This pair of jugs were always there in my Grandmother’s kitchen, a place of security and inspiration. They had belonged to my Great Grandmother, and I was sometimes allowed to carefully hold them. I loved to trace the vivid turquoise edges and the golden painted flower patterns while my Grandmother would tell me stories of my Great Grandmother, her Mother. who danced and sang on stage, had long flaming red hair, and who took in other peoples washing when her husband was killed in the first world war. Sometimes she shared two boiled eggs between four children for tea. Her floor was so clean that you could eat off it, and she later sent a parcel every week to London and my Mother when my Grandmother married an RAF Officer, my Grandfather and moved to London. I now make ceramic and bronze sculpture and decorated plates.
My Grandmother always said that the jugs were to be mine, as I loved them. They sit in my far less tidy kitchen (though I love cleaning floors) and are for me a symbol of strength and beauty, gaiety, courage and love.