How is Tweed Made? | Inside Lovat Mill

 

Our Story

Situated on the banks of the river Teviot, in the picturesque Scottish Borders town of Hawick, Lovat Mill is 'The Home of tweed'.

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The Home of Tweed

The product we all recognise as “Tweed” has its origins in Commercial Road, Hawick, just a few metres away from where Lovat Mill stands today.

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Our Craft

Lovat Mill has a worldwide reputation for woven excellence in design and quality. As well as the production of Tweed, the mill is also famous for its woven pure cashmeres and other luxury fabrics.

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Our Process

Our production process is a seamless blend of traditional craft skills and modern technology. Find out how we go from design to delivery.

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Discover

Be inspired by our range of luxe tweed and cashmere products, the perfect gift or treat for yourself.

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Lovat Mill
Commercial Road, Hawick
Scotland, TD9 7AQ

+44 (0)1450 373231
admin@lovatmill.com

British Country Style for Men | Fall Style Guide

 

25 British Clothing Brands That Still Make Everything in Britain

0:00 25 British clothing brands that still manufacture their products in Britain.

1:05 Trickers

1:40 Edward Green

2:08 Cheney

2:45 Sanders

3:15 Grenson

3:45 Loke

4:16 Barker

4:52 NPS

5:31 Turnbull and Asser

6:04 Emma Willis

6:41 Private White VC

7:14 Walker Slater

7:59 Old Town

8:34 Cookson and Clegg

9:10 Community Clothing

9:47 Pantherella

10:22 Glenmuir

10:51 William Lockie

11:25 Begg X Co

12:34 Malaliers of Delph

13:11 Fox Brothers

13:45 Abraham Moon

14:27 Hainsworth

15:06 Burberry

8 Towns In England Where People Still Live In Houses — Older Than America

 

The World of Downton Abbey and The Buccaneers

It is impossible to follow "Downton Abbey" without associating it with the world of rich American heiresses who came to England to marry, and rescue with their money, ancestral houses and titles ... as described in "The Buccaneers", the last unfinished work of Edith Wharton ...

Jeeves

You may be surprised by the many similarities between the plot of Downton Abbey and the history of the Highclere Castle and the Carnarvon family. Julian Fellowes, the writer of Downton Abbey, is life-long friend of the Carnarvons and used bits of family history as inspiration. One of the more striking similarities is between Cora Crawley  and Almina Carnarvon.

As the result of the rapid industrialization of the late 19th century, a new upper class was created in the United States. It was almost impossible for the "new money" to integrate themselves into the established American upper class due to the attitudes of the established old money. Beginning in the late 1870s, the new American heiresses began to turn to Britain to find suitable husbands in the aristocracy. At the time, the British upper class was land-rich but were running out of money. They were in desperate need of cash in order to run their vast estates. They gladly turned to the new American money so they could avoid losing their family estates. In Britain, the rules of inheritance was based on primogeniture and property was almost exclusively passed to the eldest male. In the United States, property was usually spilt between children, enabling women were able to inherit large sums of money.  For fifty years, there were many marriages between British aristocrats and American heiresses. These new members of the British aristocracy were referred to as Buccaneers. By 1900, it was estimated that about a quarter of the British House of Lords had an American connection.

As the first installment of Downton Abbey revealed, Cora, an American heiress, married Lord Grantham for her money. Cora was the daughter of a dry goods millionaire and a member of "new money" American class. When she married Lord Grantham, the estate of Downton Abbey was near financial ruin. Afterwards, Cora's large dowry and later large inheritance, was tied up in an entail (see this post on Austenprose for info). Though the the marriage was initially one out of convenience, it grew into a love match as seen in the series.
In the book, The World of Downton Abbey, it is stated that Cora was inspired by the real-life Buccaneer, Lady Curzon. However, there are several parallels to Lady Almina Carnavorn, real life chatelaine of Highclere. In the late 19th century, the 5th Earl of Carnarvon was in serious debt, about 150,000 pounds. He owned 6,000 acres from four estates, including Highclere Castle. At the time, Highclere was in poor shape due to the large amount of money required to maintain the house. In 1895, Lord Carnarvon married Almina Wombwell, an heiress with access to an enormous amount of cash. Officially, Almina was the daughter Marie and Fred Wombwell but she was rumored to be the love child of Marie and Alfred de Rothschild. Rothschild was a wealthy banking tycoon. Unlike the social norm, he did not shun his illegitimate daughter and only child. Instead, he provided his "god-daughter" with a sizable dowry and eventually, inheritance. Almina had many suitors as a result. Once married, Rothschild not only provided a large dowry, but he also gave the couple a substantial annual allowance. Rothschild's money paid for Highclere's expenses and it also provided money for the couple to maintain several other homes as well as fund the Earl's Egyptian adventures in the 1920s. Initially, Almina was looked down upon by society.  She eventually won society over and her husband through "her wit, brave spirit and fabulous dresses."

