The secret history of everyday household objects

I’ve just spent a very happy year or so writing my new book. Called A Brief History of the Countryside in 100 Objects it, perhaps unsurprisingly, tells the story of our green and pleasant land through artefacts our ancestors left behind. Some are gruesome, such as village stocks and bollock daggers (knives with genitalia-shaped hilts, before you ask). Others are fabulously superstitious — the dried cat shoved up a chimney instantly springs to mind. Many are also remarkably touching: a toy cockerel found in a Roman child’s grave, for example, or the perfectly preserved leather shoes of a sacrificed man.
For all their diversity, however, most of the hundred objects share a common thread. They were all beautifully made. Whether the maker was a woodworker, a cooper, a potter or a bladesmith, the sense of craftsmanship shines through the pages. The time and care taken to fashion the 12,000-year-old headdress found at Star Carr in North Yorkshire sets the tone for subsequent centuries. I discovered neolithic jewellery carved from the bones of Orkney’s creatures, elegantly patterned beakers from the Bronze Age, and “magical” Anglo-Saxon buckets hewn from poisonous yew. Later, the same creative expression is celebrated in joyous “roses and castles” canalware and the handwoven fishing baskets of the 19th century.
The book was written from my home, a farmhouse in the middle of the North Yorkshire countryside. And it struck me, researching the objects for the project, that many of the things I use daily around the house and farm have changed little in terms of form and function over hundreds, if not thousands, of years. This says something to me about the intelligence that lies behind crafted objects. And, moreover, how timeless good design and craftsmanship can be. In an age when so many of the things that we use, touch and rely on are virtual, it is hugely reassuring to feel that crafted, tangible objects still have a place.
Using crafted objects creates a dialogue between you, a maker and history. Take Leach Pottery in Cornwall, for example. I have three of its stoneware bowls in the kitchen —– gloriously simple clay dishes with a glazed interior. They’re immensely useful, and wonderful to handle, and a 15th-century potter would feel completely at home talking through the craft process with one of the studio’s present makers. When I use Leach pottery it also reminds me of childhood spent in and out of Mollie Hillam’s studio in Fulneck, West Yorkshire. She was a fine porcelain maker who would let me tinker with a kickwheel and practise throwing small pots. Only through doing have I learnt to appreciate the invisible skill that goes into a perfectly proportioned piece of pottery.
I feel the same way about practically everything made by Selwyn House, a small workshop in rural Northamptonshire that creates wooden tableware from British-grown timbers. The history of woodcarving in this country is astonishingly deep-rooted — the oldest object found to date is the Clacton Spear, a 400,000-year-old tapered weapon fashioned not by a modern human but one of our ancient forebears, Homo heidelbergensis. And, while my little brown oak spoon wasn’t made with hunting in mind, handcarving an object that fits perfectly in the hand is part of the same human story.
Throughout history, makers have used materials judiciously. Seeing potential is one of a craftsperson’s greatest talents. I own a number of chopping boards made by the Yorkshire-based woodworker Mark Bennett. Each is unique and carved from English timber rescued from local estates such as Castle Howard. Sycamore, ash, oak, elm — his valuable materials read like a compendium of the nation’s native woodlands.
Sparing use of resources also defines Welsh stick chairs, like the dazzling examples made by “Dave the Bodger”. A word now misused to mean something hashed together, “bodgers” were traditional crafters who lived in woodland and used unseasoned or “green” timber to make chairs using a pole lathe. Graceful, lightweight but robust, these once rustic seats have now become icons of rural design.
There is an inherent pleasure that comes from being surrounded by crafted items, however prosaic. I have a stash of Hare & Wilde’s Cumbrian beeswax candles that are perfumed like the inside of a sticky hive. I love them not just for their sweet-smelling illumination but because I know someone took the time to make them, carefully building up each layer of wax by repeatedly dipping the wicks.
In fact, the imperfections in crafted objects are often the things that give them their humanity. I was gifted a little hand-blown Mary Rose glass bottle from the Staffordshire-based historical glassmaker Merchant Venturers by a friend with a passion for re-enactment. It’s gorgeously eccentric and wobbly, and reminds me of the Cuddesdon bowl, one of the Anglo-Saxon riches in my book. My little blue bottle is not quite so grand, perhaps, but a treasure to me.
Buying crafted items also keeps those skills from disappearing. It occurred to me that many trades —– knitting, woodcarving, ironmongery, canal boat painting — only survive through people continuing to engage with the craft. Melin Tregwynt keeps the skills of Welsh traditional weavers alive, for example, producing baby-soft woollen fabrics in a mill that’s been clacking away for nearly two centuries. Artisans such as Charlie Groves or The Truggery are keeping trug-making a viable enterprise in Sussex, an area rich in sweet chestnut and cricket-bat willow, both essential trug components. You can buy rough imitations, made cheaply abroad, but choosing Sussex trugs not only keeps their expertise alive but also helps to maintain coppiced woodlands, which support a diverse range of flora and fauna.
Sometimes, supporting a British craftsperson prevents a heritage skill from disappearing entirely. Felicity Irons is one of the last freshwater rush cutters and rush weavers in England, keeping a craft alive that has been unchanged for over a thousand years. I’m lucky enough to own one of her baskets, but her woven rush flooring is beyond beautiful. Only by supporting craft production can we prevent all the artefacts and skills of our rural heritage from being consigned to the history books, including mine.
A Brief History of the Countryside in 100 Objects by Sally Coulthard (HarperCollins £22). To order a copy go to timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members.