Buttercup teapots and randy schoolboys
There is this huge enamel teapot I had tucked under my arm as I waltzed across the civic centre car park. Its colour is best described as light buttercup edged with Addington Hospital green. I hazard that it could pour 20 cups. It was a contraption that I hadn’t seen in at least three decades.
When it came up on auction at the South African Writers’ Circle’s monthly meeting at the Westville Library on Saturday, I simply had to have it. It reminded me of the staff room at Cavendish School where the tea aunty would have it steaming. As the masters and mistresses marched in during the 10 o’clock break she would quickly pour the rows of cups which were as speedily snapped off the counter.
Tea aunties were usually matronly types who did the tidying up chores around the school in addition to the tea duties. On one occasion the education department sent a striking coquette barely out of her teens. Needless to say, the randy schoolboys and not a few masters were agog.
My beloved Bangladesh Market district had tongues wagging in every direction. Rumour generously embellished by the passage of time has it that Ken with the beautiful eyelashes was the object of the youthful tea aunty’s affections.
But let me return to the teapot. My grandmother would have tea hissing in a similar pot. It boiled all day and I suspect all night. It was none of this feeble stuff brewed out of ponsy muslin bags. It was the real deal The Teapot brewed from leaf – strong, dark and full of aroma.
Other opportunities to drink good tea poured out the buttercup teapots were at memorial services in Chatsworth. One sat through an hour of hymns and paying respects and then gorged on the crispy vadas, polis, samoosas and other goodies. It was all, of course, accompanied by the scalding tea poured out of the legendary pot.
The motion of pouring the tea was itself an art. The pot was held up high with a steady stream aerated as it hit the base of the cup creating frothy bubbles that burst on the lips.
The teapot is well known in literature. Danish fairytale writer Hans Christian Andersen had a great talent for turning everyday objects into entertaining storylines. In The Teapot first published in 1863, he imbues the vessel with life, character and personality.
Joanna Baillie wrote Lines to a Teapot in 1840, structuring English identity around the drinking ritual. The Indians and Chinese would surely quarrel with that.
While I am charmed by the enamel buttercup variety, let me stick with the fine china. Once, after a household burglary my son pacified me with the words, “Dad, the burglar who had been trained to spot a signed Gordimer first edition and a Royal Albert teapot is yet to be born!”
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