The
old hall of old Mrs Chimes' very old house is not particularly grand. Although
by the standards enlisted in today's modern abodes where a tiny alcove is
trumpeted as a grand foyer by real estate agents, said hall is indeed imposing.
Compared with more regal efforts, however, it would go completely unnoticed,
for it was just a hall as was typical in its day.
It
is about twelve feet long and barely four feet wide, so it's physical
dimensions garner no enquiry. Half way along its right wall is a door that
leads to the main bedroom. On the left wall is another door that leads to a
second bedroom, (there being another two further within the house).
Immediately
after the left door, is a low bookcase that runs the length of the hall. It has
only two rows of shelving, and while the books contained within those shallow
rows are eclectic and cover a very wide literary taste, they are remarkable
only in the fact that they are unremarkable.
Hanging
on the wall opposite is a framed copy of a Dorothy McKeller poem, learnt
parrot-fashion by every child that attended an Australian school in the 1960's.
On
the heavy front door, made of some indeterminate dark hardwood, painted so many
times that the original wood grain will never see the light of day again, hangs
a large brass knocker that thunders the arrival of every guest, unsolicited
salesman, and Girl Guide selling cookies to the home’s inhabitants.
When
this door is opened to an adult, their first impression of the hall is one of tidiness,
quiet style, and perhaps a hint of musty history. They glance around and see nothing
remarkable. The eyes of many fall upon the very large, very heavy family bible
that records, not only the holy scriptures in that most faithful of dialects,
the Old King James English, but the improbable yet equally true names of
children long since abiding in their own homes.
All
of this serves as no indication of the import of this habitat, nor does it
provide any assistance to warn the guest of what many of them indeed miss.
When
the front door is opened to a child, whether attended by an adult or not, there
is one additional item residing in this hall that sooner or later never fails
to draw its younger victims into its clutches. It is this very item that provides
this old hall in old Mrs Chimes' very old house a status of at least great
desire, if not downright awe.
Sitting
on top of the bookcase, trying to be obscure, right beside the very large, very
heavy family bible is a small biscuit barrel. Made in the days when biscuits
were small and only eaten by ladies and well-to-do gentlemen, biscuit barrels
in general were used to present biscuits to guests who visited the house. The
styles, colours, shapes and presentations were as varied as the cooked delights
that resided within. This one never held a place of honour when it was used for
its original, intended purpose. It did its job no better, or worse, than
thousands of its brethren the world over.
It
looked like it was made of fine bone china, bleached-bones white, but it was
not. It looked like it was painted in the blue style of the Royal Doulton
bamboo landscapes, but it was not. It looked like its handles and lid were made
from electroplated nickel silver, a very common look. It was, in fact, sterling
silver, but even this gives no indication of the real value of this lurking
artefact.
When
the keen-eyed child lifts the lid, a feat certain to be attempted regardless of
how observant any accompanying adult may be, an Aladdin's Cave of treasures is
revealed. In what proves on subsequent visits (Oh! What joy!) to be an
inexhaustible supply, the contents of the humble biscuit barrel prove to be
better than treasure.
Stiff,
fragrant musk sticks, liquorice all-sorts, liquorice logs, chocolate-coated
liquorice bullets, chocolate-coated peanuts, chocolate-coated almonds.
Sugar-coated almonds; shiny, red, chocolate Jaffa balls, chocolate kisses,
chocolate squares. Jelly snakes in an assortment of colours. Aniseed
jelly-rings, their sugary coating glinting in the light. Minties wrapped in
paper, bulls-eyes, cats-eyes, striped jawbreakers, and fruit jubes. The array
and variety seems endless and the supply inexhaustible.
No
adult eye is fast enough to see the lightning-fast acquisition of a tasty
morsel or two. No adult hand is speedy enough to provide effective defence or
hindrance to wave after wave of attack. No adult stomach can cope with the
quantity of sheer sugary sweetness that is so quickly consumed from the depths
of the barrel's largess. Indeed many an
adult, having become aware of the barrel's presence and purpose, find restraint
a futile notion.
Hospitality
is effective, the blessing often a surprise, and memories are long - very long.
For I have seen visitors, who have not graced the hall with their presence for
many years, eagerly look for this little biscuit barrel upon their return. I
have heard conversations expounding the hospitality of the old home, focus
their enthusiastic support upon this small container, and I have seen grown men
reminisce over the particular delectables that graced their day from the
offerings of the humble barrel.
So
this old hall in old Mrs Chimes' very old house stands indeed in the company of
greatness.
Published to honour 53 years of living in "Godsall Street" by Dudley & Ina Chimes and family.
