Ducks on a Dish

This dish is important to me because it comes down through the years and has been one of those family ‘members’ that has always somehow been there. These ducks were transported from Nazi Germany to Australia, to England and then to me in France – we have many such objects, and even more photos, in our family - sometimes too many to cope with it feels…

This dish sat for decades at Mumse and Michael’s, my paternal German Jewish grandparents’ home, where we would often go and have Sunday breakfast of scrambled eggs, “Auffschnitt” (cold meats), toast, butter, marmalade, and coffee from one of those old percolators. It seemed to take ages to drip into the jug,  and then wasn’t very nice anyway!

Or we would be there for Sunday lunch, if not breakfast – a very convivial, warm affair, starting with drinks (yes, even us kids, and even though we usually had homework to do after lunch). Then there would be a Sunday roast of some sort, and, in season, a plum tart (usually Quetsch or damsons) made by our grandmother Mumse, on a really rich buttery short pastry base, sprinkled with fine sugar – mmm, I can taste it now. And then in the afternoon a slice of her “Alte Bekannte” – ‘old acquaintance’ fruit cake which my sister and I still make today occasionally. Mumse never weighed any ingredients, and mixed everything with her bare hands. I don’t go that far, but do often estimate quantities when cooking.

So this dish, which is neither an ashtray, nor a bowl, and has only ever been used to hold bits and pieces, which doesn’t actually do it justice, has a long history. Quietly sitting on the sidelines, it must have seen so much, absorbed so much. It is not light. Not light in any sense of the word. Not joyful. Dark. Dark in colour and dark in its memories. Yet the ducks, one drinking and one preening, are connected to life, are a focus for memory that is happier. So I do love this piece, and writing about it now makes me realise that it needs more care than to be simply the recipient for pens or glasses, casually placed there in passing. If it can hold water I’ll put some in, so the ducks can flourish. And flowers to bring colour and hope too. This is fanciful and also matters to me. It feels like a simple request, coming from the depths, to move into the light.

*To read more about Anya, follow the link to her website https://www.anyagore.com/

Anya's book, "Life and Soul Dog", is available on Amazon