Pretty Poetry Printed on Pottery
Parents are advised, before compelling their children to commit the following gems from the jugs to memory, to insist on their repeating aloud the above title rapidly but accurately until they or their children are, so to speak, fed up.
On an “Oddfellows’ jug,” which holds about a gallon:
Behold, Behold the Upright Band,
In virtue’s path go hand in hand,
They shun each ill, they do no wrong,
Strict honour does to them belong.
On a Sunderland jug, giving view of “Bridge over the River Wear”:
Glide on my Bark, the Summer’s tide,
Is gently flowing side by side,
Around thy prow the waters bright,
In circling rounds of broken light,
Are glittering as if Ocean gave,
Her countless gems to deck the wave.
On a Sunderland jug, with picture of ship in full sail, titled, “True Love from Hull”:
Kindly take this gift of mine,
The gift and giver I hope is thine,
And though the value is but small,
A Loving heart is worth it all.
On a Sunderland “Frog mug,” showing a black print of a man-of-war with all sails set:
The Fairy of the Sea
Ther’s a frigate on the waters,
Fit for Battle’s storm or fun,
She dances like a Lifeboat,
Though she carries Flag and Gun,
What ’er may try, she’ll stand the test,
The brave, the staunch, the free,
She bears a name of stainless fame,
The Fairy of the Sea.
On a jug with print, touched up with colours, of a tavern called:
The Jolly Boatmen
Let none John Barleycorn despise,
He makes the drooping spirits rise,
Then drink till all are satisfied,
But reason ever be your guide.
On a Queen Caroline jug:
May Loyal George and Caroline,
Agree to rule our nation,
And peace and happiness combine,
In every rank and station.
On a Staffordshire milk-bowl with a black printed farm scene:
God Speed The Plough
We plough the fertile meadows,
And sow the furrow’d land,
But yet the waving harvest,
Depends on God’s own hand,
It is His mercy give us
The sunshine and the rain,
That paints in verdant beauty,
The mountain and the plain.
Success to the Farmer.
On a Liverpool jug bearing a representation of “Charity”:
Success To Commerce and Trade
The watery grave now opens,
All dreadful from below,
When the waves move the Sea,
And the stormy winds do blow,
But when the danger’s over,
And safe we come on shore,
The horrors of the tempest,
We think of them no more.
On a Staffordshire jug, probably made by Daniels, and transfer printed with a picture of an old dandy, who has a paper headed “Oracle” on his knee, and whom the artist has crowned with a wig that would stuff a furnish-on-the-hire-system settee:
Long may we live,
Happy may we be,
Blessed with content,
And from misfortunes free.
On a small plate with a rim edged with red, which carries the alphabet in raised letters, I see a quaint print of two men, one holding his hat in his hand, the other has his right hand thrust in his vest, while the left is in the flap pocket of his knee breeches. There is, of course, a cow, one sheep, and a lamb. In the background there is a thatched roof covering some house from out of which a lady, who appears to have donned her shop-soiled sables, has brought into the road a stool and a spinning-wheel. She is sitting on the former while she works the latter. It is a quiet road, and no motors are anticipated. The artist has wonderfully conveyed the idea that they are having a very warm time, and that the “Johnnies” are having a heated argument; further, it is the fly season, or why is the cow whisking her tail? It is a peaceful scene, for not a leaf stirs, and it is small wonder that the author has been carried away from his object, which was to report that at the top of the illustration there is printed:
Poor Richard’s Maxims
“Fly pleasure and it will follow you; the diligent spinner has a large shirt.”
While at the foot every child can read:
“Now I have a sheep and a cow everybody bids me good morrow.”
So I conclude the diligent spinner whose hands are hidden by his clothing is bothered by too large a shirt on this hot day, and that he is such a super-diligent spinner that he sees his wife does the spinning while he swanks about counting the cow, sheep, and lamb, and is accosted by an indigent acquaintance who is anxious to negotiate a loan—hence the heated argument.
WILLOW PATTERN (See [Plate XXXVII])
Of course, everyone knows the Willow Pattern; if not, they fancy they do, and it was only natural that the first old looking dish I met with I bought. It was marked “stoneware K. & B.”; there was also a small cross in blue. I couldn’t find “K. & B.” in the book I then had, but I found a cross was a Bristol mark, so I concluded the dish was old Bristol, whereas it would be made by Knight and Bridgewood in Staffordshire. Then I bought other Willow Pattern plates and dishes, some marked on the back and some not, and found there were no two actually alike. On reference I found that the Willow Pattern was the original design of Thomas Minton, made for Thomas Turner, of Caughley, so I turn(er)ed to my guide books to look for a reproduction of the genuine picture, and I found each author showed photographs which differed in many particulars, but some specially recommended marks “C” or “S” and I surmise that we may take it that “C” is the most original of all the originals.
