by Mary Jo
This Ask A Wench blog was inspired when we started talking about furniture in our private Word Wenches email loop, and we found out that we all had stories about favorite things!
Here is the question I asked: "Do you have a particular piece of furniture that you cherish? Tell us its story!"
And here are the replies:
From Pat Rice:
I HAD wonderful pieces that I cherished—the Victorian sofa my stepfather reupholstered in lovely wine and cream to match my Tudor-style dark oak living room; the dark oak dining table that was our very first piece of “bought” furniture, the one with scars in it from little hands pressing too hard with writing instruments while doing homework; the beautiful Bentwood rocker from my mother that I rocked my babies in… and the magnificent handmade mahogany Queen Anne bedroom suite I bought with my first big royalty check. ( the pic shows the table and the antique sideboard I picked up at a yard sale!)
They’re all gone now, left behind when we moved across the country to a modern cottage on the Pacific coast. These days, we live with thrift store bargains—because new, they probably cost more than all the above furniture did when we bought them. I no longer feel guilt at dumping a designer leather couch when we move to a house where it doesn’t fit. I can buy an even better one in a design that matches. Throw away furniture—it’s a Thing.
Nicola contributes a "Slightly macabre piece!"
When I was a child my grandparents, who lived with us, bought an 18th century grandfather clock that stood in the hall, its loud tick filling the air and somehow giving a sense of reassurance and permanence. I loved that clock! I loved its painted face and the fact that it was much taller than I was, and that it had been made in the North of England and was so old.
Fast forward fifty years, and when we were clearing my parents’ house I really wanted to take that clock home to live with me. But there was a problem. It was too tall. Or our ceilings were too low. Whichever way you looked at it, it didn’t fit. We thought about taking several inches off the bottom of it, which wasn’t really feasible. We even thought about lowering a small part of the floor but that was even less practical. In the end I had to accept that it just wasn’t going to happen. My step-brother has it now and as he loves it too, that’s good enough for me.
One piece of special furniture we do have is a chair made in the reign of Queen Anne which has been in my husband’s family for generations. It’s called “Seaborn’s Chair” because Seaborn Cornick was the first owner of it; he was a shepherd on a grand estate in Dorset in the Victorian era and when the lord of the manor was throwing out his old furniture, Seaborn was offered this ancient battered armchair for his cottage.
Unfortunately, poor Seaborn slid out of the chair into the fire one day and died. The family story was that he was drunk but I think they were maligning him and it was a heart attack. Anyway, the chair has been reupholstered several times since then but you can still see the burn marks on one of its legs. It’s funny the things that people cherish, isn’t it!
Christina here.
My parents were always very generous and often bought me surprise gifts. Many years ago now, when I was in the process of decorating a room with red walls and Oriental flavour, they called me up one weekend and said ’We’re at an antique fair in Stockholm and there’s a beautiful Chinese wedding cabinet here that would probably be perfect for your red room. Do you want it?’
I said yes please, of course, and waited for my little cabinet to arrive from Sweden. I thought they’d meant a small cupboard type thing to put on top of a table so imagine my surprise and shock when THIS arrived! It’s at least 6ft tall and both wide and deep. In terms of decor it fit perfectly and I love it, but it took up most of the room! Luckily our present house has a bigger red room and now it doesn’t look so out of place. And I was very grateful – it was a lovely gift which I treasure!
I have to mention one other item of furniture that I own – this little drinks cabinet which is probably from the 1930s. Not really my style (I like ornate older antiques), but it is very special to me because it belonged to my Swedish grandfather. I spent a lot of time with him and my grandmother as they lived in the apartment below ours all through my childhood, so I was often there when he came from work. He had a routine and every day he’d make himself what he called a “grog” (I suspect it was a gin and tonic). This cabinet is where he stored his bottles and there are special sections in the doors to hold the glasses.
When he had his drink, he would sit down in his favourite chair to relax for the evening. Then he’d talk to me or play games or cards, and generally give me his full attention. He was the best grandpa ever and to this day I can still recall the particular smell from this cabinet – a mixture of alcohol and furniture polish I think – and it takes me back to fond memories. Now I keep the glasses I inherited from him and my grandma in it and a collection of empty bottles on top. (And no, I didn’t drink all that vodka, I swear – I just love the shape of those bottles.)
Susan here:
Growing up in a small town in Upstate New York, we lived near my great-grandmother Marie’s house, which she shared with Eleanor, my dad’s stepmother, once both were widows. They were delightful ladies, and I spent a lot of time there. Eleanor played piano and taught me to bake, and Marie taught me to knit and speak some French. Eleanor was French Canadian, and Marie, an adorable little old lady, had immigrated from France as a teenager, which led to entertaining exchanges about who spoke proper French! As a kid, I picked up French, baked pies and cookies, knitted wonky little scarves, and felt very loved, especially when it was my turn to spend the night there. Their combined home was warm and lovely, and full of treasures—a baby grand piano (my son has it now), oriental rugs, velvet sofas, crystal lamps—and they told wonderful stories about their lives.
