All the aunts and Grandmas (and oh yes, the church ladies) taught me the importance of "registering" for my wedding wishes and needs, after Ken and I got engaged. My Yankee Mama was not raised up in these environs, so was unfamiliar with many of the customs of the Deep South. I think they also do that up "there," but perhaps with not as much gusto and reverence as here. Either way, I got the drill when at first I had an engagement ring upon my (then) slim finger.
For Atlanta area folks, Rich's department store was the go-to for such traditions. Ken and I filled out the proper forms and spent the better part of a Saturday looking for things that we liked, but nothing more important than the china we were supposed to pick. I learned that this was a legacy, one that I should pass down to future daughters and daughters-in-love, and in kind, all those grandchildren which would spring from our DNA. My soon-to-be Mother-in-law, who knew all of the Southern Rules, told me how important this was. When I got to the intimidating wall of china patterns in the hallowed kitchen and dining department of Rich's, I was overwhelmed, to say the least. There were scads of different types, all manner of colors and levels of dishes.
My people were, for the most part, earthy. Farmers, horse traders, day laborers, and the like. We boast an Irish king, some ten generations back, but that we were, robust and Irish. Less inclined towards tea and such...maybe more Guiness and whiskey. There were threads of culture, even in that...but after it all, I needed to pick a pattern. The prices on the wall were astonishing, and I grew up being taught to think of others first. How could I begin to ask for something that cost that much? So I picked the cheapest pattern they had. It had some blue in it, and it wasn't what I would have picked at all, had I chosen what I actually liked. But I went ahead and registered for it.
After our happy wedding day and honeymoon, we returned to Ken's Mama's house to retrieve the gifts we were given. I opened eight sets of that china. We laid them out on a table and I realized, sadly, how ugly it was. They were boxed up and we took them back to Rich's and bought a pile of every-day Corningware dishes with strawberries on them. Those things lasted us many years, even with feral Viking children eating off them.
In the ensuing years, my Mother-in-law would often ask me to choose another pattern, one that I liked. She wanted to help me get my china someday.
I never made any special trips to Rich's or Macy's or Davison's to consider her request. But one day, I met up with one of the young pianists from our church at her parents' house, to practice some music we would be playing together (me on flute). Her Mama was a thoroughly cultured Southern matriarch, with a lovely lilt to her voice and all the right plants in her yard (read: magnolia trees, hydrangeas and plenty of azaleas -- of which I now have plenty). As we walked back to the piano room, there was a sideboard with twelve sets of china on it, like none I had never noticed. Rich pink and white, with beautiful scenes of different castles for each piece. I asked her what the pattern was and where it came from -- it was "Old Britain Castles" by Johnson Brothers. It comes in pink, green and brown. Pink is perfect. Her sister, Elisabeth, who was unmarried but dutifully collecting things for her hope chest, loved it and attained it from a place in Birmingham, Alabama who imported it from England. I was smitten. This china personified all the things I love to look at. Creamy white, rich pink, castles in the English style. I eventually bought a Queen Anne Victorian house. What more can I say?
I told my Mother-in-law about it and she mustered up all the relatives she could to pitch in to help get it for me. We had to order it and it took around six months for it to arrive on a slow boat from England. Ya'll -- it really wasn't that long ago...but I am not kidding that that was what had to happen. The day before we were set to move into a camper on our five acres in the country, the store called and said that it was here. But of course! I gingerly took the boxes to my Mama's house and Daddy stored them for me. Two years later, when we finished our house, it was a joyful day when I unboxed it in my new, sparkling kitchen.
I still use that china whenever I can, but especially for company. One time, Ken dropped a whole stack of salad plates and broke about half of them. I found more online and replenished most of them, but I keep an eye out on FB marketplace for other matching pieces. During Covid years, I saw that someone had a pile of it, as well as some bowls and a gorgeous, big teapot...all for a very good price. I messaged the young lady and met up with her in Marietta. Somewhere in there, I noticed her name was Elisabeth and thought, "No, that couldn't be the same family!" But yes, it was. This was the self-same girl whose china I first saw at her Mama's house some thirty years ago. She is a professional artist and was permanently moving to France, so was selling her wares before leaving.
Her china made its way back to me.
Some of it, I gave to one of my nieces, who is also collecting this pattern. Every time I use those scrumptious, lovely dishes, I think of and say a prayer for Elisabeth and her adventures. The world is truly a small place and there are unexpected blessings everywhere we turn...
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