Yorkshire Pudding posted about a family heirloom yesterday, a silver cigarette case presented to his mum when she married in Delhi in 1945.
It is a link to his past that he clearly cherishes and like many of us, he worries that it might end up in a charity shop or on Flog It! when he’s gone because the memories mean little or nothing to those who inherit it.
It set me thinking along similar lines, although if truth be told there isn’t much from previous generations that I have to leave. My mum and dad and theirs before them were very much from a working class background so heirlooms are pretty scarce, let alone any with an intrinsic value.
But I do have one, namely the pot dog pictured above. It belonged to my nan and is imprinted on my childhood memories as it took pride of place on top of my granddad’s upright piano in the living room of their two-up two-down terraced house on King Street in Dukinfield.
It is rather battered with a bit of his left ear missing and has zero value, but it means a lot to me. Not so for Mrs P who hates it so it has to make do with standing on top of one of the bookshelves in the corner of the dining room where it is mostly just me who sees it regularly.
However, the pot dog does have a tale. Nan and granddad married on Easter Saturday in 1924 and as a result, granddad would buy nana a new Easter bonnet as an anniversary gift every time it came round. Nana got a bit fed up with the same present every year thinking it showed a lack of imagination on granddad’s part and eventually let him know so in no uncertain terms. The year after he gave her the pot dog and nana came to wish that she’d bitten her tongue and settled for the new hat instead!
And speaking of dogs, also above is a photo of Dottie that Mrs P recently sent to some of her slower paying clients to encourage them to cough up.