A Tale of Three Teapots

Once upon a time, Brown Betty crossed the heaving Atlantic Ocean, leaving behind a bastion of civilisation, the tea-drinking islands of Great Britain. She arrived, hoping to tame the wild new world with the rituals of the afternoon tea institution, something she had so enjoyed and had been the centre of attention in her old life.

She had rocked across the water, safe, ironically, in an old tea chest stuffed and wrapped in old newspapers and woollen blankets to protect her from harm.

In her new and unfamiliar home, her mistress had deftly pulled Brown Betty from the woolly depths of the tea-chest, and placed her with care on the old Welsh dresser, which had also arrived in the new world. Soon, Betty was coaxing strength from the tea leaves dropped into her boiling water. But this water was different; hard and unforgiving. Brown Betty had to use all her strength to encourage the leaves to release their refreshing and invigorating taste.

For many years Brown Betty had worked her magic. In this new world, she was treated with great respect and care, for no replacement could be found in this uncultured environment. But even afternoon tea was not the same. Dear old china cake stand hadn’t withstood the rigours of the ocean tides, but then he was a delicate soul. His replacement was a sordid cream-coloured stoneware plate, unadorned and not used to the dainties placed upon him. Brown Betty looked with disdain as he sat beside her. Even the cakes were plain and unappealing, for the flour in her mistress’s cookbook wasn’t that which was now available, and the cakes rebelled, refusing to rise to the occasion.

As the years passed, the mistress gained experience and confidence with the new ingredients. Her cakes improved, and eventually, an upstart new cake stand was purchased, and Brown Betty stood her ground and continued to brew. As her mistress aged, she found it difficult to pour the tea as Betty was hefty even without contents.

“Disaster struck. Betty was tipped too far, and her sturdy lid fell.”

One morning, disaster struck. Betty was tipped too far, and her sturdy lid fell. The mistress was dismayed to see that a nasty crack had appeared across it. She was confident she’d find a replacement lid, and scoured the second-hand stores, but to no avail. Betty no longer held her heat, and the master was not happy. He drove to the big town and found a shop selling imported teapots. Betty was replaced at great cost by a brand-new Betty, and old Betty was consigned to the garbage. What an ignoble end.

The new Brown Betty sat perkily in her place on the dresser, but just one week later, disaster! The mistress had continued to have difficulty lifting a full teapot and….horrors! The new lid fell and once again, cracked! The mistress didn’t dare tell the master of her clumsiness and continued to use new Betty as if nothing had happened. But of course, someone in the house noticed and told on her. The mistress said she would buy a second-hand teapot; maybe there would be a Brown Betty looking for a new home, but if there weren’t, any pot would have to do.

The mistress happily noticed that the teapot and sugar pot had their lids taped on and should be safe as she journeyed home

They were nice women in the thrift shop, and they directed her to the teapot selection. There was one, it was no Brown Betty, but was such a curvy white pot with cute little ducks wearing blue bows imprinted thereon, that it caught the mistress’s eye. It came with a matching creamer and a lidded sugar pot and was such a bargain, too! The nice sales lady wrapped all the items in newspaper and placed them in a bag. The mistress happily noticed that the teapot and sugar pot had their lids taped on and should be safe as she journeyed home on the snow-rutted roads.

Once home, she brought in all of her other shopping, which amounted to several bags. Finally, she entered the hallway with the last bag, holding her treasured tea set. She called out that she had not found a Brown Betty but rather a lovely teapot with all its accoutrements. Her hands were cold from bringing in the other bags, and just as she spoke, this last bag slipped from her cold fingers, falling on the tiled floor. Heads turned towards her upon hearing the crash. With trepidation, she unwrapped the contents. All was well—except…the teapot lid had cracked!

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Northern Life Winter 25