Apostle spoons

 

Apostle spoons

I make a pot of tea two or three times a day. I use Twinings Assam loose tea, or occasionally Earl Grey if my son-in-law is visiting (the writer, not the plumber) and spoon the leaves into the pot with a little spoon that came from my parents’ home, long before they died. The spoon is an Apostle spoon, of no great value other than sentiment. I don’t know if my parents had a set, or whether they just had one, perhaps as a christening gift for someone in the family.

Similar spoons had their origin in 15^th century Europe and were used at table, often being produced in sets of thirteen, and representing Christ’s Last Supper in company with his twelve disciples. It is rare now to find a complete set, though they were popular and produced in large numbers in England and Germany.

During the 16^th century they were popular gifts from godparents to their godchildren, but the tradition had declined by the middle of the 20^th century. They were also sometimes given as wedding presents, to bless the couple with good fortune.

The earliest spoons were made from silver, with a representation of an apostle at the top or finial of the handle. Apostles could be identified by the objects they carried, known as attributes. Saint Peter was shown with a key or sword, or sometimes a fish. Judas was depicted holding a bag of money, and Saint Andrew held a cross. The Master, or Christ, carried a cross and orb. The British Museum in London has an irreplaceable set of thirteen, in which the thirteenth character is shown as the Virgin Mary.

In later years, many spoons were created in base metal, like nickel silver, with a thin layer of silver electroplated onto it. Nickel silver is a mixture of nickel, zinc, and copper.

My little spoon has EPNS (Electro Plated Nickel Silver) stamped on the reverse. It’s difficult to be sure, but I think the apostle is intended to be Saint John the Evangelist. It looks as if he is carrying a chalice, the cup of sorrow foretold by Christ.

It is not valuable, but I would be very sorry to lose it. All the while it rests in the tea caddy there’s little chance of that!

Victory

 

Victory

My latest jigsaw puzzle was a small Victory puzzle of unusually shaped 74 pieces in a circular, screw-top tin. 

It was interesting to complete, and my standard way of puzzling didn’t work completely. I usually find all the straight edge pieces for the outside ‘frame’ and work from there.

Every Victory puzzle has a 'V for Victory' piece, as well as other oddly-shaped pieces

The finished puzzle!

The tray I worked on measured 18 x 18 cms (7 x 7 inches) and the finished work was 13½ x 17 cms (5¼ x 6¾ inches)

It was called ‘Christmas Eve at Yapps Crossing,’ from a painting by John B. Gruelle, 1918. Johnny Gruelle (1880-1938) was an American artist and cartoonist. He also wrote and illustrated children’s books and comics and created Raggedy Ann and Beloved Belindy.

Raggedy Ann and Andy and the Camel with the Wrinkly Knees

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Unfair to dogs!

Unfair to dogs! 

Winter, fifteen years ago

 

Winter, fifteen years ago

Frodo the Faller

We haven’t had an appreciable snowfall in Berkshire for many years, Occasionally, we have had enough to shut the schools, for health and safety reasons, whereupon families dig out their sledges and skis and head for the nearest hills. It’s bonkers!

 Jenna 

It used to be the case that snow fell and covered everything in a thick blanket of deadening white. Crunching through the snow was almost musical, boots squeaking against the crystals. The air burnt one’s nose and throat with cold, and exposed ears tingled. After the snow, the ground remained hard for months in the winter, resounding like a huge drum to footfalls.

It’s always a pleasure to walk with dogs, and see their enthusiasm as they read the landscape. Snow brings fresh excitement and smells. They plunge and leap and nose the unfamiliar white stuff, sometimes eating a mouthful, or finding small mammals underneath, which skitter away as fast as they can from questing muzzles.

Puppy Gus, Jenna, Frodo the Faller, Janice, Buddy Liver Spots, January 2010

Fifteen years ago in January, we had a substantial snowfall. We had at that time two Dalmatians, Buddy Liver Spots, who was blind by then, following an almost fatal attack of meningitis, and Frodo the Faller, and two black Labradors, Jenna and her half-brother, puppy Gus. We kept Buddy on a long lead, as he would otherwise set off purposefully at speed in the wrong direction. The lead allowed him a measure of independence if he wanted it, but he didn’t stray far.

How many dogs can you see?

There are two - Jenna on the left and puppy Gus almost completely covered!

Buddy Liver Spots and puppy Gus

Frodo the Faller and Buddy Liver Spots

They had such fun in the snow!

This year, we have had one paltry snow shower, with heavy frosts most mornings recently, and some fog. I’m not wishing for terrible weather conditions, but it does seem that there is a developing trend for the seasons to become more or less bland. I could live to regret my words!

Frodo the Faller

Steel toe caps?

 

Steel toe caps?

My son-in-law, Paul, husband to my eldest daughter, is a plumber. He is also an electrician, a decorator, and an imaginative designer.

 He is a fair-minded man and doesn’t charge over the odds for a job, reasoning that his reputation will speak for itself and ensure that he always has work. Too often, he is called in to rectify someone else’s botched and usually overpriced work.

We often tell him that he doesn’t charge enough but he continues in the way he always has, and it suits him and his conscience. He’ll never be rich, but he will always be able to live with his decisions.

He meets some very interesting people and treats them all with the same courtesy and respect, whether they are lords or commoners, wealthy or poor, living in mansions or small cottages. He has a marked sense of humour and is a naturally amusing raconteur.

