Made for Harrods of London

Vintage limited edition Staffordshire fruit and veg bowl in pretty bone china made for Harrods by Bishop and Stonier (Bisto) dating from between 1891 and 1936. Numbered 232.

Hand painted flowers surrounded by a cobalt and in a gold plated design. All in good condition for its age except for hairline on underside. No crazing or chips.

This mark (Caduceus) was registered as a trade mark by Powell & Bishop in 1876 the mark was also used by subsequent partnerships including Bishop & Stonier.

The “BISTO” trade name was only used by
Bishop and Stonier and often appeared (but not always) with the two marks shown above.

Incredible find.

To view these items in detail; please visit my ebay store:

http://stores.ebay.co.uk/littlebitoftexasinswansea/

Living for the Moments


Waltzing into my existence with shoes fit for 

A Welsh guard. 

Intentions of conquering the unknown,

Within the melodies laughing in my heart,

Holding my hand, 

Unlike you did with the others. 

Instead, you found me nestled in your arms;

A proclamation of love; in that bearskin hat. 

It wasn’t too hard to love you properly.

Finding myself shine in the gleam of a smile, 

Where I discovered you in the dark 

In the depths of innocence, 

I was dressed like Paddington Bear

There was no denying you in that uniform, 

Realising running was not an option. 

That is when we knew the truth;

When discovery leaves you trembling 

In that moment;

When this heart shall never belong 

to another; 

And when there are moments,

You just cannot put into words. 

Columbia Road 

My favourite flower is the peony. When I look at what creation has made I see such amazing examples right here on a Sunday; in the middle of London on Columbia Road at the Flower Market…and it was my birthday today. 

These peony flowers spring up to life, nurtured by the sun, water, and soil; A proclamation of the glory of artistry from the earth. They grow and multiply until they reach their glorious peak of colours; everyone orchestrated by creations hand. 

It is the artists that praise your beauty, imitating only to try to capture glory with paint on canvas. For in their eyes you are imagination aspiring. But I wonder can a wildflower not compete with you too? 


Achieving such harmony of tones of contrast require skill and mastery. To be so effective on more levels than the simply aesthetic. I often find myself overcome with joy at the wonder of you. 

Almost as if serenity is evoked only by the specific use of colour scheme nature has made. 

I appreciated the flower market for it’s beauty, thank you… it brought me closer to you. In the heart of a relationship, we are like a peony flower taking root and I feel that I am valued in your eyes. No longer do we compete with the weeds that hinders the growth of our dreams.

We are like the peonies on Columbia Road; we were planted, we are here to live, to love and grow; to become one in a life that is beautiful and creative; for we are here to thrive and if we nurture each other, like the peony…none of us will never fade or wither. 


Enjoy. 

– American Girl in Wales. 

Prayer For Paris

  

I blinked at the news when I heard about the slaughtered innocent in Paris. 

Then I bit my lip and closed my eyes, sighing. It was late;  why Paris? 

Why this, I was tired when the news came on at 3:00 AM in the morning. 

I did not know why I just happen to wake up when the news came on. 

Coincidence maybe. But it really gave me a sense of deep loss and longing. 

All I really wanted was to hear that this wasn’t real and maybe a cup of hope or anything…

I laid still next to him. There we stayed and crouched down. Then, next to us were the doggies.  

I tilted my head to his side, trying to figure out just why this violence was happening. 

Wondering why France as if was in my house, and why so close to our home. 

It wasn’t like the terrorist had been given a reason that they could just waltz into a peaceful loving nation whenever they liked… 

But civilians and peaceful and at that and in Paris. 

“No” I mumbled, drawing out in silence. A prayer for Paris; hoping for peace; an end to hate. 

And all around the world…all I wish is for everyone to love another. 

Richmond Park, UK


 

Saruman, the Last Waltz….from The Lord of the Rings

Saruman AKA Christopher Lee.

Saruman AKA Christopher Lee.

Sir Christopher Frank Carandini Lee, English actor, singer and author. Lee initially portrayed villains such as Saruman in The Lord of the Rings passes after 70 years in the film industry. His macabre will be missed. Born: May 27, 1922 in London, passed on Sunday Jun 07, 2015.

Now in Vienna there are ten pretty women
There’s a shoulder where Death comes to cry
There’s a lobby with nine hundred windows
There’s a tree where the doves go to die
There’s a piece that was torn from the morning,
And it hangs in the Gallery of Frost

Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws
I want you, I want you, I want you
On a chair with a dead magazine
In the cave at the tip of the lilly,
In some hallway where love’s never been
On a bed where the moon has been sweating,
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand

Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take its broken waist in your hand

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and Death
Dragging its tail in the sea

There’s a concert hall in Vienna
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews
There’s a bar where the boys have stopped talking
They’ve been sentenced to death by the blues
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
With a garland of freshly cut tears?

Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz, it’s been dying for years

There’s an attic where children are playing,
Where I’ve got to lie down with you soon,
In a dream of Hungarian lanterns,
In the mist of some sweet afternoon
And I’ll see what you’ve chained to your sorrow,
All your sheep and your lillies of snow

Take this waltz, take this waltz
With its “I’ll never forget you, you know!”

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and Death
Dragging its tail in the sea

And I’ll dance with you in Vienna
I’ll be wearing a river’s disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder,
My mouth on the dew of your thighs
And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
With the photographs there, and the moss
And I’ll yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
And you’ll carry me down on your dancing
To the pools that you lift on your wrist
O my love, o my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz
It’s yours now. It’s all that there is

Songwriters: COHEN, LEONARD / LORCA, GARCIA
© Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
For non-commercial use only.
Data From: LyricFind

Llewellyn The Great -Part 4

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Llewellyn The Great ~ cont’d Part 4

Tywysog Cymru
The title “Tywysog Cymru” translated is Welsh Leader” in welsh tywys means “to lead.” And the most powerful Welsh ruler at any given time was generally known as King of the Britons.

In the 12th century and the 13th century, this title evolved into Prince of Wales in the the final conquest of Wales and it brought the death of its last Tywysog who was Gruffudd, the son Of Llewelyn the Great: But Gruffudd was passed over because he was illegitimate. Then later died when he fell out of the Tower of London while trying to escape.

Only a handful of Welsh princes had their claim to the overlordship of Wales recognised by the English Crown. With Gruffudd locked up, the title was theoretically inherited by Dafydd.

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But he was killed during Edward I of England’s invasion of Wales and although his brother Dafydd ap Gruffudd succeeded to the Welsh princeship recognized by the English crown.

Three Welshmen, claimed the title of Prince of Wales after 1283.

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The first was Madog ap Llywelyn, a member of the house of Gwynedd, who led a nationwide revolt in 1294-5, defeating English forces, but then His revolt was suppressed after the Battle of Maes Moydog in March 1295, and was imprisoned in London.

In the 1370s, Owain Lawgoch, an English-born descendant of one of Llywelyn ap Gruffudd’s brothers, claimed the title of Prince of Wales, but was assassinated in France in 1378 before he could return to Wales to claim his inheritance.

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It is Owain Glyndŵr, however, whom many Welsh people regard as being the last native Prince. On 16 September 1400, he was proclaimed Prince of Wales by his supporters, and held parliaments at Harlech Castle and elsewhere during his revolt, which encompassed all of Wales.

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