When they were gone and the household was being dispersed, I only wanted one thing—my great-grandmother’s humpback trunk, which she brought with her from France in the 1880s. She brought that trunk from Alsace-Lorraine to Ellis Island when she traveled with her parents and siblings; decades later she still used it for storage. Today it sits at the foot of our bed, holding our tartan blankets and scarves.
Later I also ended up with my Canadian grandmother’s treasured “Persian” rug, which my grandfather bought in the 1920s. She paired it with plump pink velvet sofas—I’ll pass on the pink velvet, but the rug is still gorgeous!
The memories associated with the trunk and the rug are still warm and loving, and I hope they add that feeling to our home as well. Someday I hope my grandchildren will love these things too.
Mary Jo musing:
I'm really enjoying all these furniture stories! I have lots of things I'm very fond of, but I don't have any splendid heirloom pieces, so instead I'm choosing this table that evokes wonderful memories.
A long time ago, I lived in Oxford, England for a couple of years and for much of that time I was the art editor for a magazine start-up in Wallingford, a beautiful market town on the Thames River about fifteen miles south of Oxford. I worked with a group of bright, idealistic young people and learned a great deal about living in England and international development.
There was a good used furniture store around the corner from the magazine offices, and I found some very nice items there. One class of table that turned up regularly was probably a kitchen table, three feet square and made of oak, with 18" leaves that pulled out of two sides so the table extended to seven feet. They had different finishes and the legs had different designs, but here is the one I fell in love with because of the extravagant legs. I brought it home and it's now my kitchen table, and very handsome and useful it is. (Snow Bear enjoyed modeling my travel scarves so much that she insisted on posing for this photo.)
It just occurred to me to Google traditional English kitchen tables, and I came up with a sales site that had several tables of this type. Here's a link to what is listed as an English draw leaf tiger oak table. (It actually looks quite like my table, though I like the design of mine better.)
The one on the sales site costs rather more than I paid then. <G> The Wallingford shop owner charged 4 pounds for all tables of this type--about $10 US at the time. This was by far the nicest one that came in, but it still only cost me ten bucks. And it reminds of a marvelous couple of years when I was exploring a new country that I came to love, meeting wonderful people and seeing grand sites--and incidentally gathering lots of material for my unexpected future career as a writer of British set historical romances. <G>
Anne Gracie here:
Like some other wenches, I have several pieces of furniture I cherish, and some that I've more or less lost, but I don't want to dwell on them.
The current furniture that is making me happy is my old Jacobean lounge suite. I don't know why it's called 'Jacobean' because mine is certainly not as old as that — I believe the style arose in the 1930's, possibly inspired by actual Jacobean designs. I first saw this style of lounge suite when I was a student and was babysitting on a regular basis for a stylish Lebanese hairdressing couple. Their house was decorated with French artwork and all kinds of interesting things, including furniture with woven rattan panels, including a Jacobean lounge suite, which I fell in love with.
I bought mine several years later, and it was second-hand then. I saw it sitting in front of an antique shop, and I pulled in, went inside the shop, and bought it on impulse. The fact of earning a real wage, after so long being a student, had no doubt gone to my head, but I've never regretted buying it. It was big and squashy and very comfortable, and I love the wide wooden armrests which are perfect for resting a cup of coffee on.
But as the years passed it faded and grew squashier and less comfortable, and a few months ago I bit the bullet and booked it in for a complete overhaul and re-upholstery. I asked the upholsterer not to polish away the flaws — the foot with puppy chew marks on it and other tiny bits of personal history. And now, here it is, all bright and spiffy and smart. I'm thrilled to bits with it. I tossed a parrot throw over the couch, partly because I felt there was a bit much red, but also because I love that throw.
Andrea's Antique Type Cabinet:
I don’t have any heirloom antiques. My mother grew up surrounded by them and much preferred kicky modern stuff. She had a great eye and a wonderful sense of style, and put together bright colors and funky things in very clever ways. But of course, the pendulum swings. I love weathered old wood and muted hues and wish some of my Swiss grandparents’ furnishings had made the trip from Europe. That said, I do have some very meaningful pieces. One of them is a wonderful old type cabinet, still filled with vintage engraving and ornaments. I got my mother interested in letterpress printing and we had such fun collecting type and printing books on the 211 Vandercook proof press that I found at an auction just a few years after graduating from art school.
The press and most of the type got given away to the New England private press group when my mother moved to a condo for her last years. (Alas, I had no room to house it. My mother had a huge studio for the stuff—the press alone was 8 ft. long and weighed over 2 tons!) However, I kept the small type case and it sits in my living room, topped by an antique scale I found in London and some lovely old wood type. It’s a wonderful link to my mother and the artistic fun we shared. I often smile when I walk by it.
These are some Wenchly treasures. What special things would you like to tell us about?
Mary Jo