzie: 2006 and onwards


One of the things that I love about Scotland is that heritage where you can, possibly, trace your family history through the Clans.  You know where you belong.  My first tea towel is the one of the Clans of Scotland.  It puts Clan MacKenzie in perspective, as one of many Clans from around Scotland.  I was drawn to it for that very reason.   If you have to give your name to a shop or hotel, with a name like ‘MacKenzie’ they will always say something like “Are you a Gairloch MacKenzie?”.  A sense of kinsmanship.  If you have family from Scotland, there are so many firms that will trace your family roots, find out your family tartan, determine if you are a ‘Gairloch Mackenzie’ or a ‘Skye MacKenzie’ or even an ‘Inverness MacKenzie’.  You will have a motto, a flower, a crest and even pipe music.  That’s definitely knowing who you are.

On 8 August 2015, I posted a Tea Towel Blog about my Clan MacKenzie tea towel.  A fine tea towel on 100% organic cotton with green print.  Wherever you go in Scotland, you will find shops selling Clan Tea Towels; all the same style and format, but loads of different Clans.  Yesterday, while working on the Tea Towel Museum, I found that the Clan Mackenzie Blog had disappeared, photo and writing; just the title was left.  I am not an IT Wizard but I do know that anyone ‘in the know’ would say that you can never lose anything on a computer; it will be lurking somewhere, in the recesses; you may not know how to recover it but it won’t be lost.  I can’t be bothered with all that. A couple of us spent hours looking for it, wasting valuable Tea Towel Museum time.  I decided that it would be easier to write another.  Ideally, I should have my hand-written notes but, of course, I couldn’t find those.  Then I realised that since I bought the tea towel in 2006, such a lot has happened that it justified a new blog.  I deleted the old title and here we are.

I have a clear memory of buying this tea towel.  I was strolling along the promenade at Oban, a beautiful sunny day, and came across a shop that sold ‘all things Scottish’.  I don’t know if it is still there.  They sold everything from kilts to shortbread, from fridge magnets to stuffed Scottie dogs and Highland Cows, from tartan ties to coasters and then anything you wanted to know about the Clans, including tea towels.  With a friend with the surname ‘MacKenzie’ I couldn’t resist this one.  I thought she would like to know her Clan Motto (Help the King), her Clan Flower (Holly), her Clan Pipe Music and her Clan Crest.  I love the idea that your Clan Seat might be Eilean Donan Castle, such an iconic place.  I bought her a coaster; she wouldn’t have appreciated a tea towel.  She bought herself a Clan MacKenzie tartan scarf.

However, Liz did buy her Dad a Clan MacKenzie tea towel, a reminder of his roots.  He loved the tea towel.  I have now inherited this tea towel from Dorothy, his wife, which I have passed on to their grandson.  Weirdly, several years later, Liz and I were in Nova Scotia, in a small town called Lunenburg; they were celebrating something that involved having a flag on every lamp post of different Scottish Clans.  It was weird because the history of Lunenburg is much more connected with German ancestry than Scottish heritage.  At the top of the road was a small gift shop which specialised in Scottish gifts.  Liz bought a Clan MacKenzie tea towel for her aunts, an ironic gift since they lived in Aberdeen and we were in Nova Scotia.  They were delighted but, of course, I have inherited Jean’s tea towels and have passed the Clan MacKenzie one to Liz’s niece.

Believe it or not, Liz’s parents went on holiday to Scotland in 2010 and bought me back a Clan MacKenzie tea towel as a present.  It was a lovely thought.  This one has now been passed to Jai, Liz’s daughter, as a reminder of her heritage.  After all, not even a Tea Towel Obsessive like me needs four Clan MacKenzie tea towels; I’m not even a Mackenzie.  I know that Liz’s sister also has a Clan MacKenzie tea towel so now everyone in the family has one.  It is a shame about Jai’s because she will, after all, inherit my tea towel collection and she will be faced with the conundrum of having two Clan MacKenzie tea towels – perhaps she will give one each to Hamish and Lyra.

Red Apples: Date Unknown


An ‘ear worm’ is one of those tunes that goes round in your head, on a never-ending trip, and you can’t get rid of it.  Jingles and tunes from advertisements are the most common source of this bother.  Do you remember the Pepsodent advert?  Look at the 1964 one on YouTube and you will definitely know what an ‘ear worm’ is.  My last ‘ear worm’ was Kenneth McKellar singing ‘Wi a Hundred Pipers…’ and still is, I would have to say.

