In the afternoon, I decided to have a go at the occasional brass-topped table that I rescued from my brother's cottage. I should have taken some "before" pictures but all I have to show you is two "after" images.
I spent an hour and a half working on the table - washing it, polishing it, buffing it and I even rinsed it in the light rain falling outside. I am pretty pleased with the end result and hope that my son Ian and his girlfriend Sarah will want it in their new home. I won't be forcing them.
The intricate brass top of the table came from Old Delhi in India and it must have been made some time in 1945 as the curtain was coming down on World War II.
My parents were married on December 8th in the Anglican church in New Delhi and they would start their voyage home at the end of that month. I imagine them seeking out souvenirs that they could bring home.
Down some dark alleyway in Old Delhi they would have bartered for the best price as brass-workers skilfully tapped away at their designs with little hammers. Mum was twenty four and Dad was thirty one. Their married life and Peace in Europe lay ahead of them. Their war in India had been a generally wonderful, happy experience but it was time to go home. Back to reality.
I guess that my step-grandfather Jock Morris made the wooden base. He was good with wood and at solving practical conundrums. Mum and Dad brought a second brass tabletop home which was already in our house and which I blogged about here.
from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/HIc6N3R
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