A peep into another, miniature world

Press, 6 February 1986, Page 17

A peep into another, miniature world

By

JEANETTE FORBES.

This article was

an entry in the newspaper feature writing competition organised by “The Press” and the South Island Writers’ Association.

The passion for collecting perfect miniature objects, which is rampant today, may have something to do with a deep-seated desire for a lovely, lost, sane world of our own making. In Katherine Mansfield’s short story, “The Doll’s House,” who cannot identify with the wonderment of Else Kelvey when she breathlessly whispers: “I seen the little lamp.” It is that peep, the fleeting glimpse of life going on through the half-drawn curtains and behind the perfect door with its proper knocker. A life that can be ordered by the

owner who has supreme control over when the baby will get out of the bassinet and when cook will start the lunch.

The first, surviving dolls’ houses for which miniature furniture was made were built in the fifteenth century, and by the seventeenth century small fortunes were being spent by collectors commissioning the making of ornate houses and rooms by highly-skilled artists and craftsmen. These early houses are marvellous illustrations of life in those days. The kitchens alone are places

of delight, containing as they do the equipment for making at home all that we take for granted when we buy at the supermarket. The butter churn, the candle moulds, the meat spit, the stock pots, the steam kettles, the wine and vinegar press, and the vats for salting meat. All the equipment needed for the feeding of big families and the retainers. The room that is most fascinating is the nursery, for there are miniatures of miniatures in the toys that are scattered about. The chess set with pieces oneeighth of an inch high; a minute doll with posable limbs; even a small doll’s house made of card reminding one of those carved ivory balls that seem to contain infinity. Another interesting room in an eighteenth century doll’s house is the lying-in room — a necessity when children were bom so frequently. Her ladyship lies in a stately bed, a wax baby reposes in the crib, and a nurse hovers

nearby with a solid silver warming pan. The most perfect doll’s house of all, probably, is Queen Mary’s at Windsor Castle, a sort-of replica of Buckingham Palace, designed by the eminent architect, Sir Edwin Lutyens. It took three years to build, equip, and furnish.

The library is a glorious room, with a carved ceiling by William Walcot and cabinets containing 700 drawings by contemporary artists. The books are all leather bound and written by such authors as G. K. Chesterton and J. M. Barrie. Royal despatch boxes gleam on the table and her Britannic Majesty Queen Elizabeth I stares balefully from the fireplace.

The carpets are heart-stopping testimony to the skill of the Stratford on Avon School of Needlework. The embroidery must have been done with magnifying glasses so exquisitely detailed are the patterns. The silver in the dining room is all sterling with ivory handles, and the splendid grey marble chimney is surmounted by a gilded bust that is reflected in a mirror. Above, the effect of a continued chimney piece was achieved by carving leaves, flowers, and an eagle on the wall. All the walls are decorated with painted pastoral scenes on a golden yellow background and the effect is sumptuous. The eighteenth century tradition, by which each small object

in a doll’s house was made not by a toymaker but by the craftsman to which the particular skill belonged, was followed. Wedgwood supplied the breakfast service in Old Lavender Ware; Broadwood the grand piano; the dinner service and storage jars came from Doulton; and Singer supplied a working sewing machine. The roof was made of 3800 tiny old Delabole slates, and Lapiz Lazuli and marble were used as reception floors. The Queen’s bedroom was decorated with great magnificence; specially woven blue and silver damask adorned the bed, and the quilted silk coverlet is embroidered with seed pearls. The wardrobe is amboyna wood with carved limewood detail and the lock which is of gold, works. Many people consider Queen Mary’s doll’s house to be contrived. They prefer the amusing clutter, the inclusion of out-of-scale objects that point to the house having been a loved plaything of a child. The house owned by Queen Victoria as a young girl and on view at the London Museum is a simple box arrangement. She appeared a careless decorator in early life, displaying that impatience which was later to try poor Albert. She papered over the windows, and the house has an unkempt and sparse air. If any of this has made you long for the fascination of miniatures and the sight of the “small world,” the Canterbury Museum has two very fine dolls’ houses that can be viewed and exclaimed over. For the collector of dolls’ houses — the less restoration the better. Shabbiness and authenticity is to be preferred to a house that looks like a reproduction. Genuine papers are hard to find, so period fabrics can be used to line the walls or wrapping papers which have small prints are successful. The crowning glory is to get someone to electrify it and so gain the satisfaction in having that tantalising little gleam from a half-curtained window — that glimpse of Lilliput.