MY GRANDMOTHER THE QUEEN & THE CASE OF THE STOLEN SCHUMANN CHINA

In search of lost things....

My grandmother was like the Queen of England - in appearance and in imperiousness, but not in kindliness. I dreaded visits, during which I was made to sit by her blue velvet-upholstered throne and tell her my childish news, which I did in a small childish voice, and then I was scolded and made to repeat myself more loudly, such that the forced conversation was dissatisfactory to everyone involved. 

But then, I'd be dismissed and sent to the kitchen, where the current housekeeper would bring out the plastic package of ladyfingers and make tea and pour it into a pretty floral porcelain cup, into which I'd plop sugar cubes and dip the cookies. It was all very Dickensian. Or possibly Proustian. With a touch of Jane Eyre. But definitely from some novel at least a hundred years out-of-date.

Here are Miss Havisham from Great Expectations and Jane Eyre being scolded by Mrs. Reed:

In any case, in due time my grandmother died, and I inherited the Schumann china, and as I was away in college it was stored in the back garage of my mother's antique shop. Then it was stolen (along with the Beatrix Potter figurines, and very much else besides). And I was a little heartbroken, since even though my grandmother had been this strange, distant (but demanding) figure, she'd also sustained her own little kingdom of old-world refinement, decorated with the most beautiful things, and it felt like some of that precious magic had been lost. 

Several months later, my mother was in the next county over on an antiquing expedition, and what did she come across but a full collection of Schumann china! She bought it at a lovely discount with the insurance money, and although we're not entirely sure it was the same china, we've always pretended it is. Why not?

I've recently come across some orphaned saucers with the same pattern, and I've done them up as Lover's Eye plates. 

I guess I've always been overly sentimental and loved rescuing lost things, whether they be orphaned saucers, or forgotten ways of life, or even fading memories of regal grandmothers...