Home life
Table talk
Alice Thomas Ellis
He and I and Beryl and Janet climbed into the car and took off, leaving Gladys Mary and Graham neck-deep in Welsh lore at the dining-room table. We visited a North London warehouse where ward- robes, dressing tables and cocktail cabinets occupied all the available floor space and the only table was a repro Regency num- ber. This was discouraging and I was inclined to go home again, particularly as it was 11 o'clock and I was expecting a luncheon guest at 12.30, but Beryl and Someone were by now stirred by that thrill of the chase familiar to all who prefer second-hand furniture. I am not immune to it myself but I have learned to pass by on the other side when I glimpse, out of the corner of my eye, steamer chairs which need only a little re-caning (five quid the chair, ninety-five the re-caning), occasion- al tables with a leg missing and spavined prams. Telling myself that I was long cured of impulse-buying (as I believe it is known), I followed the others into the car.
Unfortunately we had chosen the one hot day for this expedition (I think it was 11 June) and creeping through the road- works of London amongst all the rest of the traffic was unenjoyable. When we finally reached the other side of the river I had already started to whinge, and my other reaction to shopping trips — sales- resistance -,— had established itself. I was outnumbered and outclassed, so, unless I wanted to sit in the street in the sun like a foreigner, I had to trail round the deposi- tory (three floors) with the enthusiasts. It was only a month or two since I'd been there before, buying a desk for the fifth son, and a rug for his father. Then I had been tempted to forget about this useful desk and buy for the same price a life-size samurai warrior constructed of a greenish metal. He was still there and I still liked him just as much, but you can't go mad and buy things in the presence of three other people. It is a solitary insanity.
Beryl clearly felt the same constraint for she kept a close grip on herself. I had always known that the minute she clapped eyes on the 19th-century dentist's chair she would fall hopelessly in love with it and she did. I hadn't been sure about the hatstand composed of a carved bear holding a tree with another smaller bear in its upper branches, but she stood by it silently for some time and I'm almost certain she was wondering how it would agree with Eric, the stuffed water buffalo who occupies her hallway. There were fairground horses, a red telephone box, bits of spiral staircases, a wooden saint, marvellously awful Victo- rian pictures, dressers, a set of drawers from a chemist's shop with Latin names on the labels, two life-size wooden deer, an old illustrated lavatory pan — even the odd cocktail cabinet — but hardly any tables: the usual repro Regency number, of course, and a large oak table which was big enough for our purpose but apart from that had little else to recommend it. We said we'd think about it and left.
A hundred yards down the road we passed another warehouse with a large sign saying Trade Only prominently displayed over the door. Just inside the door, hang- ing on the wall were the legs and side bits of an enormous table — they looked perfect. The owner forgot all his strictures about Trade Only, dug out the top and sold it to Someone for a laughable sum. Next week when I feel stronger, I might tell you how we got this table into the study. But I'll never tell you where the warehouses are because one of you might go and buy my samurai before I've saved up enough to buy him myself. And I might have to buy one for my luncheon guest who waited for long enough and then went home.
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