The kiss

On March 19, 2014March 19, 2014 By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Now and then, old movie magic, Romantic interludes

There is so much more to the humble kiss

Than deciding on where and when

The romantic smooch is hard to resist

If you’re in the state of zen

The kiss of passion mixed with love

Can make you moan and groan

With the moon and the stars way above

Now invading your zone

But it’s the movie kiss you really crave

With the sound of violins

If you can achieve this then you are saved

And everybody wins

Then there’s a kiss that’s just being polite

A familiar meet and greet

Sometimes merely a form of respite

Which can be bitter sweet

The air kiss can be truly offensive

With the perpetrator fake

Hard not to be on the defensive

If being kissed by a snake

The public peck on the other cheek

Is always just for show

Perhaps because they think you’re a geek

Or they just don’t want to know

And then of course there’s the Judas kiss

The ultimate betrayal

The intent behind it not easy to miss

You know that you’ve been nailed.

The kiss is also an accepted cultural device

In countries near and far

Italians kiss twice and the French thrice

Before they know who you are

But the best kiss of all so many of you say

Is when you play it for keeps

On your extremely expensive wedding day

When you love somebody heaps.

Love and marriage 50s style

On February 27, 2014December 17, 2014 By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Changing the world, comfort zones, Now and then, Romantic interludes

The wedding dress was decidedly pretty and feminine with lot’s of lovely tule. The bride was always elegant too. She wore gloves which were removed when rings were exchanged and she wore a shorter veil. The covers of Vogue and Harpers Bazaar which often featured brides , as getting married while still extremely young, was the epitome of high achievement for girls of the 50s. It is the same today but the major difference is in how long the marriage lasts. Values have changed much over the decades and so have lifestyle choices. As it is no longer possible to survive on one wage couples have to work which means less time for each other. In the 1950s the tradition was that the wife stayed at home while the man brought home the wages and dolled out what he felt was the correct amount for house keeping. Her role was to support him in every decision he made. But during the honeymoon the world was her oyster. He took care of her and settled all the bills. The roles were very clearly defined from very early in the piece. He was in charge and she made him look good. Society expected a man to be supportive his wife for all his days. The wife was expected to play her part by having his children and attending to the house. It was not her role to interfere with his job or with his daily business affairs. This is why secretaries were in such high demand. There are reasons for stereotypes though as it was not uncommon for the secretary to run away with the husband. Cruising was as popular then as it is now for people running away from something or some-one for a short period of time. Flying too was alot more glamorous and not as stressful as it is today. What a shame so many airlines have gone to ground. At the time of writing this 5,000 jobs have been lost at Quantas. Flying this airline was once a treat with wonderful service and comfortable seats. The stewards anticipated the passengers every whim even in economy class and the hostesses gave out little airline kits with socks and toothpaste along with sweets. All was top of the line from baggage handlers to those who refuelled the planes.

A country and it’s business enterprises are like a marriage. They have to support each other. Running away off shore with the secretary is not going to do any good. Sometimes it is necessary for the wife to interfere and see if the books are in order. In fact it is often mandatory.

It is important that one hand

knows what the other is doing. To be complacent is not the answer now and it certainly wasn’t the answer then. We have a glorified view of life in the 50s and things were not always as they seemed. In fact day care wasn’t even a business back then and often the children were left to a sitter who would put them in a pen and leave them to entertain themselves. In other words they could be looked after just as well at home. They didn’t need to be sent elsewhere. This was very common and these children didn’t seem to suffer overly from A.D.D. So what is the the solution to the troubles of today? Can marriages be expected to stand the test of time leaving both sides equally happy with the contributions made by the other? Is it really just a matter of give and take? Be Positive!

( 27/2/2014 )

The Past Tense Of Youth: Chosen to dance

On January 2, 2014October 9, 2014 By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Now and then, Romantic interludes, stories of mystery and romance

The carriage ride back to Topkapi was quite an event for me for it was a whole new world full of noise and colour and …. dust.
So much dust rising up from the winding roads caking the curtained windows from which I viewed the passing villagers and the beautiful countryside which they had the freedom to wander at leisure.
The women, though veiled, appeared contented as they went about their family errands.

I shared the carriage with two black eunuchs and with another of the servants much younger than I . She was , in fact, my dresser as well as being a sort of consort there to watch me and report my every move back to the sultan. I have mentioned the sultan many times but have not yet described him and so I will attempt to do so now from my own very distanced and very subjective point of view not having all the facts. The man who had reigned as sultan at the time of my entrance to the harem in the year of 1908 was Abdhul Hamid the second. I was twenty one years old and had apparently been there since 1897 when the sultan’s men had taken me from my parents in our small Albanian village at the age of ten. I had only fleeting memories of that life but the memories of my life in Cumberland at Greylin castle in the years up to and including 1936 were all too clear.

Abduhl Hamid 11 was a strange but kindly little man who was to me like a father figure though he was nothing like my father back in England at all. The sultan was also very cultured and was a lover of European operas and of all the arts. He also loved to design furniture and specialised in exquisite wood turned chairs. That very morning I had heard from others in the harem that a visiting opera company would be performing for the sultan and for select officials and dignitaries at Yildiz Palace close by and that his excellency was trying to decide on which of his favourites should dance for the company at curtain close. As I sat there in the carriage, listening to the whirr of wooden wheels and the clanking of spokes rotating in their sockets and pondered on the likelihood of my being chosen to dance. Behind us was another carriage escorted by carefully chosen guards and at least a dozen janissaries on fine horses. In this carraige was the divine Rana and the three others purchased on that day. I could see the sultan’s men jostling for a place beside the carraige door so that they could peer in and gaze at the circassian beauty who was as unobtainable to them as was a mountain of gold. I knew that Rana , after appearing before the sultan, would be chosen.

