Tea and scones are a common request. What is not common is how your tea and scones will be presented. At some establishments you may have to remove your soggy tea bag from the cup yourself; you might be given a tiny teapot with no access to hot water to top it up; or you may simply be presented with your ready-made cup of tea and a minute jug of milk.
The scones can vary too, from over large crumbly ones to small, rather mingy looking ones. I have been served open scones already spread with jam and a dollop of cream; scones with separate small packaged squares of butter and jam that need to be peeled open; cold scones; warm scones that have clearly been warmed in a microwave straight from a freezer; scones accompanied with butter that is so hard it is un-spreadable.
Tea and scones might be a commonly requested refreshment, but the expectation one might have is not always matched with the reality. This archive photograph is a reminder of a time when the reality far exceeded our expectations:
We had wanted to break a long journey and stretch our legs and so ordered tea and scones for three. As we had confirmed that we all wanted the same tea, it arrived in a large pot. What a pleasant surprise: the scones were of a generous size, the butter balls were soft enough to spread easily, and the quantities of jam, cream and grated cheese were generous. So was the jug of milk. Notice the quilted cover for the handle of the tea pot too.
These factors combined to turn what might have been an ordinary stop along the way into a memorable occasion. It was a delight to sit back and enjoy perfectly warm scones along with piping hot tea. The scones were firm enough to hold their toppings, yet light and filling – just right for peckish travellers. Our teapot was topped up with boiling water so that we all ended up having two cups – such a refreshing break it turned out to be!
I dug into my box of loose tea bags given to me by friends and family who have travelled more widely than I have for years. Out came this delightful (alas, only one) sachet of Ahmad Royal Breakfast tea.
Alas too that I have not seen this brand for sale in South Africa, well not in the places I have been to: Home of delightful tastes is such a teaser. After this tasting experience I want to have more of it – and try out their other delightful tastes!
Look at the teapot on the sachet: invitingly old-fashioned and unusual – intriguing too. Is it a metal pot? The tea-coloured steam rising from the spout promises a rich and flavoursome tasting experience.
Assam tea is a wonderfully malty tea on its own and I have long been a fan of the robust flavour of tea grown in Kenya. Here they mingle in the best possible way.
This is a tea that is strong, filled with flavour and … I wish I could brew another cup!
This was one of my favourite teapots for many years. I am reluctant to get rid of it as it was a surprise gift from my children.
Over time the spout got chipped and the glazing cracked. It is such a cheerful looking tea pot though that it was in continuous use – always reminding me of the love with which it was given to me.
Then, one day I lifted the full teapot to pour a cup of tea – and the handle came away in my hand! Fortunately the teapot remained on the tray, so no harm was done.
The handle was carefully placed inside the pot – to be glued on (one day), but as the years have passed I have become more doubtful if that would be a good solution – and I have been presented with other teapots since. This teapot, however, remains on my windowsill and is sometimes used as a vase.
Why is it that I baulk at spending what seems a lot of money on something like a tea pot or bowl when I happily pass over as much money for a book? Books, one could argue, are there for as long as you wish; they can give one a lot of pleasure over and over again. That is true – and our house is filled to the rafters with books because we are a family of bibliophiles. Is it the feel of a book? The smell of the pages? Is it because I can take a book anywhere with me?
These thoughts passed rapidly through my mind while browsing through the craft market during the National Arts Festival a couple of years ago. Admittedly, I generally work my way through the stands at a fairly rapid rate, my eyes glazing over displays of items that look attractive but I know I do not need and idly wonder where I would put them anyway.
I was arrested by the sight of this teapot juggling for space with larger ones, jugs, mugs, plates, and a collection of salt and pepper pots – all beautifully decorated in the same manner. I stopped and stared at them for a while before picking this one up, turning it over and wondering how well it would pour. I looked at the price tag and replaced it gently. No, I have enough teapots, I thought. Where would I put it anyway?
That teapot would not leave me. I wrestled with the idea of getting it, shoving it aside in favour of being ‘sensible’. Still it remained lodged in my visual memory and the feel of it in the tips of my fingers. I wouldn’t hesitate handing over the same amount of money for a book, I realised. A book that I might only read once and pass on at that.That ‘sealed the deal’ and a day or two later I hastened back to the stall, now anxious that the teapot of the right size would be gone. It wasn’t and to my delight it now resides on the windowsill of the kitchen to be used whenever I make tea for myself.
It is signed Intshiba SA and is part of the Township series of hand-painted ceramics produced in Bredasdorp near Cape Town.
Unlike my Jock of the Bushveld teapot (see 22nd February 2014), very few of the teapots in my collection are what anyone would regard as ‘collectibles’ in the true sense – many are no longer even usable! I keep this teapot, now sadly cracked to leaking point, mostly because it has given me many years of faithful service.
A number of South Africans may have similar ones tucked away, for at one time they were cheap and readily available in one of our big supermarket chains. A friend has one identical to mine that continues to serve her well. Although I never came across any matching cups, I still have three small mugs sporting the same pattern: two in brown and one in blue.
Given the above reference to price, it is probably predictable that this teapot simply has ‘Made in China’ stamped on the bottom with no other marks to suggest a lineage worthy of report. It is well known that foreign imports of cheap chinaware has led to the downfall of a number of small potteries in this country – including one in the town where I now live – with the inevitable loss of jobs.
I got this teapot, which pours well – a good trait for a teapot to have – while we were living in Mmabatho in what was then known as Bophuthatswana. I liked the size and shape of it and I was attracted to the pretty flower pattern.
If this teapot could talk it would tell tales of drought, dust storms, heat, laughter, and of the many friendships forged through living in what could be rather trying conditions at the time in a place where people from various nationalities found themselves living and working together.
Tea is what helped to maintain a sense of humour when we had no water or electricity for days on end; that provided comfort when pets died; that celebrated the birth of children; that welcomed newcomers to what still looked and felt like a building site; and that provided succour during the tense time of the coup d’état.
This teapot has been through it all and helped ease the way into new friendships when we moved to our current home. It is a store of special memories and thus stands proudly alongside the other teapots brightening the passage leading to our kitchen.