While there are some differences between the stories of Almina and Cora, there are several parallels. Both women married into the British aristocracy because of their money and were responsible for saving the estate from severe financial ruin.
Posted 10th January by Abby in http://nookstowersandturrets.blogspot.nl

Remains of the Days
Three Books Explore the Reality Behind the World of ‘Downton Abbey’
By JUDITH NEWMAN
Published: February 3, 2012 in The New York Times
The British costume drama “Downton Abbey,” shown here on PBS, is now unfurling in all its magnificence, and I, like its millions of American fans, will again be reminded of what it would take for my life to be truly suitable:
— Everything brought to me on a silver salver.

— Breakfast in bed daily, because I am a married woman and that is my prerogative.

— A steward’s room boy whose entire job it is to watch a panel of bells, each connected to a different room in the house from which I might ring for service. Since I live in a 1,500-square-foot co-op, this isn’t such a bad job.

— The soles of my shoes polished.

— My newspaper ironed.

— My sheets ironed.

— My shoelaces ironed.

Until “Downton Abbey,” I never realized how many of my deepest desires involved ironing. True, it would also be nice to have a great deal of furtive sex with my social inferiors, preferably in crinolines. But at this point, I’d settle for a crisp newspaper.

I know I should feel guilty about my cravings for these things. But that’s the beauty of shows like “Downton Abbey” and its venerable ancestor “Upstairs, Downstairs”: the lives of the gentry are filled with so much intrigue, excruciating protocol and silent suffering that it would be churlish to resent their unimaginably comfortable existence.

And there’s another draw for Americans, particularly in an election year. We continue to labor under the delusion that we live in a class-free society — that social mobility is a birthright, not a remote possibility. If we’re not continually upgrading our circumstances, as Newt Gingrich reminds us, it’s our own damn fault. We are expected to be “Oprah”-ishly self-actuating and self-improving, and only sloth prevents us from achieving spiritual clarity and financial success. How perversely comforting, then, to turn our attention to a world where you will die where you are born and where the heroes are the rare overachievers who work their way up to butler from footman.

The merchant class, which is to say the publishing industry, is mining the popularity of “Downton Abbey” with the release and re-release of two books that inspired the show, and the inevitable companion volume to the TV series (inevitably titled “The World of Downton Abbey”). One memoir is written from the point of view of upstairs, one from downstairs. See if your keen discerning eye can spot the difference:

“Highclere was a symbiotic system, and mutual respect was the key to its success. The fifth Earl prided himself on an Old World courtesy, and that set the tone for the entire household. He took an interest in the well-being of the staff and the cottagers on the estate; often a donation would be made towards a fund for a tenant whose livestock had died, and money was also made available for the staff to have medical treatment.”

“On Christmas Day after breakfast all the servants had to line up in the hall. . . . Mr. and Mrs. Cutler, and the daughter and the grandchildren, were assembled complete with Christmas smiles and social welfare expressions. The children looked at us as though we were beings from another world. . . . When we got to the Christmas tree we deferentially accepted the parcels that were handed to us by the children, and muttered, ‘Thank you, Master Charles, thank you, Miss Susan.’ ”

The first selection, from “Lady Almina and the Real Downton Abbey,” is written by the former fashion designer Fiona Aitken, now the eighth Countess of Carnarvon. She and her husband, the earl, are the current residents of Highclere, the 1,000-acre Hampshire estate that, not surprisingly, resembles Parliament, considering they share an architect, Charles Barry. Highclere is also the filming location of “Downton Abbey.”