As I was growing older every day, and wished to solve this Anglo-Chinese problem for the benefit of a bewildered brain, I rambled farther afield, and at last discovered a dish marked “S,” this being the mark of the Salopian works which were early in the market with this remarkable design. When I found another dish marked “S,” I exchanged two of my mongrels for it, and I repeated this bargain when I found a third. I use the word “bargain” from the shopkeepers’ point of view, as they would by my generous treatment receive double from their sale than they had previously expected. One of them told me I was too good-natured ever to be well off, and I think he was a man of keen perception of character, but it is disconcerting if a bank-book can be revealed by the face, or by the old Burberry worn on the back. Having a trio of the genuine article, each one “bought” at different places, on comparing I found the pictures identical, although the blue varied slightly, and so I recommend the reader, if he is interested in this grave question, to study [Plate XXXVII].
My cue is to look at the wagtails or love birds, and if the one on the off side is a cock and carries his wings perpendicularly, or if she is a hen and, after looping the loop, has also acquired the same wing position, which appears to be just the right one for billing and cooing, then it is about time for the collector to turn-er-over and see if there is anything more fascinating than a love story on the back of the piece.
To make myself doubly clear, and to remove any possible doubt whatsoever, I give an illustration of another Willow Pattern dish which has no mark, and is, to my mind, worth half a dozen of the “S” specimen as an antique, for it must be fifty years older, is a better shape, and a nicer blue. I obtained a pair of these from an auctioneer, one being broken in two, and whether I gave him three shillings for the whole one or for the whole lot I am uncertain, and so I cannot make up my pottery account, for I am unable to say the exact number of pieces I have bought. I rather think he sold me the whole one, and gave me the two halves; he certainly did not knock down the lot, or both the dishes would have been broken. With some stuff that is guaranteed to stick everything, on two occasions I joined the two halves, but each time they fell apart a while after. As the third time is like no other my reward for perseverance was that they held together until I nearly got the dish on the shelf, when half fell on the floor, broke in many pieces, and I dropped the other on the top of them in disgust. I suppose those uneasy birds started carrying-on, and the cement did not have a proper chance to set.
I shall now have to photograph No. 2, and I must see those cuckoos maintain their present positions.
“Birdie, come here a minute and help me take a photo. You keep an eye on that off-side budgeregar, and see he doesn’t budge, while I put a W.P. plate in the slide.”
“Hurry up, dad—they’re gliding.”
“A’hem! they’ve shifted—so like a bird to move; it’s a snapshot anyway.”
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, but when they are in the air, and you haven’t got your gun,—well, there you are. Talk about Willow Pattern—but those flighty birds are no pattern.
I once collected a pair of love-birds in London, and fetched them home. I thought they would do well in the nursery to teach the young idea how to love. One day Mr. Lovebird got loose and flew about the room until at last he found a perch out of reach in a hook in the ceiling from which was suspended a swing. The hook was kept well greased, and what with friction and dust he could not have found a handier place for disguising himself as a blackbird. To get him down the nurse hit upon the brilliant idea of dipping a stick in treacle, and poking about with this to entice him down, with the result that he got treacled as well as vaselined. At length he was caught, and put under the bathroom tap by my better half, who was rewarded by having his beak through the best half of her thumb. When I came home to lunch, on learning what had happened, I flew to the nursery, and then I saw something that looked akin to “L” on one end of the perch, looking very down in the feather, while Mrs. L. was at the other end. I enquired, “Lovey, why don’t you get on with your loving.” When swallowing a tear he answered, “She won’t let me, cos I’m sticky.” I said, “Oh, that’s foolish; if you love one another you should stick together whatever happens.”
I gave them to a local bird dealer eventually, and the last I saw of them they were playing about with some rabbits. This man came up to cure a Plymouth Rock rooster which I thought had the gout; he wrung its neck, and that is what I would like to do with those wriggling skylarks which have caused me all this trouble.
