PLATES AND DISHES
These under the eye of the camera are more or less alike, especially more—then let it suffice the reader to learn that I have forty small and thirty large of various sizes displayed wherever a likely space is available without giving a too crowded appearance. They nearly all bear makers’ marks or owners’ crests or initials, or evidence that they have been put to good use at some time or other. I have been told that when these big chaps were in vogue the various conglomerations forming the meal were heaped together and formed a goodly pile, so there is no doubt of the authenticity of the story of the Scottish farmer with a prodigious appetite at a Rent Dinner who when they wanted to take away his plate said “Bide awee for I hae just found a doo (pigeon) in the reddin o’ ma plate.”
As regards the rims, while I know some enthusiastic collectors could talk for a week on this feature, which to the uneducated suggests distinction without a difference, I will not labour the point.
I saw some very bright 9 inch plates in London recently with ornamental rims, and out of curiosity enquired the price. I was told 25s. each, but the information that they were Dutch was not vouchsafed.
Probably my “pride of the paddock” plate is one on [Plate XIX] (facing p. 43). It has a raised bead running round the centre of the rim, is thought to be early eighteenth century, and was made by Allen Bright, who has since retired from business. Judging by its shape it should pass muster as a genuine alms dish; though it may have been constructed to hold pennies in the kirk, I think it just as likely it held puddings in the kitchen—a thought inspired by the old knife-cuts on the bottom.
I have referred to the Irish plates being scoured on the back, and wiped on the front. Apropos of this remark I have a set of eight with the crest of a sea-horse on the rim; the marks are all obliterated, with the exception of the word “Jonas,” and by the lettering I was able to identify it as made by Jonas Durand about 1660. I also have three plates with the crest which represents the red hand of Ulster, and I believe they would originally be the property of an old Derbyshire family that has an estate in Ireland.
I have one very rare plate inasmuch as it bears on its surface ten rows of tap marks made with a round-headed hammer. The number in each circle lessens until they get down to seven, which surround the centre tap. This plate bears the initials and touch impression of the maker, which are undecipherable, but that does not worry me. I would far rather have the uncommon surface and indistinct marks than plain marks and a smooth surface. The strange thing is that if anyone wants a plate to, perhaps, stand a pot on, and there is no pottery one handy, or the artistic eye thinks a certain pot or flower would go better with a pewter than with a coloured pottery plate, they invariably lift this one off the dresser shelf, when any of the others would do equally well. This must stop, as I find the treatment does not improve its peculiar appearance.
On the first shelf of the oak dresser ([Plate VI]) there are four Scotch plates made by William Hunter, of Edinburgh, 1749-1773. The fronts must always have been well polished, for they shine like silver now. The backs have been kept clean, though not scoured, as the maker’s name and touchmarks are quite distinct. One pair were called “meatplates” and the other “pudding” or “porridge plates.” The latter are deep and would pass for collecting-plates among church pewter in some hands. My obtaining possession of these from the shelves of a farm kitchen in Scotland is an illustration of the proverb that kissing goes by favour. I wish I could obtain more in the same very agreeable manner.
As evidence of the age of the plates and dishes I give the following list of makers’ names, and the approximate dates when they were making these things hum. For most of my records I have searched my books of reference, and when these have failed me I have appealed to Mr. H. H. Cotterell, a great authority on marks, who has very kindly furnished me with the information required whenever possible.
I must mention a pair of very rare plates of special shape with tooled borders. Two holes are drilled in each, and it is probably due to the fact that some vandal has scratched the name “Lizzie” on them that they have not been put to the use for which they were intended, namely, to embellish the drop handles of an old-time coffin. When an obliging broker told me he had a couple of plates he had saved for me, and then produced these ghastly things, I was rendered mute.
Tappit Hens ([Plate XIX], facing p. 43).
“Paint Scotland greetin owre her thrissle;
Her mutchkin-stoup as toom’s a whissle.”
Burns.
Well she may with whisky at half a guinea a bottle!
When we were in Barmouth we stayed at the Cors-y-gedll Hotel, and when I asked the landlord, who up to that point had been the personification of geniality, “What is the meaning of Cors-y-gedll?” he blurted out, “Nobody knows; everybody asks me that question,” and left me abruptly. I was not a collector of old pewter in those days, but I can now fully appreciate the cause of his irritability, for the number of times I have been asked, “What is the meaning of ‘Tappit Hens’?” leaves me tired. I once suggested that the name may have originated because they tappited to see if it was empty or not, only to be further puzzled by the query “But why hen?” and I could only suggest that “It cackled whenever it laid an egg,” which was condemned as an inane joke, which if I had any conceit of myself as a humorist I should never repeat.
Having read so much about Tappit Hens, I have known all about the history a long time ago, and I have forgotten most of it. The name for a Scottish pint measure of a certain shape was “Tappit Hen,” which held two quarts (Imperial). A “Chopin” held a quart and a “Mutchkin” an Imperial pint. My photograph shows a pair of Tappit Hens and a Chopin.
After Tappit Hens came the lidded whisky stoups which were in use in Scotland from 1826 to about 1870, when an Act was passed to do away with profiteering by short measure, and so the use of lids was prohibited.
As inspired individuals began to buy up the original Tappit Hens the supply gave out, so the dealers elevated the whisky stoups to the designation of the former. I do not exaggerate, for I have seen Tappit Hens advertised, and had them sent on approval, only to find the much less valued stoup, or pot-bellied measures as they were often called. Now I suppose they are getting done up, and that any old thing with a lid on is a Tappit Hen. Anyway, I was told by a gentleman, whose knowledge and experience of his profession are much greater than they can be of Scottish pewter, that he had just bought a French Tappit Hen!
In all my travels I have only been offered the genuine article once, and that was in Glasgow some years back, and as I already had two of the same size I did not buy, although it would have been a good investment at the price at which I could then have purchased it. The three imposing Tappit Hen shaped measures I have bear on the lids the imprints of the initials of a fine family, whose old grey stone hall still stands in its lonely but grand surroundings on the Pentland Hills, of which I am constantly reminded by the kindness of a descendant, who placed these treasures in my hands.
I am not a statistician, but I dare hazard an opinion that there are ten or may be twenty times more “Tappit Hens” in existence to-day than ever were made.
It is now time I tapped Burns again:
“Come, bring the tither mutchkin in,
And here’s, for a conclusion.”