- Joined
- Dec 2, 2005
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- 71,458
Leeds, where I live, is Yorkshires biggest town, and claims to have Europes biggest market. I dont know if thats true or not, but its the biggest I know of, and its certainly housed (or at least partly housed) in a very beautiful Victorian building. Its beauty unfortunately, may be its downfall, as for some years greedy eyes in this gentrified town have looked at it with both jealousy and avarice. Some, including perhaps the city council, think the building is wasted on fruit and veg sellers and meat traders, when it could be filled with expensive boutiques selling designer clothes and over-priced undergarments, much like many of the other shops that infest Leeds city centre, drawing in the wealthy from many miles around, but providing little for the local community. With market rents sky-rocketing over the past few years, family businesses that have traded for generations have gone under, while others struggle.
In addition to the indoor market, every day of the week there is an outdoor market, which varies slightly (and sometimes a lot) from day to day. On Thursdays, in addition to the fruit and veg stalls, and the other regular traders, who sell everything from flat-caps to DVDs, there are stalls which sell a variety of second-hand items, from junk to jewellery.
Theres a feller with the broadest of Yorkshire accents who sells lovely old British hand-tools, every one of which has a story. There are stalls that sell every kind of second-hand tat you can imagine. While there is plenty of old cutlery on display, almost entirely junk, I have never seen a single slipjoint being sold.
I like to shop in the market, to feel its sense of community, and exchange casual banter and gallows humour with the stall holders, some of whom Ive known for years. On Thursday I was passing through, when I saw a stall full of bits of tat, old coins, and rusty cheap cutlery. The bloke running it had an old wooden box raised up at the rear of the stall, open, but not actually on display, and jealously guarded. Being tall, I could get a better view than most, and I cast my eye on the contents as best I could. There appeared to be nothing in it worth a second glance, some old brass buttons, old English coins, an ancient single-edged razor, everything was just thrown in together.
I wouldnt normally have bothered, but I asked the bloke if he ever got any old penknives. He told me hed got a new one. Its made in Sheffield, he said. He quoted me a high price, and perhaps noticing my lack of interest, knocked a quid (a £ Sterling) off, which hardly made any difference. I only got a glance at the knife in his hand, and I had little interest in it, particularly when he told me it was stainless.
There was also a small silver fruit knife in the box, equally pricey, and not really my cup of tea. I told the trader I hoped hed have a good day, and walked off to chat to my mate on the vintage record stall. I bought a few provisions, and was on my way home, when my daughter rang me with the happy news that she had given birth to a baby girl, my first grandchild, a few hours before. This was an almost entirely expected event, in fact the baby had arrived bang on time, but I have to say that it still sent me into a bit of an emotional whirl.
I wondered around blissfully happy, and as I found myself walking back towards the market, decided that I might have another look at the stall I had visited earlier, perhaps I had missed something. Maybe Id even buy the fruit knife. I thought it would be good to buy a knife of some sort to mark the occasion.
I went back to the stall, but the trader had gone to move his car in the car park. The trader on the next stall, who was looking after things for the other bloke, was happy to let me have a look through the box. Among a lot of metallic badges (pins) and worthless coins, I found a couple of old small Sheffield slipjoints, but the blades were ground to almost nothing and practically hanging off. The fruit knife turned out to have a broken bolster. However, I immediately spotted that the new knife had a genuine mother of pearl handle, and when I opened it, I saw that, while it was stainless, it was an older Wostenholm.
I had to wait about ten minutes for the trader to come back, with his colleague constantly telling me, only half-jokingly I suspect, to Stick it in thi pocket, and Just tek it! When the trader returned, he was very happy that I wanted to buy the knife, and I told him Id pass by again.
The mother of pearl scales on the Wostenholm penknife are beautiful, and the photographs below dont do them justice at all. The blades are stainless, with the main blade etched Firth Stainless. It is in perfect condition, and I can understand why the trader thought it a contemporary model. It in fact dates from the 1920s or 1930s apparently, between WW1 and WW2 anyway. The main blade is stamped George Wostenholm I.XL Cutlery Sheffield and the smaller blade I.XL George Wostenholm Sheffield England.