The countess’s book tells the story of the beautiful and diminutive “Pocket Venus,” Almina Victoria Marie Alexandra Wombwell, who lived at Highclere from 1895 to 1923 with her husband, George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert, fifth Earl of Carnarvon. He is best known as the co-discoverer of King Tutankamen’s tomb — after a series of expeditions financed by Almina. Because, like many aristocratic families of the time, the Carnarvons were long on lineage and short on cash. So he did what every self-respecting gadabout did: look for an heiress who could rescue him, and his family pile, from ruin.

Enter Almina, for Burke’s Peerage the child of Capt. Frederick Charles Wombwell and Marie Boyer but rumored to be the illegitimate daughter of Sir Alfred de Rothschild. A director of the Bank of England for 20 years and the first Jew ever to hold that position, Rothschild doted on his “godchild” and made it known that he was prepared to give her a “fortune” on her marriage. He also wanted to solidify both her standing in society and his own. He paid up Lord Carnarvon’s debts and settled on her a sum of £12,000 (roughly $1.5 million in today’s currency) a year. Almina proceeded to turn Highclere into a social epicenter of Edwardian England.

When World War I broke out, the perfect society lady became the perfect nurse, opening her home to the wounded and transforming it into a hospital. Loyal servants who wanted to go off and fight were promised that their jobs would be available upon their return. Does oblige ever get more noblesser? When Lord Carnarvon died, allegedly of a mosquito bite and blood poisoning, a pall fell over the dozens of grieving servants. At least this is the eighth countess’s story. Almina was a woman of great charm and courage, and the family universally beloved.

This account differs somewhat from that in a biography of Lady Almina that came out last year. William P. Cross’s “Life and Secrets of Almina Carnarvon” tells of a woman who traded her money for a prestigious but arid marriage, took lovers young and old (including her husband’s best man) and burned through Rothschild’s dowry, leaving her feckless son enraged and penniless when he finally inherited the estate. Lady Almina did, in fact, open her home to the wounded, and went on to open a series of tony nursing homes (and discreet abortion clinics) for the rich and famous. But the homes never paid for themselves, and she and her second husband, a military officer named Ian Dennistoun, whom she married a few months after Lord Carnarvon’s death, ended up in bankruptcy court. Almina died in greatly reduced circumstances in Bristol in 1969, at the age of 93.

I suspect the real story of the relationship of servants to their masters is more accurately told by Margaret Powell, in her simple and quite brilliant “Below Stairs.” Here she throws the last shovel of dirt on the myth of the devoted help and their unfailing love and respect for the stately home. Powell notes that G. K. Chesterton “wrote about the malignity of inanimate objects,” and then adds that she thinks “they are malign because they take up so much of my time dusting, polishing and cleaning them.”

First published in England in 1968, Powell’s memoir was an inspiration for the classic television series “Upstairs, Downstairs.” She recalls her years “in service” from the time she was a desperately poor girl from a family of seven, growing up in a few rented rooms in Hove, to her years working long days as a kitchen maid and eventually cook in the houses of the good and the great. Apparently she was sufficiently immune to the charms of her employers to seek escape through marriage, children and higher education. “Below Stairs” was a hit, and Powell went on to write other books about her experiences. But perhaps none were quite so powerful as this one, which describes in simple and often excruciating detail the divide between Us and Them. “We always called them ‘Them,’ ” Powell writes. “ ‘Them’ was the enemy, ‘Them’ overworked us, and ‘Them’ underpaid us, and to ‘Them,’ servants were a race apart, a necessary evil.” In those carefree days before nondisclosure agreements, it was assumed by everyone that “what they upstairs did, although it was a subject of scandal and gossip and laughter, was their privilege. Not because they were better than us, but because they had money and it was no good having money if you couldn’t deviate from the norm.”

What makes Powell such a credible narrator is the fact that she’s never reflexively bitter or nasty. When she worked for a family that treated her with kindness and without condescension, she was deeply grateful and desperate to please. These families were rare. More common were those that showed their utter disregard for the servants by practicing necessary “economies” on the staff, monitoring their food and furnishing their rooms with broken castoffs. As the arbiters of morality for the help, a girl’s employers could dismiss her for paying too much attention to her appearance, since there was a slippery slope from wearing makeup to having an out-of-wedlock child (cause for immediate dismissal, of course, without pay and indeed, usually, without anyplace to go). In one home, Powell was excoriated for passing the day’s mail to the lady of the house by hand: “Tears started to trickle down my cheeks; that someone could think that you were so low that you couldn’t even hand them anything out of your hands without it first being placed on a silver salver.”