“Hello—what’s this?” In reply the broker just said “Two.” Of course he meant the price of the plate, but I referred to the portrait; on my explaining he only answered, “Don’t ask me.” I felt sure it was intended for Tennyson, for although we writers are a bit jealous, we soon get to know one another. I wanted my impression confirmed, so I enquired of No. 1, “Who do you think this is?” “Oh, that’s Sir Stafford Northcote; I can tell by his beard.” No. 2 said it was “Garibaldi,” judging by his necktie. Then I considered, who do I know who runs a beard, because anyone who flies a kite at this angle usually trims it à la somebody, and so I thought of my friend the librarian. He has plenty of whiskers on his face, a store of information in his head, and much more on his shelves, and it’s no use having a lot of shelves if you store everything in the brain. He thought it might be Tennyson and yet it had a look of Browning; it had rather too much beard for Tennyson. I pointed out that at intervals beards were usually trimmed, and he, whilst stroking his own, agreed with me. He kindly produced volumes which gave Tennyson from photographs, woodcuts, and steel engravings, taken at various times, and the beard seemed to change after each poem; in the end I came away firmly convinced it was Tennyson, and he didn’t seem to mind who it was. I know that Tennyson was born in 1809, and the plate was made before 1867 by Copeland, otherwise the mark would be “Copeland and Son,” so if we call the plate sixty years old, we find that the great poet was honoured by a halo of Willow Pattern when he was about fifty, and that is as near as one can guess to with such an illustration. I need hardly say that Tennyson was not the writer of that much-whistled and enticing poem “Tit-willow, Tit-willow, Tit-willow.”
I thought I had done with Willow Pattern, but the arrival of Tennyson has caused a flutter in the dove-cot. When I came to arrange a photograph for this book I found he was out of place in any position for making an artistic group worthy to grace a standard work on the Willow Pattern such as this aspires to be. I therefore went through—or to be more accurate took up a position in front of—my collection, and seeing a set of Leeds bread dishes with beaded edges, found they were all too large. (By the way, these have no warblers on their design.) Then I saw an oval pie-dish by Job Meigh and Son, and thought that was no match; next I caught sight of a pair of dishes by the so-called Wedgwood and Co. of Stockton-on-Tees, but neither of those would fit the space. A small pickled-onion holder, shaped like a flat-bottomed boat or barge, was hardly dignified enough, especially as the futurist artist had given his coots two wings and two tails each. I was on the point of throwing up the sponge—which, of course, I did not have with me—when I espied on the top shelf a hot-water plate with an antique cork in the hole. This I thought very suitable, for had I not heard an ode to the odour of a cork by a poet who had lost his licence? Also the lapwings looked fairly normal. Perhaps they were tired with having had such warm times and fidgeting about trying to find a cool corner on a round surface. Anyway, they did not look like nesting in that beard and thereby upsetting the growth of years.
I must decline to discuss the matter further.
SIXTH COURSE
Old China
Hard or Soft Lowestoft—“Won by Waiting”—Bow Bowls—Contrast in Prices—Changing Trains—Eye Openers—A Hidden Meaning—Photography—Bow—Chelsea—Lowestoft—Bristol—“T” and Crossed Swords—Tebo and Taboo—Minton—“Thereby Hangs a Tale,” A Transparent Error—Swansea—The First Starter—“Woodbine”—Blue Dragons, and Green Ones—Worcester—Sauce and Sentiment—English Japanese—Some Temper—Some Difference—Newhall—The Broken Bowl—Camouflage—Physiognomy—Derby—Spode—Leeds—French Porcelain—What’s in a Name?
Enobarbus said of Cleopatra, “Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety,” and the sentiment embodied in this remark seems singularly applicable to china. Year after year it wears the same charm and beauty if taken care of, while we see evidence of its infinite variety every day. To the amateurs who are desirous of gathering together a collection let me remind them that “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”
I was recently examining a teapot, the only mark on which was “25s.” in ink, and on commenting on the price to a lady who was also looking round, was amused at her remark that “it did not seem excessive if it was either hard or soft Lowestoft.” I did not argue the point, but it came into my mind that I had read that the furnaces at Lowestoft were never capable of firing hard China. Moreover, I had seen an identical teapot in a shop about a mile away, and I have one almost identical labelled “Newhall” and marked “N” (see Shelf 3, [Plate XLII], facing p. 136); also Lowestoft china is very scarce. I believe if all the china which has been, and still is being, offered as Lowestoft had been made at that small early factory it would have necessitated its being many times larger than Doulton’s is to-day.
China Cabinet, Mahogany, Late 18th Century.
Plate XXXVIII.
Old China.
| Shelf 4. | Derby. |
| ” 3. | Spode. |
| ” 2. | Spode. |
| ” 1. | Chelsea. |
Plate XXXIX.
