Grandmothers' Dishes and More

Most of us have inherited things from our families. From our grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles and others. Things that speak to the lives lived and the treasures valued. These are not always inheritances of monetary wealth, but of glimpses into where we came from. Who were these people whose paths we follow? What did they love? What did they hold on to? What did they value enough to pass on for posterity.

The item that has been with me for the longest is a small green glass vase. I have a vague memory of being told that it belonged to my great grandmother, but I don’t know if that’s true. I know there used to be two, and I know I am responsible for the singularity of what remains. It was always a prized possession when I was a kid because it seemed quite fancy to me. A little poking around has revealed that it was probably made by the Anchor Hocking Company, an American glass manufacturer from Lancaster, Ohio. This piece dates from the 1940s-1950s and is virtually valueless, but I still think it’s fancy. Interestingly, the company survived the depression by selling tumblers ‘two-for-one’ and is credited with developing the first one-way beer bottle (as in, disposable….not sure that’s a great claim to fame!).

My treasures are not all fancy. Some are reminders of the path travelled to ensure safety, freedom and life. In the corner of our living room sits a wooden box. It is plain. It isn’t very large, but it tells a big story. As Mennonites, both Bryan and I have family histories that include an escape from the Soviet Union in the early part of the twentieth century. Our grandparents all fled to Canada in search of a peaceful life. We have heard the stories of what was left behind, of the long arduous journeys, and the challenges of beginning life anew. This box reminds me of this history. It is the box that carried my grandmother’s possessions on that journey from Ukraine to Canada. All her possessions. It is not much bigger than what we would consider a small suitcase to take on vacation. It is hard to imagine. Fleeing danger. Going towards the unknown – a place with different customs and language. Making decisions about what you can bring, what you must leave behind. This unassuming item represents all my grandparents and the journeys they made; represents those that continue to make these life changing journeys fraught with uncertainty. This small, battered box speaks to me of my good fortune. My collection grows around it, and yet it stands as a reminder that all of this is fleeting.

I also have an large Bible from my grandparents. It is not the family Bible per se, it doesn’t contain lists of births and deaths, but it also tells me a little something about the kind of people I come from. It is in German and the script is difficult to read, so it sits on my shelf inside its special protective box. What I like best about it is the inscription inside the front cover. It was given as a gift on the occasion of my grandparents’ silver wedding anniversary, from their church congregation, with good wishes and love. It includes a Bible verse that, I think sums up the faith demonstrated to me by all my grandparents, particularly as I ponder their various journeys to Canada, but also throughout their lives.

“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” Psalm 119:105

These people who walked before me believed in this light guiding them, showing them a way. For those of us who have lived relatively comfortable and easy lives, this kind of faith is difficult to imagine. Leaving one’s country, fleeing for another, rebuilding lives, losing loved ones along the way, struggling, failing and succeeding. Lives lived. And, amidst it all, finding and clinging to their guiding light for a lifetime. It is impressive.

But, we haven’t heard about any grandmothers’ dishes yet. So, here it goes. There was a time when everyone had fine bone china. People had their fancy dishes for guests, they collected pieces for display in their china cabinets, they set tables with their treasures on special occasions, they gave china as gifts at weddings. These traditions have mostly disappeared now, we live more casually. We don’t really value the skill required to make these items or their beauty, often dismissing this kind of craft as elitist and excessive. We prefer things that are “simple’… although, this doesn’t always mean inexpensive or accessible. We are converts to the notion that old is passé, and new is better. I must say, our grandmothers saw things differently. They valued the beautiful, the special. They understood that serving a meal on their very best, to their most beloved, was a gesture of love and honour. And they collected things to be passed on for the same reasons. They wanted to enjoy and share beautiful things; things that came from their good fortune and hard work; special things that represented their accomplishments after their struggles.

In my family, when the grandchildren turned fifteen, we were invited to my grandmother’s home to select a china teacup from her large collection. To choose the one that would be ours to keep. It was a fad for a time to collect odd teacups – as in, not part of a set, but each decorated differently in all manner of styles. When my turn came, I made my selection and loved it dearly. I didn’t use the teacup, but kept it as a memento, and thought of it as another very fancy possession, one unmatched by anything else I had until that point. Some years later, when Bryan and I made the move from Winnipeg to Ottawa, it was packed in a box and onto the back of the rental truck we drove across the country. As it turns out, our packing skills were a little less meticulous than they should have been, and my teacup did not survive the journey. It was a sad moment when I unpacked the bits of broken china, these shards of memories that reminded me of my grandmother, my siblings and cousins who had also each received this gift. Unable to throw these bits away, I framed them and they have hung on our wall for the subsequent thirty years. People often ask about them, commenting on how they actually look beautiful despite being shattered. I love that they can paint a picture of beauty from brokenness. Another powerful reminder of the reality of our lives.

Bryan’s grandmother also collected elegant things. In fact, she was kind of an elegant lady. Her house was beautifully decorated and her table was always finely dressed. We are fortunate to be caretakers of a few of her treasures. When we became engaged, she gave us a lovely plate to commemorate the event. It is covered in flowers, beautifully hand painted – a pattern named Empress Dresden. This plate was made by the Schumann Porcelain company in Bavaria (1881-1994). What I find most interesting is the mark on the back which indicates that it was made in the ‘US Zone’. What this means is that it was produced between 1945 and 1949 when the United States occupied Bavaria following World War II. I’m sure this was a dark time in Germany, for many reasons. It is hard to imagine what the lives of these artisans looked like - what they believed, what they felt, whom they’d lost, what their futures held. Were these skilled hands full of hatred; full of shame; full of forgiveness? Were they perpetrators or survivors; the implicated or the brave? Complicated and confusing. This small piece of beauty continues to remind us of an important history, of a time we should not forget.

Two more items inherited from Bryan’s grandmother, are both made by the Mason’s company of England. This company has a long history and began producing ceramics in 1796. The interesting bit is that the founder’s son, Charles James Mason, patented a new form of ceramic called ‘Ironstone China’ in 1813, and it was a huge success. The name implied that it was tough as iron (durable, yes, but apparently contained virtually no iron) and from the East (also misleading, as it had nothing whatsoever to do with China, the country or the material). It was affordable and high quality. The plate we have is the Imperial pattern, probably from the 1950s. The vase, labelled Chartreuse, might go back to the 1920s. They are not that old, but I like that they are part of this long history, and are descendants of something that allowed ordinary people to acquire beautiful and long lasting items for their homes.

And then we come to the Manitoba crocuses. I can’t look at this piece without thinking of the place where both our families are from. It represents the provincial flower of our childhoods. It was made by, or at least is marked, Birks – a jeweller and fine housewares shop that epitomized quality and luxury, opening in 1879 in Montreal. It was Canada’s answer to Tiffany & Co., complete with the special blue boxes. When we were kids, the store in downtown Winnipeg was old school swanky – not in a mall, but in a lovely old 1901 building, now recognized on the Canadian Register of Historical Places. The building began its life as a YMCA and was bought and reconfigured by the Birks company in 1912, and while the store is no longer in that location, I’m glad the building and its history are protected.

As I’ve wandered through these little bits and pieces that have come to us from our grandmothers, I am struck by the reach of their stories. Little things that remind me of places and events; childhood and history; beliefs and values. These few items paint pictures of the character of those from whom we originate. Of their interests, their journeys, their vision and their faith. I don't know if they gave it much thought when they purchased or acquired any of these things, most were probably received as gifts, trinkets to enjoy, or simply filled practical needs. But here I am, looking back and finding these long gone faces in the things they left behind. What a lovely picture to view, even if only tiny slivers of the whole.