At one time, when working with children in a cross-curricular way, I used to ask what was the oldest object – the oldest “thing” – they had in their homes. Then, gently, I expanded the question, asking for the oldest thing they had held or felt or seen. It was a way of leading into the idea of traditional stories coming “from long ago” and of offering children a way of telling their own stories. However, as make-over frenzy spewed from the small screen into homes, followed by minimalism with or without storage cabins, the question became harder to answer. Old old was out. New was “in”, even though the decorative style might be brand new “old”.I have always loved objects with stories or even part stories attached to them, to uncover the how or why or even when. It’s a way of trying to classify things, evident in the Tradescant Cabinet of Curiosities in the Ashmolean Museum, although the objects there are more to do with the natural world than historic artefacts.
Touching, holding, observing, imagining: such valuable occupations! There’s always a special happiness in the museums where children can handle or be close to some of the exhibits, to bring the past within reach.
One of the oldest things I own is this shell, with its band of swirls and patterns and the word “Coronation” piercing the pearly surface and is about the size of a largish tea-pot. The only clue about the shell’s age is the knowledge that it was brought back from India by my grandparents sometime around 1918, and is one of several objects my grandmother owned and that I got to know when I lived in her house.
So the Coronation celebrated won’t have been that of the unhappy Edward VIII, because they had been in England too long by then. It might have been from the Coronation of George V in 1910 but having mulled over various family dates and the fact that my grandmother kept the shell when so many other items from her life were discarded, I feel the shell is likely to be a souvenir from the Coronation of Edward VII in 1901, which would have been around the time of my grandparent’s marriage.
Was the shell a wedding present? If so, don’t know the giver. Was it a present from him to her? Or from someone who was a superior officer? This was an army marriage, after all. Was it a gift from a group of his fellow soldiers? The shell never felt a beloved thing, even though she always displayed it in the glass cabinet in her best room. It iwas not loved like her favourite green glass witch bowl, which could be filled with roses. The shell was and is an almost hundred year old mystery.
Nobody ever told its story. We were not a family that believed in the re-telling stories. Stories could stir up trouble or sorrow or memories best shut away. The two World Wars in the first half of the 20th Century quietly buttoned up many mouths. “Telling” never changed anything anyway – and wasn’t “telling stories” what liars did?
Yet I loved to wonder about all the special treasures my grandmother kept in her own glass cabinet and elsewhere. There were many: this carved shell; the tiny leather shoes; a stuffed alligator; a beaded snake, a pair of tiny china dolls and even the “beautiful white palace”, which I’ll write about another day. Not forgettign the box of not quite so ancient grease-paint that led me into a love of the theatre.
I’m sure my need to fix stories into the past grows from a curiosity about these “old” and found objects.
So now, do tell. What’s the oldest object you’ve ever held in your hand?