Happy Saturday! As there’s often a bit more time at the weekend (for you maybe, my builders still start at 8am so there’s no lazing around here thank you very much) it seemed the right time of the week to show you these lovely trays.
I love trays although I very rarely use them. They bring with them the promise of leisure time. Because if you have time to lay the tray and carry it somewhere, it is because you have the time to sit and enjoy whatever you have carried on it. Time to indulge in the biscuit, cake or canape, that you have arranged to accompany the drink.
To have a tray is to have time for a break. Otherwise you’re just bringing the mug to the desk or standing by the kettle waiting for it to boil so you can get back to work.
I have no truck with all those trays laid on coffee tables and styled with plants and wotnots and bits of stuff. That is not what a tray is for. That’s not life that’s dressing.
As a child growing up in my Grandmother’s house the ritual of afternoon tea was sacred. When lots of people were there the trolley was wheeled out. Most of the time, when it was just her, my mother and me, there was a large round wooden tray. It must have measured nearly a metre across and its daily appearance signalled that, for the adults, it was time for a break. For me it meant cake.
At 4.30pm precisely the tray was laid. My mother once requested a cup of tea at 4pm and was greeted with a gasp of abject horror – which was as nothing compared with the time she made her own tea. In a mug. With a teabag. My Grandmother nearly died on the spot, although it turned out to be nothing that a pink gin at 5pm couldn’t resolve.
The brown teapot was warmed and a pinch of lapsang suchong dropped in. The flowery tin was brought out from the larder and the coffee cake, which was always baked on a Monday, laid reverentially on a plate. Then the lid came off the biscuit tin to reveal that week’s contents – perhaps a batch of rock cakes, or Hungarian chocolate biscuits; two layers of chocolate biscuit stuck together with chocolate icing – essentially a homemade (and round) bourbon cream.
The tray was then carried through to the drawing room where afternoon tea was taken. Of course we couldn’t linger over it for too long as my Grandmother liked the aforementioned pink gin without too much delay, which was the reason that tea was never, ever late.
The gin, which was served on a silver salver (not a tray dear, we don’t use a tray in the evening) came at 6.45pm sharp, to coincide with the Archers on Radio 4. Which, when the BBC thoughtlessly changed the time to 7pm, caused consternation to many a genteel lady of a advanced years, I can tell you.
So trays, these are lovely. By Rachel Powell. If you’ve got a little time, lay the tray and carry it somewhere nice. It makes everything better.
The range, which is called woodstock, also includes plates for toast – see above. Toast is for breakfast though, not for tea. Cake is for tea. And whatever you’ve eaten, you’ll need a tea towel for the drying up.
Have a lovely day everyone.
