Harrold and Ned, both Gnomes, but from different sides of the Black Stump (according to Harrold). 

Ned, a retired long distance Bush Post-Gnome, needs no shoes, as he far prefers the feeling of the ground under his feet, than the confinement of footwear. His long feet and legs that once used to eat up the miles of bush tracks he traversed to deliver the bush mail, now serve to stand for hours helping Harrold, with his sewing and other work around my studio.  Ned's bright eyes are ever alert, watching for invading "critters" that think they may have found themselves new lodgings.  Anything that has more than 6 legs and is bigger than a pixie sneeze, is given it's marching orders or a dinner invitation.

The lads hard at work at Coombe Farm, The Melba Estate's gallery where they stood or sat as the case may be, during the day, illustrating the fine art of hand sewing. 

Harrold took on the position in my studio as a Tailor, as he had come with references (written in old Gnomish) alluding to his talent of fine craftsmanship with a needle, having mended the socks of one or two junior parliamentarians whose stipend did not allow for regular new socks to be purchased, resulting in "holes" constantly needing attention.

Ned, took his job of monitoring the gallery for invasive critters seriously, and kept a serious eye open at night after the gallery closed. He had nothing (but a smug smile) to report when I last checked in.

Harrold and I are in conversation regarding his costuming.  He defines himself as a gentleman gnome, and feels that, as he is a representative of both the more refined members of his race and my studio, his garments should reflect his important position.  Therefore no silliness of any kind would be acceptable. 

Ned in all his splendour (his words), bright eyed and eager to get on with the next job. He insisted that he be able to keep his beautiful feathers as a reminder of his previous position as a Bush PostGnome.

When Harrold first came into being, he was going to take on the persona of a minor devil of some kind.  The deep brown, almost black of his eyes was almost spooky (according to some!), but I saw a kinder side in him with his winning smile, so he became a Tailor instead.

Harrold assures me that he is from a very old and influential family of Ministerial Gnomes, who served former dignitaries in the Houses of Parliament, executing some most delicate responsibilities, details of which of course, he would not divulge. Suffice to say, his workload was onerous and he had lost all his curly locks at a the young age of 103. Therefore he refused all forms of wigging I offered him, finally accepting his beautiful hat with a bell.

Ned has spotted an new adversary for lodging space.  These usurpers are given short shift and, according to Ned, have a satisfying crunch!  I turn a blind eye to this practice of his after his assurance that he would not leave the odd leg around for me to accidentally find.  A rather novel way to dispatch the unwanted new comers and far better than insect spray!

Ned is particularly proud of his new garments of hand dyed wools and cottons completed with his neckpiece of threads and beadwork.