The Biscuit Barrel

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.