So, What's This About Coffee "Cans," Reggie?

Not too long ago, Dear Reader, I published a post about an early-nineteenth century gilt-decorated porcelain saucer that I described as being part of a coffee service.  In it, I said that we drink our coffee at Darlington House from what are correctly-termed "cans" and not "cups."  A number of my readers wrote to me and asked me to explain what I meant by that.  One or two even wondered, incredulously, did I mean we drink our coffee from the metal cans that coffee is sold in?

No, not at all, Dear Reader.  We do not drink our coffee from metal cans.  The "cans" I am referring to from which we drink our coffee are can-shaped cups, as shown in the following photograph:

The early-nineteenth century gilt-decorated
coffee service that started it all . . .

Can-shaped cups were the preferred form used in Western Europe for drinking coffee in the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries, at least among elegant people who could afford such things.

. . . this is a coffee can and not a coffee cup!

As many of us know (or at least those of us who have spent time looking into such matters know), the consumption of coffee as a beverage originated in Ethiopia in around 800 A.D., spread to Arabia around 1000 A.D., and then into Venice via Turkey in the early 1600s.  Once it arrived in Europe, the consumption of coffee quickly spread like wildfire into Holland, France, England, and ultimately America.  

A 1668 illustration showing a contemporary London coffee house
Photograph: Lordprice Collection/Alamy
Image courtesy of the Telegraph UK

By the 1700s coffee production had begun in the New World, first by the French on the island of Martinique and then in Brazil.  It was in Brazil that favorable growing conditions and industriousness soon began to produce the mammoth harvests that transformed coffee drinking from an indulgence of the privileged elite into the everyday drink of the average man.

An early-nineteenth century  depiction of a South American coffee harvest
Image courtesy of Coffee General

Not surprisingly, a complicated and (initially) codified system for drinking coffee emerged as the beverage gained popularity, and then ultimately eclipsed tea as the preferred drink of stimulation.  Craftsmen produced pots and cups that were designed expressly for holding coffee, and which are (and remain) readily distinguishable from those designed to hold tea.

An English mid-eighteenth century tea bowl and saucer

The first European-made tea cups were modeled on those produced in and imported from China, as seen in the bowl and saucer shown in the preceding photograph.  Such cups are correctly termed tea "bowls," because that is what they are—diminutive bowls.  Soon, though, tea bowls began to sprout handles to protect the fingers of the person(s) consuming tea from them from being scalded.

An early-nineteenth century English tea cup and saucer

When coffee entered upon the scene in Western Europe and the Americas it was initially drunk from the same bowls and cups as was tea.  Soon thereafter, however, a new form of cup was invented for the consumption of coffee.

The service comes with both tea cups and coffee cans!

It was shaped like a small canister, or a miniature version of the mugs used at the time to consume water and beer, and it is the form that is correctly known as a coffee can.  Over time such coffee cans lost their associated saucers and have since evolved into what is today known as a coffee mug, the popular vessel used for drinking coffee that can be found in nearly every kitchen cabinet today the world over, including ours at Darlington House.

A trio of English Spode coffee mugs from the 1980s
These are our "every day" coffee mugs at Darlington House

And with that, Dear Reader, I both conclude my little history lesson of the vessels used in the consumption of coffee and initiate a new series here on Reggie Darling—the Coffee Can of the Week!

I hope you like it . . .

All photographs (except where noted) are of cans, cups, bowls, and mugs in our collection at Darlington House, and were taken by Boy Fenwick

Saucer of the New Year

Well, given the infrequency of my saucer postings lately, Dear Reader, I could hardly call this a "Saucer of the Week" post, now could I?

To be honest, the only reason I am beginning the New Year with a saucer post at all is because I was deliciously skewered by fellow-blogger Boxing the Compass in a most-amusing post at the end of December titled "Coming Attractions for 2013!"  Written by a Mr. Yankee Whisky Papa (the putative author of said blog) the post in question provides a tongue-in-cheek preview of what a number of us on the blogosphere will be posting about in 2013.  Reggie was singled out for sorely testing the patience of his readers with rather too many posts about saucers, a theme he was expected by Mr. Whisky Papa to continue throughout the new year.  If you haven't read Boxing the Compass or the post in question already, Dear Reader, I encourage you to click over and give them a gander.  You will thank me, for sure.

So, in tribute to Mr. Whisky Papa's saucy prediction, I am pleased to provide you with yet another saucer post—my first (but decidedly not my last) of the New Year:

Today's featured saucer is a pretty porcelain one lavishly painted with gilt decoration in the classical taste.  I suspect that it is French, and that it was likely made in the first quarter of the nineteenth century.  It is one of a dozen in a coffee service that I own which includes coffee cans (not cups, Dear Reader, but rather cans) that I acquired many years ago from an antiques dealer who has long-since closed up shop.

I am partial to this saucer because the decoration is lovely, and because it—when combined with the coffee can that goes with it—is immensely pleasurable to use for its intended purpose, namely drinking coffee.  Also, it glistens most attractively in the candle light of dinner parties held at Darlington House.

For you see, Dear Reader, the saucers I own are not merely decorative, but utilitarian as well.  Pretty things are made to be used, in my view, and not stored away on a shelf forever out of harm's way.  One only goes around these parts once, so why not make the best of it and use one's pretty things?

Photograph by Boy Fenwick

Saucer of the Week: Chinese Export Laurel Wreath

Well, enough about Marta and her shenanigans.  I'm now going to focus my attention on a topic more precious and pretty: porcelain!

This exceptionally handsome plate was made in China, circa 1790-1810, for export to the American market.  Unlike Chinese export porcelain destined for the European markets, this piece is not decorated with a coat of arms, but rather with painted initials.

I believe this dish was an "off-the-rack" piece, left blank in the middle and meant to be decorated after its production with the monogram of the American who ordered a service of it to be shipped home from China.

So, what is it that I like about this lovely little plate?  Although I like the gilded border around the rim—of grapes and grape leaves—it is the classical laurel wreath bound with a magenta ribbon in the center of it that sings to me.

Boy bought this sublime piece of porcelain at a New York Ceramics Fair during Antiques Week years ago when it was still held at the National Academy of Design, on upper Fifth Avenue.  I'm not exactly sure how much he paid for it, Dear Reader, but I don't think it was more than $100.

I'm rather fond of it, I must admit.

Photograph by Boy Fenwick

Saucer of the Week: English Transferware

Well, Dear Reader, it has been a very long time since I last posted a "Saucer of the Week" post.  In  fact, it has been almost a year!

Herewith I remedy this sad situation.

Today's "Saucer of the Week" is an English one dating from, I believe, 1820 to 1830.  It is decorated with a pink-lustre foliate border and a transfer print in the center of Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of— among other things—procreation.  She is accompanied by her two sons Eros and Anteros.  They are depicted in an Arcadian setting and all are staring intently at a just-gathered basket of eggs.  It is, in a word, charming.

The saucer is reminiscent of, and was very possibly made in the one of the same potteries that produced the pink-lustre and transfer print Sunderland jugs that I own and wrote about in an earlier post.

I have four of these pretty little saucers in my collection, and they are a sentimental favorite of mine.  They were a gift to me long ago by a former paramour who, sadly, died a number of years ago, and whose memory I will fondly treasure for the rest of my days.

I promise to be more regular in my "Saucer of the Week" postings going forward.  I have, in fact, a number of them in the queue that I look forward to sharing with you over the next several weeks.

Photograph by Boy Fenwick

Saucer of the Week: English Child's Punch and Judy Plate

Several weeks ago, while Boy was out and about doing errands and a bit of idle shopping, he came across a whimsical little plate in a pocket-sized antiques store that belongs to a family of pickers and that has been a most happy hunting ground for us.  It is the same shop, in fact, Dear Reader, where Boy found the souvenir portrait of the inestimable Robert Burns (identified as such by the eagle-eyed Corinthian Columnist) that now graces our dining room's pride of space (we have since had the painting cleaned and the frame restored).

The little plate Boy brought home was designed, I believe, to be used in a child's tea service, and depicts a scene from the Punch and Judy puppet show that was wildly popular in England from the late sixteen hundreds through the mid-twentieth century and continues to be performed in that country to this day.  The brown transfer-print design features Punch with his wife, Judy, who is holding their daughter, accompanied by a pipe-smoking frog nearby.  I had initially suspected that the figures depicted were based on illustrations done by George Cruikshank (1792-1878) in 1828, when a script for Punch and Judy was published for the first time.

A Cruikshank illustration from John Payne Collier's
The Tragical Comedy or Comical Tragedy of Punch and Judy, published 1828

However, when I compared the figures on the plate with those of Cruikshank's, it is clear that they are based on later illustrations, perhaps of the 1840s.  The overall design of the plate, though, is unmistakably of the even later English Aesthetic movement, popular in the 1870s and 1880s.  My, what a hodgepodge of inspiration this delightful child's plate is!

When the plate is turned over, a mark is revealed identifying it as having been made by Charles Allerton & Sons, an English pottery active 1859-1942.  Based on what research I have been able to do, and taking into account the style of its design, I date the plate to pre-1889.

The plate's mark

While not technically a saucer, my diminutive little plate qualifies for inclusion in this series because of its size (it is only four and one quarter inches across) and because I choose to do so.

The Punch and Judy plate currently sits on a bedside table in one of our guest rooms at Darlington House, where it provides sweet pleasure—one hopes—to our guests and a most decorative and utilitarian repository for their keys, errant buttons, and the small bits of printed papers and spent candy wrappers that one empties one's pockets of when retiring at the end of the day.

I hope you find this little plate as charming as I do, Dear Reader.

Photographs by Boy Fenwick; Cruikshank illustration courtesy of allposters.com

Saucer of the Week: English Stand, Part II

This week's Saucer of the Week is of yet another stand, continuing the theme of my last installment in the series.  My inspiration for again featuring a stand, as opposed to a saucer, was a comment I received from a perspicacious reader who was convinced that the stand I featured in my previous post was most definitely designed to hold an oval teapot.

And right he was.

Our early nineteenth century English stand and teapot

In our cupboards at Darlington House we have an example of such a stand that has not become separated from its intended teapot.  It is identical in form to the stand I featured last week, albeit decorated differently, with gilt-painted banding and flora.  We found the stand with its accompanying teapot in an antiques shop in Hudson, New York, a decade or so ago.  Both stand and teapot are in perfect condition, and appear to have been little used since they were made almost two hundred years ago.

The teapot and stand, united as intended

Having a stand to sit underneath a teapot ensures that any errant drips from said teapot will be contained by the stand, instead of falling unfortunately upon one's linens or polished tables.  It also helps insulate the table's surface from the boiling heat of a freshly filled teapot.

How delightfully clever our ancestors were, and how frustratingly humdrum it is that today such stands are not routinely provided with teapots sold in most retail establishments.

I have been so deeply moved in writing this post that I have decided that it is my duty to mount a campaign for the return of teapot stands.  And I have already come up with a name for it, too: The Society for the Preservation and Reinvigoration of the Teapot Stand, (abbreviated as "SPaRTS").  I urge you, Dear Reader, to join me in my noble pursuit of this vitally important initiative.

Can I count on your support?

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

Saucer of the Week: English Stand

I am somewhat chagrined that it has been more than a week since I last published one of my saucer scribbles, and—for that matter—more than a week since I last posted anything.  That's because I have been rather over-scheduled and over-committed these past several weeks.  Fortunately it has all been good stuff, but I'm afraid that even a good thing, if delivered in too great quantities, can be, well, too much.  I'm not complaining, mind you, I'm explaining.

Back to the subject at hand: Saucer of the Week.  Well, not a saucer this week, actually, but rather a stand.  Today's featured plate is an exceptionally pretty and unusually decorated oval rimmed stand that was originally made to hold another vessel, such as a teapot or a small sauce tureen.  Whatever it once held has long since parted ways.

But what remains is lovely indeed.  The stand is English, circa 1820.  It is decorated with magenta bell flowers and frothy seaweed-like vegetation.  I haven't a clue what type of plant the decoration is supposed to suggest.  I would appreciate your thoughts, Dear Reader, if you know what it might be.  The plate measures 6 ¾ inches by 5 ³⁄₈ inches and is unmarked.

The stand was a birthday gift to me earlier this month from Boy, who found it at Bardith, Ltd.'s tiny jewel of a shop on upper Madison Avenue.  When he was there Boy mentioned to the ladies who run the place that the plate he was buying would quite possibly be the subject of a post in my continuing series on saucers.  Apparently the good ladies of Bardith weren't interested in that bit of news in the slightest.

Reggie who?

photograph by Boy Fenwick

Saucer of the Week: Chinese Export Porcelain for the American Market

This week's saucer post takes the series in a different direction, far from the shores of England . . .

. . . to China, where this pretty saucer was made in (around) 1800 for the American market.  It is decorated with an urn, similar to the English saucer I posted several weeks ago, that Parnassas so cleverly photoshopped.  The decoration is also related to that found on the Thomas Willing Chinese export porcelain service that I saw in the collection at Bayou Bend, three plates of which I acquired for our collection at Darlington House at the New York Ceramics Fair this past January.

But in this case, the urn is surmounted by a bird.  I'm not exactly sure what type of bird it is, but I think it could well be a stylized eagle.  I am confident that this saucer was made in China for the American market, given its decoration, the asperity of which the citizenry of the New Republic preferred to the more elaborate decorations favored elsewhere at the time.

I found this saucer in a pile of dusty plates in a junk shop in rural Connecticut thirty or so years ago, along with three other dishes from the same service, identically decorated.  I think I paid a dollar a plate for them.  After I had completed my purchase, and with the plates safely in hand, I explained to the fellow working behind the counter what he had just sold me, and that they were actually worth far more than what I had paid for them.  He didn't seem to care all that much, since he was an hourly employee of the shop, and not one of its owners.  He responded, "You're the second person who said that to me.  Just yesterday some other guy came in here and bought up the rest of them.  Must've been twenty or thirty of 'em he got.  He probably didn't see these ones that you found just now."

"Well, well," I thought, "that was some lucky guy."  If only I had been there the day before, imagine what a haul I would have found!

As it is, I didn't do all that badly . . .

Saucer of the Week: English Orientalism

This post marks the return of Saucer of the Week, a series interrupted by my musings and remembrances of college reunions past.  How nice, and what a relief it is, to once again focus one's attention on the pretty and the lighthearted.

This week's saucer is, again, an early nineteenth century English one done in the Oriental taste that was then much in vogue.  It is more vigorous and vibrant than the ones in such taste I've posted previously, and is a great favorite of mine.  I like the refined crudeness of its design.  It is decorated with an underglaze application of dark blue, and then subsequent overglaze decorations in orange and green, and a final application of gilding—captured brilliantly in the photograph, above.

The saucer measures a generous 5 ½ inches across, and the china it is made of is thicker than on the more rarified saucers I've posted to date.  It is unmarked.  I suspect that it was made by one of the lesser English potteries of the day, long since vanished, in imitation of what was being produced in the more noteworthy potteries of the time.  It is one of a pair that we supposedly bought at Bardith, Ltd., on Madison Avenue years ago.

Not everything need always be of only the finest calibre to excite Reggie's fancy, Dear Reader . . .

Photograph by Boy Fenwick

Saucer(s) of the Week: English Flight, Barr & Barr

Or are they Barr, Flight & Barr?  I wonder . . .

This week I am featuring three handsome saucers from a set of six that we own, decorated with black transfer scenes of various romantic subjects and surrounded by painted gilt decoration in the classical taste.  Two of the saucers feature a large Gothick castle in a parkland setting, two feature a rugged lakeland view with a fisherman, and two depict a picturesque ruin in a hilly landscape with a passing figure.  I am not exactly sure where we bought the saucers, but I believe it was from a dealer in Hudson, New York, who has since gone out of business.  I think we got them thirteen or so years ago.

I believe these saucers were possibly made in one of the factories of the Flight & Barr partnerships, active in Worcester, England, from 1792-1840.  Known as Flight & Barr from 1792 to 1804; Barr, Flight & Barr from 1804 to 1813; and Flight, Barr & Barr from 1813 until 1840, the factories produced some of the handsomest porcelains made in England during the period, meriting their Royal Warrants as porcelain-makers to the (then) King Georges.

The saucers, which measure 5 3/8 inches across, look exceedingly well when displayed on either side of one of our French gilt-bronze clocks on one of the mantels at Darlington House.  I am rather partial to their gold, white, and black decoration, and they are a great favorite of mine.

While I believe the saucers may well be a product of the Flight & Barr partnerships in Worcester, I am not able to confirm that definitively, as they are unmarked.  If any of my readers have more information as to their origin, I would most gratefully appreciate it.

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

Saucer of the Week: English Rock and Tree

This week's saucer post continues the theme I began last week, namely of an English saucer decorated in a manner inspired by the Orient.  I use the word "Orient" intentionally here instead of today's preferred "Asia," since that is what those who would have made or owned this pretty saucer would have known that region as when the saucer was made, approximately two hundred years ago.

This week's saucer, which measures 5 3/8 inches in diameter,  is decorated in what is known as the "Rock and Tree" pattern.  You can see why if you examine the center of the dish, where a weeping willow stands to the left, with its drooping branches overhanging a series of boulders on the ground.  As was last week's Imari-type saucer, so this one has six segments surrounding the center motif, with alternating scrolls containing what appear to be dogwood flowers, and smaller pendulous flowers between them.

I like this saucer because I find its decoration pleasing, done in soft oranges, salmons, greens, and gilding.  I believe it is—or once was—one of a pair that we bought at Bardith, Ltd., on Madison Avenue a dozen or so years ago.  For the life of me I cannot find the second one.  I am not sure if we broke it or if it is buried in one of the stacks of china that seem to fill every cupboard in our house.  Ah, well.

Saucer of the Week: English Imari

This week's "Saucer of the Week" essay is being posted right at the wire.  In case you didn't notice, my previous post regarding the use of what I consider to be the proper spoon and fork to consume one's dessert created a bit of a firestorm.  I've been busy responding to the interesting and thought-provoking comments that ensued.  What fun I have had!

But today is Sunday and the week is running out.  I must now get back on track and publish another post in my weekly series on the subject of saucers . . .

Today's featured saucer is English, and was, I believe, made in the first half of the nineteenth century.  I suspect that it is either Worcester or Derby, but it could be from another pottery altogether.  I am not such an expert as to be able to determine its origins beyond that it is English.  If you have greater knowledge of this saucer's origin, Dear Reader, I would be most grateful if you would please comment and enlighten me.

The decoration on this handsome saucer is done in imitation of Japanese Imari, with both an underglaze and overglaze applied decoration, including gilding.  The border is divided into six equal segments featuring branches of cherry blossoms alternating with cartouches containing pretty birds.  A large chrysanthemum appears in the middle of the plate.  The saucer is unmarked and measures 5 3/8 inches in diameter.

For the life of me, I cannot remember where I got it.  I don't think I paid all that much for it.

I admire this saucer for the vigor and brilliance of its decoration.  It sits on my bedside table at Darlington House, where it adds a welcome jolt of happy color to the room and pleases me whenever I see it.

Photograph by Boy Fenwick

Saucer of the Week: Ode to a Classical Urn

This week's saucer is one of my favorites.  It is most likely English, I believe, but it could possibly be French.  I am almost certain that it is English, but I would welcome learning otherwise if you know so, Dear Reader.

The saucer is made of very white porcelain and measures 5 3/8 inches in diameter.  It is simply decorated with a classical urn done in grisaille and festooned with gilt garlands.  The urn is, in turn, surrounded by three plain gold bands.  It is unmarked.  I date it to 1800-1815.

I bought it half a dozen years or so ago from an antiques dealer in Hudson, New York.  I can't remember which one anymore, but I suspect it was from one of the dealers that is no longer in business there.  I don't think I paid very much money for it, at least as these things go.

We keep this saucer for much of the year on one of the side tables in our drawing room at Darlington House, where it complements the room's gray walls, white trim, and gilt-framed pictures and looking glasses.  I showed an image of it in situ, in the original post that introduced this series, holding a flute of champagne.

So, why is it that this saucer is one of my favorites?  As many of my readers know, I have a weakness for classically inspired objects, and I find the severity and elegance of this saucer's spare decoration to be most pleasing.  There is nothing extraneous about its carefully chosen and edited design.  Each element, be it urn, garland, or gold band, is integral to the whole; the absence of even one of these elements would render a less successful composition.  I ask you, Dear Reader, to imagine how the saucer would look with one less band, or if the garlands had not been applied—it would not look as exquisite as it does, now would it?

Photograph by Boy Fenwick

Saucer of the Week: English Coalport with Strawberry Leaves

Or is it Worcester?  I am not absolutely sure.  To be honest, I really couldn't tell you what the difference is between Coalport and Worcester china, except that both were made in England during the nineteenth century in towns of the same names.  Coalport went out of business in the 1920s and Worcester (more recently known as Royal Worcester) ceased operations in 2009, a victim of mismanagement, too much debt, and an inability to adequately respond to shifting consumer tastes.  Oh well.

This week's featured saucer is decorated with an orange background and gilt banding, and sports a string of pretty gilt-painted strawberry leaves, a classic English decoration.  I believe it was made in the first quarter of the nineteenth century.  It measures 5 5/8 in diameter and is unmarked.  I'm not absolutely positive, but I think we bought it at the tiny, treasure-filled shop of Bardith Ltd., the legendary purveyor of antique ceramics, on Madison Avenue half a dozen years or so ago.  It was not inexpensive.

An early botanical print of wild strawberries
showing leaves similar to the ones on
our saucer

So why do I like this little saucer?  As some of my readers may know, I am drawn to almost anything that has orange in it, which this does, and I find the vigor of the decoration (and what is portrayed) to be quite pleasing.  The decoration is not dissimilar to a Coalport footed boat-shaped grape bowl we own of a similar vintage that Boy bought for a song years ago at Tepper Galleries in New York.

We have placed this saucer on one of the bedside tables in our bedroom at Darlington House, where it serves as a handy base for one's morning cup of coffee and also for one's evening cocktail when dressing for dinner.

Photograph by Boy Fenwick

Illustration of botanical print of strawberry plant courtesy of BrigidsFancy at etsy.com

Saucer of the Week: English Roses

In February, when I posted my essay Consider the Saucer, I promised that I would publish photographs from time to time of some of the prettier antique saucers we have collected.  Today is the first of such posts.  I plan on making this a once-a-week series until I either run out of saucers to feature or I run out of patience.

This week's saucer is an early English pearlware one, circa 1790-1800.  It is finely painted in a Famille Rose style decoration reminiscent of Chinese export porcelain.  It measures 5 ½ inches in diameter and came with a matching tea bowl.  It is unmarked.  Boy found the cup and saucer at Todd Alexander Romano's shop, when it was still at Lexington Avenue and 73rd Street.

I like this saucer because it is pretty and floral and summery, and I enjoy seeing it when we place it on one of the tables in our drawing room at Darlington House, where it has recently returned now that spring has arrived in the Hudson River Valley.

Photograph by Boy Fenwick

Consider the Saucer

Over the years I have collected quite a few antique saucers.  Most date from the late eighteenth century through the first half of the nineteenth century and were made of porcelain in Europe or China for domestic use or export.  In most cases they were separated from their matching cups long before I bought them.

Collecting antique saucers can become rather
addicting, and it is easy soon to find oneself
with stacks and stacks of them!

I have collected antique saucers because they are pretty and also because they are usually affordably priced.  I have bought ones at junk and thrift stores for as little as fifty cents a piece and at specialist ceramics dealers for as much as several hundred dollars.  In general, though, I've paid much less than a hundred dollars a saucer for most of them.  These days I rarely buy any more for my collection because I already have so many of them that I find it difficult to justify adding to the stacks.

A saucer is a most convenient place to rest one's
flute of champagne . . .

I have collected saucers not just for their beauty and price, but also because I like to use them.  Not for their original purpose, though, of holding a cup of hot tea or coffee.  I have placed them on almost every end table in our house, both in the public rooms and in the bedrooms, where they are an attractive and useful alternative to plebeian coasters.  We have several of them sitting on chests of drawers, too, to catch keys, loose change, matchbooks, and the little odds and ends that one finds in one's pockets.  They are the perfect size for serving cocktail-hour nibbles.  When we set votive candles in a group of them along the dinner table they create the most attractive uplighting on our guests.  We also use them as dishes for small topiaries and to hold soap in bathrooms.  Sometimes we even use them as ashtrays when the rare friends who still smoke visit us.  Even though we gave up the habit years ago, we might occasionally join our friends in a cigarette or two—at least if we've been consuming cocktails during their visit, which is a pretty good bet around here.

. . . and so very handy for holding
one's keys and pocket incidentals, too!

Over time I plan on doing a number of posts featuring some of our prettier saucers.  My goal in doing so is that I hope it will give you pleasure to see them, Dear Reader, and also because I hope that it will inspire you to build a collection of your own—that is if you haven't one already—and to use them as we do at Darlington House.

Photographs by Boy Fenwick