Happy: The year I lived alone in Rochester teck-ing in a lab, my grandparents dropped off my Step-Great-Grandmother’s camphor chest that they had inherited a few years before. My studio had plenty of room, one of the reasons I inherited it.
I’ve always though it was pretty. When Great Grandma still lived in South Hampton (she wasn’t a “summer person”) and I was a little girl, I used to put my nose to the arch, and try to see if there were more gardens or harbours beyond it.
Dragons symbolise lots of things in China: China itself, life, luck, courage. Sometimes I’d get nervous trying to go to sleep alone in my apartment, the dragons were a comfort. Great Grandma herself had shown courage over the years. She bought the chest for storage when she worked in a mission school in Kowloon in the ’30’.
When the Japanese invaded, she and other foreigners were interned on very short rations. At one point one of the other missionaries fought off a drunken soldier trying to enter her house. Her students snuck her Bible, and some of their own rice rations into her, but as an old lady, her doctor could tell that she had been starved at some point in her life. Grandpa remembered her as a fiery preacher lady (she’s founded a Sunday School that grew into a church before she went to China) but he said the internment took the ginger out of her. She was freed in a Red Cross Prisoner exchange, America hadn’t yet entered the war. Her ship had to go around the horn of Africa because there was too much fighting in the Mediterranean, and she got to room with an old friend that she thought had died.
Real: my husband is forever barking his shins on the chest. It is usually covered in library books and laundry. My Grandma wanted to put a plexiglass cover on it to keep it from getting dusty, but I don’t think Grandpa agreed. I wonder if giving it to me was a compromise!
Funny: When I visited Guangzhou, I asked a shop girl selling carved chests what was the best way to keep them from getting dusty. She said that “We like our homes to be elegant, but also we all work, so I would put plastic over it…I sell them before I have to dust them.”
My grandparents had a very similar chest. Oh, the stories we wove as we traced our fingers around the carvings! And yes, crazy to dust. Maybe that’s why we were allowed to drag our fingers around those carvings? At least it got some dust off…
I was googling camphor chests (to see if there is an easy way to dust them) and found that there was an English saying in the 19th century about married officers posted to the Far East, “You will either come home with a baby or a camphor chest.”
What a beautiful chest! I love the history behind it! My mother was also interred by the Japanese during the second world war! She was a student at a school for missionary children (Cheefoo) but since she was a British subject she was held for the duration of the war.
Did she tell many stories of her time there?
She talked about it a lot, and used to speak at women’s retreats. I am so glad she talked about it, since now she is losing her memory.
That is an amazing chest with an equally amazing history! What a neat phfr! :)
Thanks, how cute that phfr is a noun now ;-)
Wow, wonderful chest and story. Sounds like quite the woman! I think I have permanent marks on my shins from some of furniture that I somehow can’t quite ever remember not to try to walk through…
Thanks!
It is pretty, but I still walk into it.