Well. It made me kind of rethink my whole silver salver fantasy. Though I still want my sheets ironed.

All these years later, “Below Stairs” retains its peculiar fascination. Powell does nothing to romanticize poverty or domestic service, and considers the few servants who Stockholmishly identified with their masters as jack­asses. But she also makes us understand that service could be tolerable and, in some cases, almost pleasant. There’s a certain freedom from stricture, at least in your life outside work, and a certain pleasure in knowing you’re a capable person, while the people you serve are not.

Later in her career, Powell had occasion to work for older ladies in reduced circumstances — perhaps ladies like Lady Almina. “I can’t help thinking that people who were once wealthy and now have to live on a fixed income are worse off than ordinary working-class people,” she observes, while “people who are living on fixed incomes like these old ladies have got to keep on trying to keep up some sort of show.” And that, perhaps more than anything, is what united servant and master. Not love, not admiration, not even fear — but a certain measure of pity. That man standing at attention in the white gloves may be feeling just a little bit sorry for you.


Judith Newman is the author of “You Make Me Feel Like an Unnatural Woman: Diary of a New (Older) Mother.

THE WORLD OF DOWNTON ABBEY
By Jessica Fellowes
Illustrated. 303 pp. St. Martin’s Press. $29.99.
LADY ALMINA AND THE REAL DOWNTON ABBEY
The Lost Legacy of Highclere Castle
By the Countess of Carnarvon
Illustrated. 310 pp. Broadway. Paper, $15.99.
BELOW STAIRS
The Classic Kitchen Maid’s Memoir That Inspired “Upstairs, Downstairs” and “Downton Abbey.”
By Margaret Powell
212 pp. St. Martin’s Press. $22.99.

The Glitter and the Gold
Author: Consuelo Vanderbilt Balsan
For fans of Downton Abbey, this is the riveting real-life story of the Vanderbilt heiress who married the Duke of Marlborough in 1895. A fascinating insight into upstairs-downstairs life and the highest circles of Edwardian aristocracy.
Consuelo Vanderbilt was young, beautiful and the heir to a vast family fortune. She was also deeply in love with an American suitor when her mother chose instead for her to fulfil her social ambitions and marry an English Duke. Leaving her life in America, she came to England as the Duchess of Marlborough in 1895 and took up residence in her new home - Blenheim Palace.The 9th Duchess gives unique first-hand insight into life at the very pinnacle of English society in the Edwardian era. An unsnobbish, but often amused observer of the intricate hierarchy both upstairs and downstairs at Blenheim Palace, she is also a revealing witness to the glittering balls, huge weekend parties and major state occasions she attended or hosted. Here are her encounters with every important figure of the day - from Queen Victoria, Edward V11 and Queen Alexandra to Tsar Nicholas, Prince Metternich and the young Winston Churchill.This intimate, richly enjoyable.
in http://www.qbd.com.au

Because of their "new money" background, four American girls have difficulty breaking into the upper-crust society of New York. Laura Testvalley, the governess of one of the girls, suggests a London season and thus the young women set sail for England and the unsuspecting English aristocracy. In England, all the girls soon find eligible husbands and the youngest girl, Nan, seems to land the best husband of them all: the handsome and very wealthy Julius, Duke of Trevennick. Nan and Julius meet for the first time in a ruin, which is an indication of where their marriage is soon heading. After the nuptials, Julius seems more interested in clocks and stable boys than Nan's happiness, and all the girls soon discover that English upper-class men are not at all what they expected and hoped for.

