Cash in the Attic?
When I watch (as I occasionally do) TV programmes about people unearthing antiques and valuable items from amongst the clutter in their house I always feel slightly envious. We have nothing valuable in that sense, and no antiques. I’m more envious about the antique thing than the monetary value – I like to see things that have age, a history, a tale to tell.
I do have one thing that fits this criteria. I don’t imagine it’s worth much, if anything really, but that’s not its charm. Its charm comes from its age. it’s not ancient, not seen hundreds of years of history or anything like that, but it’s seen three generations of women grow up.
The oldest thing I own is a hardback copy of Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. It was gift to my grandmother in 1931, when she was 11 years old. ithas a handwritten note in the front from the giver of this gift, in that very definite writing style of the time.
It was passed to my mother, and then to me, when I was a teenager. It is not in perfect condition. The cover is still attached, but looks like it is clinging on for dear life. The pages are yellowing with age and one or two of them have small stains on them – in places it looks like someone was eating a sneaky snack whilst reading it (not me!)
I love this book. I love the story, but I love the book itself, this particular copy. I love that it was a gift to my grandmother and has come to me. I love that I will be able to pass it on to my own daughter when she is older. I hope that she will be able to do the same.
Sometimes, passing things on down the family is not about value. In this case, the important thing is a connection between women through the generations.