The last six weeks for me has involved being immersed in ‘all things tea towels’, everything from photographing to cataloging all my tea towels, trying to identify the dates of every tea towel that I haven’t yet blogged about; it’s a good job I’ve kept the details of all those that I have blogged about, saves research on about 450.  Last night was the Tea Towel version of an ‘ear worm’.  It was hot and muggy; I couldn’t sleep; I tossed and turned; I thought of all the tasks that I still had to do before 1 July 2017, for the opening of the Tea Towel Museum; I tossed and turned some more.  Every time I nearly dropped off to sleep, the vision of ‘Red Apples’ came into my mind.  Questions kept coming to the fore, questions I couldn’t answer:

  • how old is this tea towel?
  • where did it come from?
  • what does the picture represent?
  • is it foreign?
  • did I buy it? (Surely not)
  • if I didn’t buy it, who did?
  • if it wasn’t a gift, did I inherit it?
  • are they red apples, because originally I thought it was a Christmas tea towel?
  • who has the answers to these questions, because I certainly don’t?

What do I know about this tea towel? It has been around for sometime, before I separated the Christmas tea towels from the others and stored them separately; it must be more than 10 years old.  I know I didn’t buy it; I wouldn’t have; I couldn’t have.  I know it doesn’t belong to any tea towel inheritance e.g. My mother’s, Jean’s, Nicky’s Aunt’s, Dorothy’s or David’s.  It has to be a gift.  If the giver of this tea towel is reading this blog, I am sorry that I don’t remember it’s origins.  But it is in regular use, is made of towelling so is quite absorbent, if a little small; it has retained it’s colour although the detail of the design is somewhat unclear.  This is because a fluffy towelling material does not take a design with intricate detail, which is why I am still not sure if it is Red Apples or a Christmas Tea Towel.  Readers, any ideas?  But it is still a valued member of my collection, will appear in the Tea Towel Museum.

Let Them Eat Cake……: 2017


“Let them eat cake” is a phrase attributed to Marie Antoinette, the queen during the French Revolution.  She supposedly said, when told that the peasants were starving and had no bread, that they should eat cake; cake at this time was a luxury.  This was supposed to demonstrate how far removed from reality Marie Antoinette and the royal family were.  Hence, the reason why the French Revolution came about.  However, there is no evidence that she did actually say this.  If you look this up on Google and Wikipedia, there are pages of explanation where the phrase might have come from.  Erica Sturla has used the phrase so cleverly with the proviso “as long as they wash up afterwards”.  I love Erica Sturla’s work in tea towels.  I already have William Wallace (Blog dated 20/11/2016); I expect to work my way through her collection in due course.  I love this tea towel not only because of the clever play on words but because of the very unusual use of colour: fawn coloured background and the vibrant colouring of Marie Antoinette and her cake.

I bought this tea towel in Loch Leven Larder, a lovely place to eat with a deli and gift shop.  My lunch of Sauerkraut and Emmental cheese with pastrami on an open sandwich  was worth remembering.  Even better when I sneaked the pickled gherkin from Liz’s venison burger (because she doesn’t like pickled gherkin and I do).  The Loch Leven Larder shop was one of those places where tea towels are scattered throughout the shop, not just in one section.  I always find this frustrating but I know, from the point of view of sales, that it means the customer has to look in every part of the shop to make sure they have seen all the tea towels and then that they get the right tea towel.  A clever selling technique that all supermarkets use and people like me, when tea towels are involved, always fall for it.

The meal at the Loch Leven Larder was so good that it deserved a tea towel to remind me, especially when it was an Erica Sturla, I wouldn’t have fallen for any old rubbish.  Definitely a place I would want to return to, to eat that is, not to buy another tea towel (I am not sure I can say that definitively)!

Llanbadrig Church: 2016


I can’t remember this, but my friend Gwyn assures me that I used to say that I only wanted tea towels from places I had actually visited.  I suppose that I might have said it from the pomposity of youth.  If I did say it, it was said out of the nativity of not understanding how important tea towels were going to be in my life, for evoking memories and  cementing friendships.  Every tea towel has a story, after all.

Last year, Gwyn gave me two tea towels for my birthday (one was Cemaes Bay, blog dated

22/5/2017) and with them came a note: “I know that you have enough tea towels already to write about but we bought this in Anglesey this year and it comes with it’s own blog (well, almost).  We have often visited Llanbadrig Church on it’s windy headland near Cemaes but this was the first year we managed to see inside and it was fascinating.”  (This is because the church is only open between May and September, on certain occasions, and a Communion Service is held on the fourth Sunday of the month).

