To supplement our storage needs, we returned to Ikea and bought a unit which we hid behind a curtain, to use as a wardrobe and shoe store, and a chest of drawers for me. In due course, we found a nice chest of drawers made of English walnut for Mick and I continued to hanker for one of my own.
A couple of weeks ago, an acquaintance died and, to support Mick’s brother, we went to Gainsborough for the funeral. It was some time since we had been in that area, but we were reminded that Hemswell Antique Centre wasn’t far away and decided to pay a visit.
It’s a massive place, with lots of buildings full of brown furniture, which everyone seems to hate these days, but I love. We had lunch and wandered around. As usual, I had my eyes peeled for a suitable chest of drawers. There were several on display, but there was always something not quite right, not quite high enough, not enough drawers, wrong sort of wood, condition not quite good enough. You know how it is, that little ‘je ne sais quoi’ was missing. Until….. there it was, standing by the wall, the chest of drawers I had imagined standing in the alcove in my bedroom for so long. Right height, lovely sliding drawers, nicely polished, spot on. The price was a bit high, but the owner agreed to knock £45 off and the deal was almost done. But how to get it home? We didn’t think it would fit in our car, so delivery had to be considered. As deliveries are normally done through the Centre, we decided to ask at the entrance desk before committing ourselves totally.
We were staggered to learn that the cost of delivery would normally be £120, but they had a van going in our direction that night and would reduce it to £70, but even this seemed outrageous. We returned to inform the salesman that we were unable to finalise the sale as we weren’t prepared to pay such a high delivery charge, at which he offered to deliver it himself the next day at 11 am if we agreed to pay the full price. We agreed.
By 11 o’ clock the next morning, we had cleared the route through the cottage to the alcove in the bedroom and were full of anticipation about our new acquisition, so when he arrived on the dot of eleven, we were impressed. After removing the drawers, Mick helped him in with it and they proceeded to the stairs.
Now, as in many old cottages, there are a variety of nooks and crannies which one wouldn’t find in a modern house: for instance on the outside wall, there are two windows, one above the other, which look out into the back yard and, above the highest one, is a sloping bit where the roof begins. On the side of the stairs, there is a bulge in the wall and, above that, another ledge parallel to the stairs which sticks out. I’m not sure of the reason for all this, but there you go, some things just are. On top of these niceties, our stairs have a bend in them after the second step and, like all good, old furniture, the drawers were heavy.
Well, to cut a long story short, it wouldn’t go. There was no two ways about it, it was just too deep.
Back it came into the living room where a discussion ensued and it was decided that, if the top, which overlapped the drawers by a good inch all round, would come off, that might do the trick. Twelve 2” screws later, it had to be turned upside down to enable the base to be pulled from the top. After returning it to the upright position, they set off again. “Left-hand down a bit”, “Rest it on the step for a minute”, “Tilt to the right a bit”, “Can you take the pictures off the wall and remove the plants from the window sill?”, could all be heard, tried and accomplished , but it still wouldn’t go round the corner. The problem now was that the base stuck out a fraction and was stopping it going round the bend. Perhaps if that could go into the window opening first, then they might stand a chance.
By this time, I had decided to spend my time more profitably and was writing a reply to a letter I had just received from an old friend, describing the situation as it unfolded and hoping against hope that the drawers wouldn’t have to go back to Hemswell. No doubt the seller was also praying for the same outcome.
So, as I wrote, the drawers were returned to the living room to be turned upside down once more before setting off for the stairs for the third time. I could hear the pushing, shoving and scraping going on, but decided to stay out of it. A cost and benefit debate was going on in my head and I decided that so long as the wall didn’t fell down, any damage could be repaired later. At last, with grunts and sighs of relief, it turned the corner and I heard two tired and weary men stagger up the rest of the stairs and into the bedroom.
The top still had to be replaced and the twelve long screws driven into place, but that was a minor difficulty in the overall scale of the morning’s activities and I breathed a sigh of relief that the mission had been accomplished. “Have you taken note of what you need to do if you need to take it out again?” The man’s voice came from above. “You must be joking”, I returned. “It’ll never come out again. Now it’s in, it’s here for ever.”
Just the stair wall to paint and that plaster chip on the window surround to repair now!
© Liz Reeve
13.12.11
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