How could he resist her? She was by far the most exotic creature I had ever seen. Her wild raven hair would surely complement my honey locks and we would make quite a contrast. I peered out through the slits in the window bracket with only a gauze veil to sheild my mouth from rising dust particles and thought I noticed a lone horseman following her entourage. A white horse. A dazzling white horse. It was he. Gurel. My Gurel come to save us. I thought then of the painting I had seen in ‘The Long Hall’ at ‘ The Hydro Majestic’ and realised that we three would be forever entwined but that the love Gurel felt for Rana was not the same as the love he would feel for me. Somehow this understanding seemed to make everything right. All would be the way it was meant to be and there was nothing I could do to change it. I must just be content to love for the sake of love and to be able to share the one I had chosen with one who would make him whole.

For without having loved Rana his soul would never be free and he would never have found me. ‘The Blue Mountains’ in that far distant land of Australia were of the same hue as the Caucases where Rana and Gurel had roamed as gypsies and danced with nature as their universe. How I longed to emulate that wild spirit but knew that to do so would be to dishonour my calling. I must remain true to myself. I was the slow burning flame never to be extinguished.

The Past Tense Of Youth: The unveiling

On December 15, 2013October 17, 2014 By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Romantic interludes, stories of mystery and romance

So I would be his muse in these times just as I had been in times past. I did not yet know of his other love but I felt her presence. There was a sadness in him that I couldn’t understand. A look in his eyes that only lasted a brief instant and then was gone. He would gaze at me with a tenderness that made me feel like a protected child safe and secure in the strength of his arms. As I had never particularly wanted to grow up this suited me just fine. Perhaps this other being that I felt was purely a case of my imagination running away with me. Perhaps the sadness in his eyes was merely a yearning for his home and family in Turkey. The painting had confirmed my belief that ours would be a lasting love no matter what the world decided to throw our way Mr Foy had in his collection in ‘ The Long Hall’ quite a few paintings by Lord Leighton. Among them being a painting entitled ‘ Light of The Harem’ which was the painting professor Humphries had come so far to aquire. A romantic view of life in the East where beautiful women were kept from the eyes of men within the walls of great palaces. This was a painting of a woman unveiling.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. A goddess in the glow of an etherial light that seemed to consume her. She was attended by a young girl holding up a mirror to her face. The young girl looked again remarkably like myself as a child. Then my eyes fell upon a painting that left me breathless. Three figures on a cliff face who appeared to be running from something. Set in ancient times and in a Grecian setting these three belonged only to each other. The blonde girl below with her arms outstretched waits with her young man for the other woman to leap from her cliff top pedestal and embrace them with her glory. Who was this beauty that I had never met,never heard of and never even seen before? Why was it that I felt her life force? With Gurel involved in meetings and structural surveys on the Belgravia wing for most of the day I had been left to my own devices and had created quite a story in my head after having spent so much time in the hotel gallery. I talked incessantly about my theories with Gurel but he would laugh and chide my antics with good humoured mockery. “And does the dark prince rescue them both and ride off into the sunset on his winged white horse Pegasus? Two would be quite a burden don’t you think? I had to agree with him it was pretty fantastical and we had been so happy there in our mountain paradise that it would have been a shame to allow me to escape from the reality of it all away into my head where I could not be reached. My parents were extremely impressed with professor Humphries and spent alot of time with him over the duration of our stay which meant that Gurel and I were for the most part left to ourselves , although , I was always keenly aware , that my parents were keeping a strict eye on my comings and goings. I had the most wonderful dreams of his leading me down into the valley on a great white horse. In this dream I was naked like lady Godiva.

How I longed for him to take full advantage of my innocence but he was way too respectable for that and I had decided to wait patiently for the truly spectacular wedding night that I knew would come very soon. When my father told me that it was time to return to England I was stunned. It was as if my life had only begun right there at The Hydro Majestic and all memory of Cumberland and Greylin castle had seemed to have been erased from my mind. The return voyage home had been a long one and try as they might my parents could not make me smile. It would be months before I would be reunited with Gurel who had promised to come to England the following Christmas when his contract was finished. There were the usual on board activities and stop overs with day trips on arrival to various ports but I was not interested. Oh how I longed for the day when we could be married and finally consumate our love. Was I a wanton wench with the morals of a scullian maid? Maybe so but I was in love and I was obsessed with dreams of the future. So when Gurel arrived on the doorstep that day with his dark hair shining in the afternoon sun I was ready to give all of myself. We had wandered through the gardens of Greylin where I had so often wandered alone and had traced the river hamlets whilst waiting for my parents to arrive home from the village.

We came to rest under my favourite elm tree. The hammock I had attached to a lower branch still swung back and forth in the breeze. I manouvered myself into it but when Gurel tried to join me it turned upside down and sent us rolling down the river bank. Saturated and covered in mud but dileriously happy we were oblivious to everything around us. Aware only of each others shape and form suddenly exposed we found ourselves without restraint. By the time we made it back to the main hall where my parents, anxious to share the happy news of wedding plans waited, we were quite overcome with embarrassment. Still flush with the rapture of abandoned principles we stood before them and broke the news of our engagement. I think my parents had guessed at our antics but had chosen to turn a blind eye. How idyllic it all was back then and how completely ominous all at once. For despite the blissful union of our hearts and minds there was still that feeling that something or someone was not there and should be.

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