Treasures handmade by my Grandpa and the stories they contain
The special magic of holding memories in your hand
This VoiceOver was recorded unedited in my home so there may be word jumbles, signs of life, dogs, or rain in the background. I hope you enjoy it whether it’s something you need or prefer - and thank you so much to those of you who have said you enjoy them!
Hello lovely
My Grandparents were both collectors: my Grandma favoured old Shetland items ranging from chairs to bottles to jumper boards; my Grandpa preferred books. I have a few carefully chosen volumes from his bookshelves, some about constellations, others about Shetland, one about theology (which he studied at university long-distance from home while in his 70s). He was certainly more into using his head than his hands and my Grandma was by far the more practical and adventurous of the two - they balanced and supported one another, as the best relationships do.
He loved words, rhymes and limericks especially, and would write them for special occasions like weddings, anniversaries and occasional birthdays. He enjoyed learning and was the first in his family to go to university, later becoming a partner in a local law firm which still bears his name today. A smartly dressed man, always, he took pride in his appearance and in particular the thick hair that he kept combed just so, regularly smoothing it with one hand as he swept a comb through the waves. He was never one to walk by a reflective surface without taking a glance but he wasn’t pompous or stuffy, his twinkly eyes near-disappeared whenever they crinkled up in a laugh, which was often. I loved to hear him tell stories, something else he did often, but the things I treasure most of his now that he’s gone are the things that he made with his hands.
Since he didn’t make as many things as my Grandma, who always had several projects on the go (a family trait I inherited along with the storytelling), the creative output of my Grandpa is all the more precious. Each of the items below has a history all its own and is attached to the stories, memories, and lives of our family, as well-loved items often are. One is a ship in a bottle that he made when my Mum was little; the others are woodwork projects he made at school, a trolley and a footstool. I’ve had these treasures in my home for years now, ever since my Grandma passed away a few years after my Grandpa. They’ve lived with me in two homes and I can’t imagine ever being without them - they’re both anchors to a time when life was simpler and also witnesses to life as it is now.
The trolley is an instantly recognisable piece of furniture for anyone who ever visited my Grandma and Grandpa’s house. It was used multiple times every day when my Grandma would wheel through food and drinks to the dining room or living room, depending on which meal she was serving at the time. She would often set things out in advance with a dishtowel or lace doily on top to keep flies (and grandchildren’s light-fingered hands) away from the food. It bears all the marks of wear and tear you’d expect - scratches from knocks into doorframes (perhaps when me or my brother was given the privileged position of steering), some marks from teapots and cups, and the varnish has been rubbed away on the edges where hands have held the wood. The honour of getting to push it through for supper (our just-before-bedtime snack) was not taken lightly. We were told to “go peerie-wise” (meaning gently) and to take extra care not to push it too fast or turn it too quickly so as to avoid the water sloshing out of the teapot - no one wants soggy biscuits with their cup of tea, do they?
My Grandpa, despite having made it at school, rarely used the trolley himself since the kitchen and all the tasks that went with it were (unsurprisingly) my Grandma’s domain. I like the idea of the trolley being a link between them and wonder if he ever imagined what it might be used for when he made it - I wonder who he made it for, himself or maybe his mother? I’ll never know exactly how it originated but I’m fairly sure my Grandpa couldn’t have predicted it still being used all these decades later, still holding itself and all those memories together. In its current life with me the trolley is used more as a stationary sideboard and at one time housed my printer. It seems more at home in the living room, though, where it now acts as a bar cart - carrying drinks again just like it did in its previous life.
Another of my favourite things is a footstool. I love that, like the trolley, it’s something that he made during woodwork classes at school. I imagine him, aged around sixteen and with hands so much smaller than when I knew him, carefully cutting, smoothing, and joining the pieces together, taking pride in the details I still love about it today. One of those is the little hole cut into the top for moving it around - they’re shaped like a figure-eight or the body of a violin so you can put two fingers in to pick it up. I also love that it’s dented and has that can’t-be-faked patina to the wood after decades of use, so many people have rested themselves or their feet on it. It sat, as far as I remember, next to my Granpa’s rocking chair in the window of the sun-lounge at Greentaft, a traditional cottage that he and my Grandma (mostly my Grandma) renovated when their six kids were little and where we all spent weekends for decades after. “Sun-lounge” is actually an incredibly generous term for a slightly wonky, perpetually leaking extension, but that’s what we always called it’s still, in essence, what it was. Either way, that’s where I remember the stool sitting, housing either a cup of tea, a book, or a person, just like it still does today.
Lastly, there’s a ship in a bottle which now lives on the windowsill in my bathroom. Before, it sat on top of a kitchen unit at Greentaft and my Mum vaguely remembers my Grandpa making it, meticulously piecing it all together before pulling the strings so the sails stood up inside. I like that it has waves that run along the bottom and that it’s something he spent time on for no reason other than pleasure. Making things for the sake of making things is reason enough in itself, afterall, and this ship reminds me of that whenever I see it. The bottle it’s inside of is a bit wonky, like the ship itself, and I like that the ship looks distorted when you peer closer at it as though it’s moving or hidden in the clouds. Tall ships like this one are a regular sight in Shetland and always make me think of adventures, stories about pirates, and that feeling of the wind whipping through your hair when you’re out on the water.
No matter how much I declutter these are the items I’ll never part with. In fact, when I make space by getting rid of other things part of the joy of that is making more space for these pieces - and the memories they hold - to be more visible. Although the most important things people give us are, of course, not tangible or physical, it still helps to have something to hold onto, something to look at and remember. Now that my Grandpa is gone having the things he made is even more special: a little bit of him still stays in the house with me - it’s part of what makes it feel like home.
Do you have any handmade treasures passed down to you? Or maybe you’ve made something you’d like someone else to treasure? I’d love to hear about your own family treasures and the stories behind them.
Take good care, friends.
Treasures!
I have a rag rug that my grandmother made before I was born (56+ years ago). She made the pattern herself. She made a different one for each of her five children. This is the only one that remains.
I have several pieces of my grandmother's furniture. I hold these things dear.
I find it interesting that my daughter's generation are not overly sentimental about "things". It has nothing to do with the esthetics of the old pieces and it's not like they want new or expensive things. There isn't a soft feeling about something that was in their family.
Your grandparents sound fascinating. I bet they were interesting ppl to know.
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