An auspicious find hopefully, and Im very pleased with it. Its in my pocket at the moment, and I can think of many occasions when Id choose to carry it. While its lovely to look at though, Im not really a fancy knife man, so if my granddaughter behaves herself, and has a liking for that sort of thing, she may end up with it one day. A little beauty for my little beauty!
And for Duane!
In addition to the indoor market, every day of the week there is an outdoor market, which varies slightly (and sometimes a lot) from day to day. On Thursdays, in addition to the fruit and veg stalls, and the other regular traders, who sell everything from flat-caps to DVDs, there are stalls which sell a variety of second-hand items, from junk to jewellery.
Theres a feller with the broadest of Yorkshire accents who sells lovely old British hand-tools, every one of which has a story. There are stalls that sell every kind of second-hand tat you can imagine. While there is plenty of old cutlery on display, almost entirely junk, I have never seen a single slipjoint being sold.
I like to shop in the market, to feel its sense of community, and exchange casual banter and gallows humour with the stall holders, some of whom Ive known for years. On Thursday I was passing through, when I saw a stall full of bits of tat, old coins, and rusty cheap cutlery. The bloke running it had an old wooden box raised up at the rear of the stall, open, but not actually on display, and jealously guarded. Being tall, I could get a better view than most, and I cast my eye on the contents as best I could. There appeared to be nothing in it worth a second glance, some old brass buttons, old English coins, an ancient single-edged razor, everything was just thrown in together.
I wouldnt normally have bothered, but I asked the bloke if he ever got any old penknives. He told me hed got a new one. Its made in Sheffield, he said. He quoted me a high price, and perhaps noticing my lack of interest, knocked a quid (a £ Sterling) off, which hardly made any difference. I only got a glance at the knife in his hand, and I had little interest in it, particularly when he told me it was stainless.
There was also a small silver fruit knife in the box, equally pricey, and not really my cup of tea. I told the trader I hoped hed have a good day, and walked off to chat to my mate on the vintage record stall. I bought a few provisions, and was on my way home, when my daughter rang me with the happy news that she had given birth to a baby girl, my first grandchild, a few hours before. This was an almost entirely expected event, in fact the baby had arrived bang on time, but I have to say that it still sent me into a bit of an emotional whirl.
I wondered around blissfully happy, and as I found myself walking back towards the market, decided that I might have another look at the stall I had visited earlier, perhaps I had missed something. Maybe Id even buy the fruit knife. I thought it would be good to buy a knife of some sort to mark the occasion.
I went back to the stall, but the trader had gone to move his car in the car park. The trader on the next stall, who was looking after things for the other bloke, was happy to let me have a look through the box. Among a lot of metallic badges (pins) and worthless coins, I found a couple of old small Sheffield slipjoints, but the blades were ground to almost nothing and practically hanging off. The fruit knife turned out to have a broken bolster. However, I immediately spotted that the new knife had a genuine mother of pearl handle, and when I opened it, I saw that, while it was stainless, it was an older Wostenholm.
I had to wait about ten minutes for the trader to come back, with his colleague constantly telling me, only half-jokingly I suspect, to Stick it in thi pocket, and Just tek it! When the trader returned, he was very happy that I wanted to buy the knife, and I told him Id pass by again.
The mother of pearl scales on the Wostenholm penknife are beautiful, and the photographs below dont do them justice at all. The blades are stainless, with the main blade etched Firth Stainless. It is in perfect condition, and I can understand why the trader thought it a contemporary model. It in fact dates from the 1920s or 1930s apparently, between WW1 and WW2 anyway. The main blade is stamped George Wostenholm I.XL Cutlery Sheffield and the smaller blade I.XL George Wostenholm Sheffield England.
An auspicious find hopefully, and Im very pleased with it. Its in my pocket at the moment, and I can think of many occasions when Id choose to carry it. While its lovely to look at though, Im not really a fancy knife man, so if my granddaughter behaves herself, and has a liking for that sort of thing, she may end up with it one day. A little beauty for my little beauty!
And for Duane!
:thumbup:
