Catalogue Entry 112: A Biscuit Tin Turned Sewing Box

A catalogue entry is a short, exact piece of writing. Here is a complete one, from my own book, set out as I would write it for a visitor. In the book, four grayscale plates accompany it: the front, the lid open, a detail of the lettering and the interior tray.

The entry

• Number: 112

• Name: Biscuit tin, rectangular, hinged lid, reused as a sewing box

• Maker: Pennyworth & Gale, biscuit manufacturers (printed on the base; trade name now untraceable)

• Date: Around 1925 to 1935, by the style of the lettering (estimated)

• Material: Printed tinplate, brass-plated hinge, cloth lining

• Measurements: 22 cm wide, 15 cm deep, 9 cm high

• Condition: Fair. Front panel creased left of centre. Printing worn to the metal at the edges. Light rust inside the hinge. Lining replaced at an unknown date.

• Acquired: Flea market, Old Wharf Car Park, from Mr Abara, for four pounds

Description

A plain rectangular tin with rounded corners and a flat hinged lid. The lid carries a printed spray of flowers inside a leafy border, and the sides repeat a trailing floral sprig. Underneath, in small capitals on the base, are the words "Pennyworth & Gale, Assorted Biscuits". Much of the print has gone.

Inside is a removable tray in stiffened card, lined with a green cotton print now very soft. Beneath the tray is a second compartment, shallow, holding thread.

Plates

Plate 1. The lid, photographed from the front. The flowers are clear in the middle and gone around the edge, where thumbs have held it for years.

Plate 2. The lid open, showing the hinge and the tray.

Plate 3. The lettering on the base, in close detail. A small flaw in the print has made the second e of "Assorted" look like a smudge.

Plate 4. The interior, with the tray lifted, and two reels of thread still in place.

Use and wear

This tin did not hold biscuits for long. The wear on the lid is the wear of a lid opened many times a week by a hand in a hurry. The thread in the lower compartment includes seven colours, none matching, and a darning needle pushed through a scrap of card for safekeeping.

The lining is the most revealing part. Someone sewed it in neatly, from a dress print or perhaps an apron, and stitched the tray in so that it would not slip. That person cared about the box and about the work that came out of it.

Notes

I bought it for the flowers. I kept it for the lining. When I asked Mr Abara where it had come from, he said a house clearance, and that the owner's daughter had told him it was "always on the kitchen table".

I'd like to think that sentence was a fair description of a life. It's in the book as it was said, with a small cross beside it, to show that I wasn't there.