I am just about to spread the “no-added-sugar fruit paste” on my regular 2 pieces of 100% rye this morning with a bone-handled dessert knife, when I’m minded to look more closely at the blade.
This prompts a memory surge going back 60 years.
The knife has seen better days; the bone handle is split, but still feels comfortable in the hand.
The name of the shop it came from–Bravingtons–is clearly visible on the small broad blade–which spreads the fruit paste nicely.
I always liked the knives from this set–probably a wedding present for my parents from Ma’s uncle Harry, back in April 1938.
They were in everyday use when I was a boy–perhaps helping to establish my pernickity taste in cutlery. My enjoyment of food is always affected by what I am eating it with.
Great Uncle Harry Weakford, worked at the Bravingtons in Knightsbridge, selling silver to the posh.
He was my mother’s father’s brother.
This branch–just down from Harrods–had the familiar black-marbled, silver-lettered banner front–favoured by pre-war jewellery shops.
The Bravingtons shops proudly displayed the Royal Coat of Arms–as the official supplier of cutlery to the Queen.
Uncle Harry was a jovial cove who lived with his wife in Norbury, south London, where my mother was born & raised.
Once we visited for tea in the Fifties. I remember watching Leslie Howard in The Scarlet Pimpernel (1934) on their telly. We didn’t have a set at home, and I recall being swept up in the brave romance of it all. (Little did I know that years later I’d be rescuing French aristos in the guise of Ross Poldark!)
Uncle Harry, like my mother, had diabetes–and these thoughts about the knife make me want to know more about him and
remind me how “family inheritance” can be a mixed blessing!
Robin Ellis 