“Know first who you are, and then adorn yourself accordingly.”*

*Epictetus (50-135AD), Greek Stoic philosopher

Jeremy Langmead wrote at esquire.com on 17/11/2015:

“I went to a wedding last weekend at Hardwick House in Oxfordshire, apparently the inspiration for Kenneth Grahame’s Toad Hall in Wind in the Willows (1908). The Elizabethan manor, surrounded by meadows that lead down to the banks of the Thames, was once home to Sir Charles Day Rose. The colourful baron had ebullient enthusiasms for fast cars – “Poop! Poop!” – real tennis, horse racing and aeroplanes. He died in 1913 from a heart attack induced by the excitement of flying in one of the latter at Hendon Aerodrome.

The reason I mention this, besides expanding your literary references, is that Mr Toad’s wardrobe – colourful checked tailoring, tweeds, flat caps, and oversized camel-toned wool coats – is remarkably similar to many of the looks designers showed for this winter. Unsurprisingly, none of them cited Mr Toad as inspiration – he’s never quite made it as an official muse alongside Kurt Cobain, Andy Warhol and James Dean – but the evidence is there all the same…”

From: Rosebery – Statesman in Turmoil (2005), by Leo McKinstry:

“(In 1906), staying again in Naples, the King asked Rosebery to dine, having heard he was at Posillipo. To the wrath of the King, who was fastidious about dress, Rosebery breezily turned up attired in a Yacht Squadron mess jacket and white tie. Sir Frederick Ponsonby, the King’s assistant secretary, later recalled, ‘Most people would not have even remarked this, and if they had would never have given it a second thought. But for King Edward this entirely spoilt the whole evening and he eyed Rosebery angrily all through dinner. To make matters worse Rosebery made a joke about his tie and became rather offhand about what was really in the King’s mind a serious matter.’…”

On September 2, 2013, Michael Dirda wrote in a Barnes & Noble Review of Erskine Childers’s The Riddle of the Sands (1903):

“When Davies appears, he is dressed in “an old Norfolk jacket, muddy brown shoes, grey flannel trousers (or had they been white?) and an ordinary tweed cap.” Carruthers has naturally brought along proper yachting clothes, appropriate to a pleasure cruise with lots of drinks and good food and chaps to raise the anchor, trim the sails and what not. As it turns out, the Dulcibella is just a thirty-foot flat-bottomed boat, drawing very little water when the centerboard is up. Davies admits he can actually sail her alone, though life is easier and more pleasant with a companion.

Childers makes sport of Carruthers’s early days aboard the Dulcibella, and for a while the novel is almost a reprise, with a slight reduction in number, of Jerome K. Jerome’s comic “Three Men in a Boat.” But gradually, as Carruthers and the reader are introduced to the intricacies of sailing a small vessel in tidal estuaries, amid shifting sand bars, the narrative begins to darken…”

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