Until his father retired, Paul worked with him. One day, they were invited to give an estimate for fitting a new bathroom. Paul arrived at the house first, removed his boots as requested, and went inside to start the assessment. When Dave, his father, arrived a little later, the lady of the house asked him to take off his boots before he went in, but he politely refused.

‘What size shoes do you take?’ she said.

Not unnaturally, Dave asked, ‘Why?’

She replied, ‘I shall have to ask you to wear slippers if you come to work here.’

Dave responded, ‘These work boots are an essential part of our safety clothing.’

Somewhat tartly, she retorted, ‘Nonetheless, you must wear slippers if you come to work for me.’

He replied, ‘That’s fine; if you can find slippers with steel toe caps, then we’ll wear them.’

With that, Paul and Dave left, having decided that they wouldn’t take the job.

It was quite apparent that such a fussy woman would find all sorts of things to complain about and finally probably avoid paying the bill until forced to. She could have offered overshoes, after all. I wonder whether she found any workmen who agreed to abide by her rules.

Someone else’s expense

 

Someone else’s expense

I am not posting a photograph of Barry’s face – it’s not a pretty sight. The swelling is going down and the bruising is going through the usual repertoire of interesting colours.

He had to have the dressing replaced on Wednesday and came home with a huge plaster covering half his face. That’s a slight exaggeration, but he was more aware of it than the original, as it was clearly visible in his peripheral vision. It reminded me of Cyrano de Bergerac, for no plausible reason. It fell off in the night!

On Thursday, we made a Heath Robinson attempt to cover the developing scar. It’s stayed put, with additional plasters to keep various wandering ends in place, and now he looks as though he could take the lead rôle in The Phantom of the Opera.

Another plaster was added today, at right angles to the Thursday dressings. Talk about using a sledgehammer to crack a nut! At this rate, his entire face will be obscured. 

As it is, strangers are commenting on it when he’s walking the dogs, showing great sympathy. It’s more acceptable than the rude remarks coming from me! It’s not good form to laugh at someone else’s expense . . .

This morning, the padding of a fresh plaster was peeping out annoyingly and Barry appeared with scissors and asked me to trim it. He had tried to do it himself, but he's a southpaw, so sometimes finds scissors awkward. It was funny, because as I advanced with the scissors, I sensed him backing off nervously. That made me laugh, which caused even more tension. He muttered something about not wishing to have his nose further adapted. 

We find our entertainment where we can!

Seeking the limelight?

 

Seeking the limelight?

Herschel is an undemanding cat, most of the time. He responds to the Alexa alarm for food four times a day, but he’s not a greedy cat and it wouldn’t bother him to miss a meal or two, unlike his gluttonous brother. Occasionally, he seems hungrier than usual and creates a cacophony and then he has extra rations. He will always appear if cheese is in the offing, but generally he doesn’t attempt to steal from our plates or hands – he’s much too polite.

We have two butter dishes – one made of china with an illustration of friendly, gentle black and white cows,  Friesian perhaps, and the other a stainless steel affair, a no-nonsense kind of dish. The one in current use is the metal dish. At present, we have no need to keep the butter in the fridge – it’s quite cold enough in the kitchen for it to remain so hard that it’s impossible to spread.

As we sat watching ‘Vera’ last evening, I heard the unmistakeable sound of the butter dish being moved, but didn’t think much of it. Gilbert and Roxy were in the sitting room with us, and anyway the dish is too far back on the worktop for them to reach, so I wasn’t unduly concerned. Often, Jellicoe will sniff around the outside of the lid, but he can’t move it, so the butter is safe. The clinking went on sporadically and I should have gone into the kitchen to investigate, but didn’t.

The seven o’clock alarm sounded, and the cats raced into the kitchen, expectantly, Herschel bringing up the rear, as usual. Jellicoe tore into his food, but Herschel didn’t finish his, which is unusual, and the leavings provided an unexpected little treat for the dogs.

We resumed our evening, accompanied by occasional metallic notes. Later, I noticed that dish lid and base had parted company, and Jellicoe was having a wonderful time licking what was left of the butter. I scolded him, which is about as effective as reprimanding spiders for having the effrontery to invade the house, and gave the remaining small amount of butter to a surprised but grateful Roxy, watched by a disappointed Gilbert, who arrived too late to share the spoils.

Suddenly, I remembered Herschel leaving his supper and realised he was the culprit. He had never removed the dish lid before, but is capable of doing so. He is always fed in the conservatory and opens the sliding door to the kitchen when he has finished. It’s a heavy door but he works away at it until it glides open enough to allow him through, unless I have locked it.

I apologised to Jellicoe, who accepted my contrition with good grace, and then I spent a few minutes online checking on cats and butter and the consumption thereof. It’s fine as an occasional treat for cats, but can upset their digestion.

Today, Herschel has responded to the meal alarms, but turned up his nose at breakfast and elevenses. I don’t know whether he’s so full of butter that he has no appetite for anything else or if something is amiss. We shall keep an eye on him. He’s still keeping company with us and hasn’t gone into hiding, so hopefully all will be well.

Threeses, the three o'clock meal, occurred and Herschel decided to eat. He didn't finish his meal, which made a welcome little snack for Gilbert, but I'm thankful that he has eaten something.