What Life Was Really Like for Consuelo Vanderbilt at Blenheim Palace

London's oldest restaurant given to the National Trust - preserving history (UK) 14/Oct/2026

Rules, London’s oldest restaurant, donated to National Trust

 

Historic eatery in capital’s theatreland given to heritage charity after changing hands only three times in 228 years

 

Esther Addley and George Francis Lee

Wed 14 Oct 2026 01.01 CEST

https://www.theguardian.com/food/2026/oct/14/rules-london-oldest-restaurant-donated-national-trust

 

When Thomas Rule served his first oyster to diners on Maiden Lane in London’s Covent Garden, “mad” George III was on the throne of England, John Adams was US president and William Pitt the Younger had just come up with a wheeze called income tax to pay for the Napoleonic wars.

More than two centuries later, Rules, the restaurant Thomas founded in what became the capital’s theatreland, has outlasted nine British monarchs and 45 prime ministers – but has changed hands only three times. The interior of its four-storey home, stuffed with historic playbills and vintage caricatures and gilded antlers, is little changed from the 19th century, nor has the tone of its determinedly meaty menu – think rabbit rillettes, shin of veal and roast guinea fowl.

Established in 1798, Rules was once frequented by the likes of Charles Dickens, Laurence Olivier and Charlie Chaplin. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

Rules was beloved by Dickens and Thackeray, inspired Graham Greene and was a favourite of Charlie Chaplin, Laurence Olivier and Ava Gardner. But even London’s oldest restaurant can feel vulnerable to the winds of change, leading the man who bought Rules in 1984 to take perhaps the most significant step in its long history. JP Mayhew has now donated the restaurant’s historic home to the National Trust, assured that the heritage charity will “protect this place in a way that no one else could”.

“With many years of hard work, and some extraordinary strokes of luck, Rules has survived everything from redevelopment plans and changing tastes to the blitz ,” Mayhew said. By taking on the historic and listed 34-35 Maiden Lane, he added , the National Trust would “[safeguard] its bricks and mortar, its famous interior and its invisible atmosphere too. I am grateful to them for believing in this idea and for protecting this building and two centuries worth of stories for people to enjoy forever”.

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The interior of its four-storey home, stuffed with historic playbills and vintage caricatures and gilded antlers, is little changed from the 19th century. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

The £11m “landmark” gift is one of the most valuable in the National Trust’s recent history, and will mark its first entry into the restaurant business – although its portfolio includes 39 historic pubs and a number of country house hotels, including Cliveden in Buckinghamshire.

Not that the heritage charity will be taking on the napkin-folding and the slow cooking of pork cheeks. While Mayhew is donating the historic building and its contents, he sold the restaurant business to Ricky McMenemy, its longstanding general manager, in 2022; McMenemy will become a commercial tenant of the National Trust.

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Diners can expect little change to the menu, said Lucy Porten from the National Trust: ‘It’s not a National Trust menu … there will be no scones.’ Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

“Our involvement, day to day, will probably be very light touch,” said Lucy Porten, a national curator for the charity. “It will always be run as a restaurant. We will look after [the building and its contents], but we recognise that they will have to evolve if they are going to continue to meet diners’ needs.”

Diners, however, can expect little change to the menu, she said – and crucially, no scones. “It’s not a National Trust menu, this is a very successful business in its own right. There will be no scones. That’s not their business.” Nor will there be preferential access or prices for National Trust members, “because it is a business, and it has to be successful,” she added. Instead, the charity is exploring options for virtual visits and other ways people could “feel like they are visiting the space” from afar.

It was several years ago when Mayhew first approached the National Trust about a possible gift. Porten said while “excited by the offer”, they looked carefully at whether it was the right organisation to take on the building.

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The storied restaurant has outlasted nine British monarchs and 45 prime ministers. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

Porten said: “The nature of the National Trust, and the fact we have this extraordinary ability to take on places inalienably, for ever, means that we have to think about what’s right for now, but also to think about looking after them for future generations. That’s quite a big thing … It had to be quite a balanced response and decision.”

Part of its value to the trust, she said, lay in helping the charity “tell different histories which are hard for us to tell at our other properties”.

“You get a sense of all the delicious food which has been enjoyed here, the fine wines that have been consumed, the good company that’s been enjoyed. There’s something in the air about the conversations and the celebrations, the flirtations, the deals that have been struck, the heartbreak. All that hangs in the air, in a very magical way, [as] the backdrop to lots of different historical moments and lives.

“It’s an extraordinary slice of the social history of London, and to have been here for so long - in this site and doing this business – is a very rare and special thing.”