These remarks caused me to reflect on the difficulty I experienced in learning to distinguish between hard and soft china, as I had no desire to collect any but old English. I read that the surest way was to use a file, but I always feared antique dealers might resent my testing their stock in this effective manner, although it would have been a useful tip for some who have sold me pieces of Chelsea and called them Oriental. I have for some time been fitted with a thumb-nail of experience on which I have to rely. As illustrative of what may be “won by waiting” let me relate the following:
In the year 1912 I was in Harrogate and had a desire to acquire a blue-and-white china sauce-boat, and I found one which the dealer and I agreed must be Lowestoft. The price was high, but he advised me to buy, as I might not find another. Seven years after I was struck with the strange appearance of another blue-and-white sauce-boat which I bought for a nominal sum. I found it bore a faintly impressed mark, and this enabled me to identify it as made at Bow and printed at Battersea. This discovery led to another, which I think worth recording. In 1912 among other pieces I purchased a triangular-shaped tray with fretted sides, and not being able to locate its origin said nothing when I found it had been appropriated for use in the bathroom as a receptacle for soap. When I had labelled the Bow sauce-boat, which was made of a thick body with a yellowish cast, I looked through my collection for anything like it and found a small blue-and-white saucer and the tray which had been desecrated with soap instead of decorated with sweetmeats and consigned to the risks of a bathroom instead of the safety of the display cabinet. Pursuing my investigation I turned out an oblong basket-work pattern dish with quaint fret edge and with every evidence of old age, which had been in my cupboard for nearly ten years, and then realised that it also was early Bow.
You will see on [Plate XV] a 9-inch Bow bowl of the famille rose design; this appeared in an auctioneer’s catalogue as “Oriental bowl” and was knocked down for half a crown to a broker who took a profit of one shilling from me for his bargain.
Here is another incident:
“Will you buy that bowl?”
“Well hardly, but I don’t mind making you a sporting offer for the rivets,” I said.
These were the oldest type of rivets used for china I had seen, and they, with some very ancient shellac, held the two halves very firmly together. My offer was accepted, and I do not mind telling you the bowl is early Bow and the only piece with green in the decoration I have ever seen. (See [Plate XV].)
I shall not attempt to place values on any of my specimens as it seems to me they are worth just as much as I could get for them, while the same theory holds good in buying.
I show on [Plate XLI], Shelf 1, a cup and saucer which are marked with cross swords; the matched cup and saucer were sold to me by a dealer as Dresden for about 10s., whereas an odd saucer, also with cross swords (Shelf 3, [Plate XLII]), was sent to me marked “4d.” with some other china, mostly rubbish, on approval. These three items might have belonged to the same set, and are excellent examples of the beautiful hand decoration turned out at Bristol about the end of the 18th century.
I was changing trains at a station and had some short time to wait, so I strolled into the principal street of a town that is constantly visited by dealers or their representatives, when I espied in a secondhand furniture shop a pair of hand-painted dark-blue lidded pots which at first glance I thought were Chinese ginger jars, and yet I desired to make closer acquaintance. On enquiring from the girl what was the price she shortly returned and said: “She has been asking three-and-six for them, but she will take two-and-six.” The pots and lids were quite thick, and I could make nothing of them in the train; but when I got home, and in a dark room switched on the electric light, turned them round until I came to a part thin enough to be transparent, then by the cast of the paste I knew they were what I anticipated, real Old Worcester teapots.
This reminds me of another adventure when I passed a shop on my way to catch a train, and noticed in the window a blotchy blue and white teapot and felt sorry I was tied to time. About three months after, I had occasion to visit the town again, and my business being finished I went straight to that window, when to my joy the teapot was still there. A very short examination and I had made up my mind to have it although it was minus a lid.
On asking the price I was told 1s., but—bless their honesty!—they wouldn’t guarantee it was old. That teapot will be found among my Lowestoft group and it is probably the earliest example.
I will here refer to the Liverpool teapot on Shelf 3, [Plate XLI]. I had travelled by train to a town about twenty miles off and there called in a shop kept by a man whom his most intimate acquaintances might have found to be one of the best, but to my mind had some of the Stone Age blood in him, for he was indeed a hard case. I asked how much for the teapot.
“Five shillings to you.”
“Five shillings? Well, I’m sorry, but they ought not to have told you.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I just thought you must know your number’s up and that you are in training for the repentance stakes.”
“No sir, but I’m pleased to see you, and to be able to offer you a bargain this time.”
“Oh, thanks—I apologise.”
When I was leaving with the teapot under my arm he added to his farewell, “You’d be surprised if you knew how little I gave for it.”
