By Mim Robson
I LOVE LITTLE THINGS
As a child I had a fascination for small objects and ornaments. At some point my parents put up a shelf with lots of compartments for me to house these varied items, and once on display, they became a true collection. I had no real theme that connected all of these oddments other than that they were small enough to fit into the shelf units, so it became known to me as my collection of ‘little things’.
In it stood: a set of painted wooden swans and tiny cygnets that I was given once for my birthday, two empty, miniature bottles of my mother’s favourite perfume, a tiny ceramic jug she brought back from her trip to Romania, various thimbles, a collection of gemstones, some little mice made at the local pottery, some very old ceramic kittens with limbs broken off, passed down from some rather Victorian great aunts I vaguely remember. And many other bits and pieces which were treasures to me as an 8-year-old but which I no longer remember. When I was 6 I began piano lessons. I had wished for these lessons, perhaps because I had seen my older brothers going to them, and as a child of that age you often long to be able to join in with what your older siblings seem so free to do.
I finally began my lessons, and stuck with it for a few years, but never really took off. My clearest memory from these lessons is going round to my piano teacher’s house, and her kindness. She was a beloved family friend, and a good friend of my mother, despite being old enough to be her mother – one of those kindred spirits. We called her ‘Aunty Nancy’. She was a farmer’s wife (we had working farms in the village back then), the church organist, a keen rag-rug maker, and her kitchen always had the sweet smell of freshly baked apple pie, of which we were invariably offered a piece. I slogged through my scales, distracted by a glass cabinet in the corner of the room. Nancy could see where my true interests lay and let me have a look in the cabinet, which was full of little ornaments.
Seeing the enchantment these small objects had upon me, she proposed that I take one little thing home per week, to put on my shelf of little things. I would take care of it, display it, play with it, and then return it to her the following week and exchange it for something else. It was like a library of little things. Many years later, long after the contents of the little things shelf had been stored away in boxes in my parents’ loft, I bought myself an old printers’ tray and attached it to my wall. It was time to bring my shelf of little things back into being. I suppose I have spent so many years moving around, renting houses and not really settling, that putting that shelf onto the wall felt like the beginning of becoming more rooted in a home. I unpacked my box of little things and found myself often delighted, often confused. I discarded anything that had lost its meaning or beauty to me (probably a great number of unremarkable rocks), and found a place for every other special or pretty little thing in my printers’ tray. Something about the shelf changed this assortment of items from clutter to a collection. Something in the display of it made each piece seem like a tiny piece of art.
Now when friends visit, they are permitted to ask the story of one little thing per visit. Some of them have beautiful stories attached, of connections to people who gave me something small that somehow holds the vastness of their love, or reminds me wholly of them. Others hold sweet stories of passing moments, brief encounters and special acts of thoughtfulness and generosity. And there are many that I carried home with me from my travels, a tiny reminder that I was once there. But there are also a few that don’t hold any meaning or memory – they are just charming to me in some way, and sufficiently little.
Yesterday, as per the rules, a friend asked me the story of one small (obviously) pink- jumpered doll. I told her that a few years ago, my friend Hannah had put a photo online of her own shelf of little things. I commented that I had a similar shelf, and one of Hannah’s friends, who lived on the Isle of Lewis, chipped in and said she too had a similar miniature miscellany. We agreed between the three of us that it would be fun to do an exchange, one little thing for another little thing. I posted something out to the lady in Lewis, and she sent me a little ceramic Christmas tree and a shell. Hannah lived in the same town as me, so I got to choose something from her shelf myself. I chose the little doll with red shoes, green trousers and hat, and that pink jumper.
It followed that a few other people got in touch with photos of their little things shelves, and I was delighted to see these many incarnations of displays of small objects each precious to their owners in some unspoken way. Lately, I’ve been wandering around North Shields a lot, and noticed a small collection of little things on a garden wall near Alma Place. I guessed someone had dropped some things, and a passer by had left them on the wall to be found again.
But another day I passed, and different things were on the wall. Things like little pink hair clips, a plastic whale bath toy, small items that small people might like to find, just at the right height for a small person to see them. I realised that the lovely lady that lives there was leaving them out for children to take home. This sweet act reminded me of Aunty Nancy, and her understanding that a small gesture of kindness can feel big to a young person, or indeed to anyone.
The next time I passed this lady’s house, I took something from my collection of little things, and left it with her collection of little things for her, or for someone passing by to discover. After a few months of living in North Shields some friends helped me put my printers’ shelf up. I unpacked my box of little things, and again found myself delighted and confused. I discarded the things that I couldn’t remember why I’d thought they were special or beautiful (again, mostly rocks), and put up each of the other little things in their new home, in my new home. These days there are a few things that have stood the test of time from my childhood shelf.
The perfume bottles, mice and kittens, swans all have a spot on the shelf. But now the pink- jumpered doll has a seat. A marble elephant a friend gave me when reminding me to start small when tackling big things. Pin badges from every town I visited in Canada. A tiny globe with a tiny note inside from a long standing penpal.
A couple of small bits of art made by friends I once shared studios with. More thimbles. A piece of sea pottery found by my sister-in-law, that looks like the sea and sky at night. A couple of matchboxes that came from a kindred spirit who was 60 years my senior. A bouncy ball, an old smarties lid with the letter S on it, a pair of my mother’s earrings that I remember seeing her shine in. Some ships in bottles, ships out of bottles, and of course, a few precious rocks.
Do you collect little things? What does your little things shelf consist of? Send photos, stories and thoughts to [email protected] (I also love little boats).
