Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
As active members of the Curio Club,
The Crumb Sisters
Are no strangers
To Nocturna‘s private study rooms.
Situated
Upon the first floor,
Beyond the grand
Mahogany staircase,
The rooms are concealed
Behind doors that rarely appear
To be doors at all.
The entrance
To the Entomology Study Room
Is hidden behind an enormous,
Gilt-framed painting
Of Mother Nature,
Her serene figure surrounded
By a magnificent cloud
Of insects and butterflies.
As the evening rain settles in,
Inside the Nocturna Club,
It was warm and dry.
Open fires roar,
And lamps illuminate both
Members and ornaments alike,
With a golden glow.
Marcel Carreau loves such evenings,
When he can look out
Across the club knowing,
That everything as it should,
And all are content.
It was at this moment
That his meditation
was interrupted,
By the soft voice
of the Still-Room Attendant,
Mabel Cobble.
The elaborate golden calligraphy
Upon the glossy black business card
Read,
Horace Ashcombe
Apothecary and Collector
of Forgotten Remedies.
“Do you find it satisfactory?”
Malcolm Coldbottom
Enquired.
Horace smiled,
Turning the card
Slowly between his fingers,
Allowing the warm Nocturna lamplight
To dance
Across the embossed
Gold lettering.
“Magnificent, Malcolm.
Quite magnificent.”
At midnight,
Upon the twelfth night
Of December,
The old oak doors
Of Nocturna
Opened quietly,
And Belladonna Moreau
Stepped inside.
Few members
Ever addressed her
By her given name.
To everyone
She was simply,
“Ding Dong.”
There are those
Who visit Nocturna
For the rarest spirits,
The whispered stories,
Or the peculiar company
One finds nowhere else.
Yet the regulars,
Those who have lingered
Long enough
To call the place home,
Will tell you
That the evening
Never truly begins
Until Mr Gideon Rook
Offers a gentle nod
And quietly says,
“This way,
If you please.”
When the final guest
Has gathered their coat,
When the last teacup
Has been cleared away,
When laughter
Has dwindled
To memory,
And Marcel Carreau
Locks the great oak doors
For another evening,
Nocturna belongs
To Neko.
Louis de Villepin
Was a perfectionist.
As flamboyant
As he was talented,
His remarkable nose
Could distinguish
Hundreds of fragrances,
Even after
they had long vanished
From the air.
Nestled above
Nocturna‘s grand mahogany staircase,
Beyond an unassuming velvet curtain,
Lay rooms
Known only to a handful
Of trusted members.
A gentleman’s smoking room
With a wrought-iron balcony,Quiet reading chambers,
Guest apartments,
And, at its heart,
A private dining room,
Reserved each month
For the Curio Club….
Gideon Rook carried
An aged bottle of rum
And two crystal glasses
Towards Booth Six.
Before he reached the velvet curtain,
A booming laugh rolled across Nocturna,
Followed by the unmistakable voice
Of Captain Abercrombie Marlowe….
Time,
And the restless city,
Forgot old Selwyn Lane.
Its weathered buildings,
Once alive with commerce,
Slowly emptied.
Doors closed.
Windows gathered dust.
One by one,
Their occupants
Simply went elsewhere.
Although some remain empty
To this day,
All quietly found
New custodians.
Purchased,
Not by developers,
Nor speculators,
But by club members
Of Nocturna.
Many gifted their buildings
To the club itself,
Allowing the sanctuary
To grow
Patiently,
Silently,
One adjoining wall at a time.
Behind ancient brickwork,
Doorways became archways.
Storerooms became libraries.
Warehouses became museums.
Forgotten offices
Became quiet reading rooms,
Cabinets of curiosities,
Map vaults,
Conservatories,
Trade halls,
And discreet apartments
Reserved for distinguished guests.
To the city,
The block still appeared
Forgotten.
Weathered.
Half abandoned.
But appearances
Have always been deceiving
When it comes to Nocturna.
Within those old walls,
Life quietly flourished.
Books found readers.
Collectors found discoveries.
Artists found inspiration.
Friends found one another.
And every twelfth night,
of the month,
The sanctuary grew
A little richer.
Nocturna is no longer
Merely a private club.
For many,
It has become
A way of life.
An entire city block,
Quietly devoted to curiosity,
Craftsmanship,
Scholarship,
Wonder,
And the preservation
Of beautiful impossibilities.