“Llanbadrig Church is dedicated to St Patrick.  Local legend insists that the newly appointed Bishop Patrick was sent to Ireland but on the way his ship was wrecked on Ynys Badrig (an island off the coast of Anglesey).  He succeeded in crossing the water to Ynys Mon (Anglesey), sought refuge and fresh water in a cave and founded the church on the headland, as thanks to Almighty God for his safe rescue…..This is the only church in Wales dedicated to the Irish patron saint…… The church is about 60ft by 14ft.  The chancel is longer than the nave which is vey unusual.  The church was restored in 1884 by the 3rd Lord Stanley of Alderney who was a Muslim.  He had converted, following his work in the Diplomatic Service in the Middle East.  The restoration cost more than £700, a lot of money in those days, and his only stipulation was that there should be some reference to his own religion; he renovated the church in the style and colours of his religion.  There are some unusual colours of red, blue and white in the windows, the blue glass of the East window and the blue tiles around the Sanctuary.  The empty niche, which previously held the statue of St Patrick, was filled with a mosaic of the Good Shepherd.  Apparently, the Muslim faith does not have representations of man, gods or animals in their places of worship but the mosaic has all three.

Research shows that the blue Sanctuary tiles were made by Powell of Whitefriars in London, a well-known glassmaker and are actually made of glass, using a process that is not well understood today.  They are rare………. The mosaic is also very rare for a small, isolated church as they are expensive, being hand-painted and cut.  Local people believe they symbolise outstanding enlightenment, together with religious and racial tolerance – a fine example to all those people who visit Llanbadrig each year and marvel at these beautiful and unique Islamic Blue Tiles”.

I might not have been to Llanbadrig Church, or even have written most of the blog, but I am moved by the story.  For me it demonstrates how tea towels can impart knowledge and it does inspire me to want to visit there.  It also makes me think that when we live in a time where so much evil is done in the name of one religion or another, that there is a tiny church, in a remote part of Anglesey, that can teach us all a lesson.  Thank you Gwyn for the tea towel and the lesson that goes with it.

Falkland Palace: 2017


Falkland Palace is a National Trust for Scotland (NTS) property and probably wins the prize for the NTS property selling the most tea towels – everything from the Monarch of the Glen (I’ve got that) to How Scotland was Created (got that one as well).  There were tea towels of Scottish Flowers (you guessed, got that), the works of Robert Burns (tempting) and many more.  There was also a deal of 3 for £12 on tea towels; I’ve never seen anything like that before in a NTS (or NT) property before.  Who needs to look at gardens when the opportunity for so many tea towels was there?  The exciting thing, however, was that they had a Falkland Palace tea towel, depicting the thistle that is on the stained glass window in the lower floor of the house.  The thistle has been the national emblem of Scotland since the reign of Alexander III, in 1200s, and was used on silver coins issued by James III in 1470.

James IV and his son, James V, wanted to create a ‘pleasure place’ for the country pursuits that they loved – falconry and hunting; Falkland Palace achieved this by being one of Scotland’s finest ‘renaissance’ palaces.  Mary Queen of Scots adored Falkland Palace as it reminded her of the chateaux of the French Royal Court, where she grew up.  One of the fascinating things about Falkland Palace is the Real Tennis Court; James V built this in 1541 and is the oldest Real Tennis Court in Britain, probably the world.  There is a small museum with archives about Real Tennis (sometimes known as Royal Tennis), trophies, old photos etc.

The grounds of Falkland Palace are a delight; an orchard with a ‘Bee Meadow’, tall manicured box hedges, two sunken ponds.  The final designs were carried out in 1903 by Percy Cane, an Arts and Crafts designer, so the curvy borders were seen as innovative at that time.  The gardens hold the largest collection of Pelagoniums in Scotland, with 175 varieties, housed in a Victorian greenhouse.

Although I first went to Falkland in 2001, in search of a tea room (and found two which are still there, delightful as ever – the Hayloft and Kynd Kittock), it was only on this trip that I visited Falkland Palace – a true delight and always somewhere that I would return to if I was in the area.  The two highlights for me, which this tea towel will remind me about, are the Real Tennis Court and its memorabilia and the Pelagoniums (sorry, also all those tea towels in the shop!!).

Click below to return to the Virtual Tea Towel Museum