Sylvie then recalls her thoughts as, waiting alone for Eli's return, she had pondered the Trevelver legacy, intricately woven through generations of formidable women in an unbroken line. It is more than a bloodline; it is a sacred thread tracing back to the last queen-priestess of Atlantis. As the lost land's spiritual guides, they not only held positions of power and authority but also left their powerful legacy in the Trevelver females' blood.

Her duty transcends mere titles. As the future Lady Trevelver, she stands at the helm of the 'Karadow'—an enclave of strength and sisterhood where mutual love and shared values intertwine like ancient roots.

Yet, alongside her, there must always be a Lord Trevelver—a martial guardian, steadfast and devoted. Some years the Lady's senior, he stands ready to replace the previous Lord whose partner then steps gracefully into the role of the Dowager Trevelver, as her grandmother had done—a legacy of grace and resilience. Thus, the Trevelver lineage continues across the generations.

She wonders, as she sits in the warmly lit room, fingers tracing the delicate embroidery around the neck of her silken dressing gown, how much of her fate was orchestrated by her parents but, especially, her mother, Lady Trevelver—the elegant matriarch—whose dark eyes hold centuries of inherited wisdom and power. And her father—the silent strength, the sheathed sword at her mother's side. Did they alone weave the threads that tied her heart to Jeremy Corentyn Cador?

Sylvie recalls her mother's meticulous preparations for her first dinner party eight years ago. In the soft glow of her mother's Chelsea boudoir, Sylvie stands before a full-length mirror—on the threshold between girlhood and womanhood. Her heart flutters like a captured butterfly, its wings brushing against anticipation.

The year is 1954, and early summer wraps the Trevelver's townhouse in warmth and light. That evening, Sylvie's parents will organise an introduction—a delicate dance of expectation. The twenty-year-old man awaits—her future consort. The elegant Chelsea townhouse, a three-story, stately residence with a classic Georgian façade, is a canvas awaiting the brushstroke of destiny.

Beaming with happiness, Lady Trevelver opens the box lying on the double bed and removes the designer gown from its tissue paper revealing a vision in blossom pink. The silhouette, delicate and poised, balances innocence and grace. The neckline is modest—a gentle scoop that frames Sylvie's collarbones. The bodice, adorned with subtle lace, moulds to her chest, hinting at the promise of womanhood.

The fabric is a dream—a soft, shimmering silk that catches every nuance of light. As Sylvie moves, her mother confides that the pink silk will rustle like petals in a secret garden. Tissue paper discarded, her daughter gasps with delight as her mother, dark eyes twinkling, explains that this hue evokes spring blossoms and youthful exuberance.

Tiny seed pearls and silver thread intertwine, tracing delicate floral patterns along the subtly curved bodice and flowing skirt. Lady Trevelver leans closer, her voice a hushed confidante.

"Each stitch", she murmurs, "holds a secret—a legacy woven through generations of Trevelver women". The seamstress, guided by tradition, added more than mere embellishments. She sewed tiny star-shaped sequins—subtle constellations that catch the eye when Sylvie twirls.

And there, in the gentle sway of rose-coloured silk, dreams unfurl. The sequins, provided by Mademoiselle Élise, represent wishes yet unspoken, desires yet to be realised—a celestial promise stitched into Sylvie's gown.

Long, sheer sleeves cascade to Sylvie's wrists, their ethereal fabric ending in delicate lace cuffs. These sleeves, like gossamer veils, will conceal her youthful vulnerability, yet their transparency hints at the woman she will soon become. The lace whispers of elegance, a promise stitched into every thread. Sylvie is readied to face her future—a delicate dance of innocence and anticipation.

A satin sash, perfectly matching the pink gown, cinches Sylvie's waist. Tied in the back with a bow, it adds a touch of elegance. The skirt flares gently, pooling around her ankles—a cascade of silk and tulle.

Layers of delicate fabric create an ethereal effect, as if Sylvie walks through a dream. And when she moves, the hem brushes the polished parquet floor, leaving behind a trail of stardust—a whispered promise of enchantment.

With customary care, Sylvie's mother had selected her daughter's pale pink undergarments to ensure her daughter's comfort and confidence throughout the evening, beginning with a soft, lightweight petticoat in the same shade as the gown. As Sylvie slips into the delicate layers, she learns its secret: subtle volume. The petticoat, carefully chosen, lends gentle fullness to Sylvie's skirt. It enhances her silhouette without overpowering her youthful figure, providing both elegance and ease.

Above, a simple silk chemise—sleeveless and comfortable—skims Sylvie's skin, a delicate barrier between her body and the outer layers of elegance. Underneath, a carefully crafted satin bralette cradles her curves. Its soft form provides gentle support, allowing her natural shape to breathe.

Her mother adjusts the straps with practised hands—a perfect fit. In this intimate moment, she whispers advice on posture, femininity, and the allure of hidden details. And so, Sylvie wears not only fabric but also the legacy of generations—a delicate dance of comfort and grace.

Below, high-waisted matching satin panties edged with white lace, also made to order, provide her mother assures her daughter, modesty and comfort, even under the most voluminous skirts. Lady Trevelver then bends down to fit a delicate garter belt, also in blush pink, around Sylvie's slim flat waist to hold up her silk stockings. The elastic straps are adorned with tiny satin bows. Her mother then patiently demonstrates the art of attaching stockings to garter belts, an act that feels both practical and sensuous.

Finally, fine silk stockings in a soft, ethereal shade that matches the dawn caress Sylvie's legs as she rolls them on, securing them with a satin ribbon. They feel luxurious against her skin, marking her transition from girl to woman.

Quote from: Bealman on Yesterday at 11:34:19 PMAlright, traitor, then 

They have more fun than 'Faithfuls'

Quote from: Newportnobby on Yesterday at 12:10:43 PMThe 3 steamers crying out for re-tooling are the V2, Crab and 94xx and I'd take one of each for sure. I have the black V2 from the set but the front bogie seems to have a mind of its own and the motor growls a lot. In fact, I do ask visitors "Have you seen my Growler?"

I agree Mick, any of these 3 would be great to have, and perhaps a new tooling of their King as nobody has has a proper go at it so far, as for the summer announcements there is nothing there for me

Regards,

alex

Alright, traitor, then 

I concur with @Roy L S above. A retooled Crab would be great. I too remember the original Poole model. I never acquired one, but a club member did, and it was greatly admired.

Express Dairies often had the tank number on the ends of the milk tanks but I can't recall other dairies doing this.



All tanks had the railway numbers on the underframes I think.

At last the class 350s/450s will be in the shops soon.
However it's been years since they were first announced and in the meantime Farish's originally assigned liveries are history, Transpennine Express no longer runs 350/4s and Southwest Trains no longer in existence.
It's possibly an advantage of having quarterly announcements, at least the specific versions/liveries listed have a guaranteed delivery window.
I'm not completely ruling out acquiring a unit because it appears they've not been upgraded with through electrically conductive couplings, only Rapidos, so would be easier to assemble and dissemble after running sessions.

Glad you liked that Martin, in the comments someone said Ebony sounds like Annie Haslem of Renaissance, I think she sounds more like Jane Relf of Renaissance Mk.1.

Cheers,

Tim

Thanks Tim.
Yes, we are now happily settling in.

That is a beautiful track with very tasteful vocals.

Cheers
Martin

Sad news today of the passing of Richard Tandy (76) keyboards and musical director of Electric Light Orchestra.
Apart from the superb writing of Jeff Lynne, Richard was responsible for the 'sound of ELO'.
Seen them in concert a few times.
Very sadly missed.

Chris