Dainty by Shelley

Up in Staffordshire, England at the Foley’s it was a place where they first made the Dainty. It is a teacup pattern by Shelley. One of the most beautiful and amazing pieces of pottery I have ever seen.

This is just one pattern incredible beauty was earlier known as Wileman & Co; a name they had been originally known as. Then they became the Foley Potteries originally before they were acquired by Shelley.

The first Shelley to join the company was Joseph Ball Shelley in 1862 and in 1896 his son Percy Shelley became the sole proprietor.

In the late Victorian period the Art Nouveau, The Foley potteries began making this style of pottery. Many other potteries were to make this design. It was so extremely popular, that Foley had to Patten the name Shelley.

Others potters follow this design like Paragon, Queen Anne, Melba and Aynsley. But Shelley is probably best known for this very fine bone china “Art Deco” ware of the inter-war years and post-war fashionable tea ware.

Rowland Morris was a ceramic designer who actually created the Dainty cup shape for Percy Shelley.

This shape became the popular, especially in the USA after the 2nd World War, remaining in the Shelley family continuing in production until the takeover in 1966 by Allied English Potteries.

Over the years Shelley Pottery has been the icon of English Fine Bone China even though the Dainty has not been made since the 1960’s.

Its china and earthenware products were many and varied with the major output of tea ware.

The Shelley pieces remains to be quite a collectible as well as sought after with those who want to take their tea with refined discerning Victorian decadence.

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Winter in France

Situated near the Pyrenees and located in close proximity to the Mediterranean coast.

The climate of this French city is very wet with snow and a cold climate normally found in the Midi-Pyrenees area of southern France, alongside the banks of the Garonne River.

The winter months in the Mid Pyreneese are inspiring, when daytime times during January and February average around 12°C, and on occasion reach more than 15°C, although the nights can feel a little chilly.

Although the winter months between November and February are nothing like the cold, snowy affairs of northern Europe, the mountains do see its share of days and nights with freezing temperatures and the occasional snowfall.

South Wales…Land of Poets

De Cymru- Tir Beirdd

“The old land of my ancient fathers so dear to me…

Land of poets and the singer; famous men of renown,

Owain Glyndwr, Llywelyn and Arthur; the brave warriors , and patriot beholden 

For freedom settled this Welsh land, shedding blood for thee. 

Home, home , true am I to home and free

While such a wall so pure

May the old language. 

Old mountainous Wales , paradise of the bard,

Every valley, every cliff, to me is beautiful,

Through patriotic feeling, so charming,

Its streams and rivers to me. 

If the enemy violated my country underfoot

The old language of the Welsh is as alive as ever

Spirit was not hindered by the treacherous hand

Nor silenced the harp of my country. 

~ Unknown

Special Thanks to Jim H. For the beautiful photos

Welsh Translation 

Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn annwyl i mi 

Gwlad beirdd a chantorion, enwogion o fri

Ei gwrol ryfelwyr, gwladgarwyr tra mad 

Tros ryddid gollasant eu gwaed. 

Gwlad, gwlad, pleidiol wyf i’m gwlad 

Tra mor yn fur i’r bur hoff bau 

O bydded i’r hen iaith barhau. 

Hen Gymru fynyddig, paradwys y bardd 

Pob dyffryn, pob clogwyn i’m golwg sydd hardd 

Trwy deimlad gwladgarol, mor swynol yw si 

Ei nentydd, afonydd, i mi. 

Os treisiodd y gelyn fy ngwlad tan ei droed 

Mae hen iaith y Cymry mor fyw ag erioed 

Ni luddiwyd yr awen gan erchyll law brad 

Na thelyn berseiniol fy ngwlad. 

Colors of Green- intro


Hands suddenly against my flesh; its like seeing the color green for the first time. It’s a feeling and my breath comes in ever increasing gasps, the first time I came here; to see this country. With this feeling, like a first kiss, my arms embraced; And I want to write and wanting the ink to flow smoothly from the tip of my pen to the surface of the journal sheet and a new stamp; a dandelion ink stamp with its promise of possibility. Even though the words I write are not as beautiful, not inspiring as yours; I write nothing of worth, value, or profit really. But that is not important…all that really matters is that I am putting words on the page. They are there, permanent, in ink. They are my story waiting to be read or to burst into flames and take to the sky, falling and fading to the earth; sustaining the grass which grows and the dandelions that poke up their yellow heads a midst the colors of green. But I know now that dandelions catch and hold the sun in glass bottles on the kitchen counter and make a hole in your chest where your heart should be. Your fingers start to itch and you ache and think something is missing. Only if I could be more. I hope we are something, maybe you want just a little bit more; and i don’t know what it is. But if love and dandelions hold any weight, just know that I do love you. I always desperately wish to tell you, but i think you have figured it out for yourself. Just as I did not so long ago. Today the rain fell alongside the road, following our course all the way home. We laughed all weekend freely at ease in each other’s company. And if I let myself cry for all the right reasons when I realize my own humanity and stupidity. It was not, of course, all at once for stubbing my toe it was a bit of a struggle; uphill both ways. Although I hurt it in a fever of passion. I am my own worst enemy ad it will be alright. You see the big picture and I admire all the details with awe and wonder. I want to be the who dances every dance with you. To be civil in unity and I want you to be the one who goes with me to find the buried treasure and unlock worlds of unknown adventures. I want you to love and be loved. I love the way you make something beautiful and powerful and meaningful of your life. I wish for you days of hard work and that the work you love; to do it with all your heart and wouldn’t give up for the world. And I wish for you evenings filled with fun and significance and adventure, followed by nights of sweet dreams. I wish for you every happiness afforded. And all I can do is continue to write, hoping you find the meaning in the words. You are the reason and subject of my poetry and if I write the same words over and over again, without reason or rhyme, it would still have the same meaning; and those words that mean: You are simply all my colors of green and loved more and more. K Murphy.

For All Time

Where does this lead
To distant lands
To see every thing
The way you see me.

Will you show me things
Of wonders from afar.

Oceans so fair
Where we are newborn
And some days we are dying
And when life is over; our rebirth
To watch us live again.

If you give me this
To love you now like this
Reaching to its furthest corners
I will go with you
I swear I will go
And it would be my honour.

I’ll be your everything
All you could ever want,
If I promise you I’ll stay,
To live for only you…

To love you like no other…
Until the end
I will, for all time.