The trunk is not overly large, being only 29 inches at its highest point. The exterior is tin-covered, although the metal has darkened to a mottled brown. There are two rows of wooden slats around the sides, five on the rounded top. The inside is lined with lightly papered wood and at one time sported a lift-out compartment. As happens with most removable parts of most antiques, the compartment has been lost generations ago.
Each slat is attached with metal clasps, elaborately crimped and decorated. Three hinges hold the round top in place. The leather handles also boast decorative clasps. The lock, hasp and fasteners no longer close properly.
Why does this particular, unremarkable trunk feature in this tale? This item, a battered example of the Antiques Road Show logo, has become well travelled.
Originally purchased by my parents early in their marriage in the mid-1940s, it undoubtedly already had a long history. Most of my parents' possessions at that time came from local auctions. Neither one can recall acquiring the trunk, merely that it became part of the ill-matched but well-used collection that accompanied them on their many household moves.
Larry recalls the trunk crouching at the foot of his bed in the Brower house, the family home in the Zella area for a short time in the early '50s. My earliest memories are of our grandparents' farmhouse at Westward Ho. The trunk was well established there, a repository for bedding: handmade quilts and sheets run up on the old Singer sewing machine.
Our own version of Mr. Dressup's tickle trunk shared its space at the top of the stairway with the kist (we called it the kischt, perhaps the Mennonite pronunciation). Since both were essentially bedding storage items, it was fitting that they resided together for many years.
Not only was the trunk's origin uncertain, so is its immediate future. Let me explain.
When I returned to the area, mom had decided to downsize -- just a little. She wanted to part with two antique trunks. To me, it felt rather like euthanizing two old, beloved pets. I offered to house both. That was fine in my first home, with its roomy basement, an addition and double garage. Within a decade, I too chose to downsize, to a small duplex. I made arrangements to sell the round-topped trunk -- it was the smaller of the two trunks, in shabbier condition and as it had a musty odour in its advanced age, I no longer used it for storage.
My sister Carol learned of the fate of the old darling and asked for it herself. She too, had trouble finding a spot for it and loaned the trunk to the owner of a used clothing store, as a display prop. That went well initially.
Some time later we were checking out the selection in that store. The owner mentioned that she too, no longer wanted the trunk. She found that it attracted young climbers and she was afraid for the preservation of its declining condition. The story was being related to mom, the long history of this lovely old prop, without the shopkeeper realizing that we (collectively) were the original owners!
I offered to take it home again, only I didn't have room in my vehicle. Before we were able to leave, friends from Olds entered and agreed to transport our trunk for us.
So, until Carol decides the fate of the travelling, tattered tickle trunk, it resides in my basement. And why not? I have everyone's excess boxes. I have my daughter-in-law's piano. I also had shelves built to hold mom's canning jars and paraphernalia, as well as Larry's antique corner cupboard. What is one more item, less than lovely perhaps, but definitely interesting?
The corner cupboard has been passed on to Judy, much to her husband's chagrin.
She also accepted the canning collection, to give to another friend. The trunk remains.