This remark rankled, and I was no sooner in the train than I carefully examined my purchase, when I found that the spout had been snapped off clean just where it entered the body of the pot, and had been carefully and neatly stuck in again, and so the mysterious outburst of genial generosity was revealed.
Blue and white takes my eye always, pulls me up every time, and I fancy myself fortunate in having so much of it in pottery and porcelain considering the means I have adopted while collecting.
I do not flatter myself that I have any china of extraordinary value, but the reader will gather from the photographs that, taken as a whole, I have found something worth looking for. Being wishful that the amateur may derive assistance from my book I have arranged several groups as specimens of various factories, and although the photographs can give only a poor idea of the colours, yet the style of decoration and the shapes may be some guide. I have succeeded in obtaining a black background by making use of the bookcase on the bureau, which gave me a side light. I am glad to say that all the handling, moving from place to place, fixing on wire stands, arranging on the shelves, shifting from one position to another, taking down and getting back into their respective quarters has been achieved without a chip. Beyond the annoyance of having to arrange a grouping twice, owing to an oversight which was not discovered until some days after the first negative had been taken, the photography was interesting, and I hope the result will be so to the reader, who is recommended to use a magnifying glass.
BOW ([PLATE XL])
I have drawn my bow at a venture in getting this bag and my first shot brought in a saucer pronounced “Worcester” which I found had an impressed Bow workman’s mark; next I potted a saucer which was so thick and heavy that I thought it was all pot; then came in sight the teapot sold as “Worcester,” Dr. Wall period, and soon after I got a small bowl, strange to say flying under the same false colours. Other stray shots account for the odd handle-less cups. All these are hand-painted in blue, and as they vary in shade and hardness of paste they have been very entertaining. The tea-caddy on which I placed a small cup inverted, and two cups with saucers are painted in red, blue and gold. I have already spoken of my large bowl, the bowl with green decoration, sauce-boat, fretted bon-bon tray and basket pattern dish, so I need not again refer to them.
CHELSEA ([PLATE XXXIX])
I fancy the two cups hand-decorated in red were among the first pieces made, and I wonder what has become of the saucers for they would be so thick they would not be likely to be broken except by a twentieth-century washer-up. I have three large plates, two of which were sold as Oriental, while the other was exchanged for a remark about the weather and half a crown. The two small plates were “certainly Lowestoft.” The fine cup I found at Dunbar, and strange to say I picked out a saucer to match it at a Southport shop a few days later. Here I also bought the little vase as Oriental, and at the next antique shop I visited I was kindly furnished with an Oriental lid which fitted, thus completing the picture in a way. The Chelsea painting is exquisite, yet the whole does not bear careful scrutiny. Still the two make handy examples of hard and soft paste. The odd cup dates between the cups already spoken of. The small figure of Cupid holding a shell for sweets completes the group, but an early bowl will be found on [Plate XV].
Old China.
| Shelf 4. | Worcester, Caughley. |
| ” 3. | ” ” |
| ” 2. | Lowestoft. |
| ” 1. | Bow. |
Plate XL.
Old China.
| Shelf 4. | Turner Jug, Newhall, Chinese, Newhall. |
| ” 3. | Liverpool, Davenport Jug, Worcester. |
| ” 2. | Swansea, Nantgarw. |
| ” 1. | Plates: Coalport, Minton, Worcester, Coalport. Cups and Saucers: Minton, Leeds, Bristol, Rockingham, Pinxton. |
Plate XLI.
LOWESTOFT ([PLATE XL])
Before you set out to collect Lowestoft it would be as well if you learned something about it, for as no marks are known of in connection therewith it makes a most convenient name to conjure with. I have had all sorts of stuff offered to me as Lowestoft. After I had coached myself up I rambled out one day to endeavour to make a start and you will scarcely credit it but at the first shop I came to I was successful. After going through the china that was visible I worked my way to the back where I found a few plates and odds and ends jumbled together, and after turning them over came across the pair of small blue hand-painted plates shown. I was told the plates had been in the window ever so long, but as nobody wanted them I could have them for a shilling each. I have found the other two odd plates quite at haphazard, and they were treated as just ordinary old ware by people who have not sunk deep into the mysteries of porcelain and glazing. Three cups and a saucer in blue, also a cup and saucer with basket and garland floral decoration in colours, make up the lot after including the teapot to which I have already alluded as probably one of the earliest pieces, owing to the way in which the design had run causing its smudged appearance. The handle-less cup may be Longton Hall.