“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.