Given to me by my grandmother when I was fifteen or sixteen (that would be 1965-1966).
Plain white bone. Tremendous snap. Sharp as no tomorrow. Made -- literally -- right down the road from where I was born.
Had
no idea what the heck I had.
Carried it to England in the USAF. Somehow, it didn't come back with me.
I felt the loss, but had trouble describing the thing to people (yeah, I had this great little pocket knife by Holley --
who's Holley? -- but I lost it . . .) and then, a couple of months ago, I found a copy online. Some wiseacre used the word "Wharncliffe" to describe a knife, and I had to look it up. A search turned up pictures of two of them. One had just sold on eBay . . . for more than $400.
For crying out loud! That little ten dollar slipjoint . . . going for hundreds.
Didn't do anything at all to improve my feeling of loss.
However . . . (cue dramatic music) . . . I now know what I'm looking for. All I have to do is
a) accumulate enough cash, and
b) convince my wife that it's worth doing.
(That may fly, as it's less than the rifle she knows I want.)
Some examples:
Mine looked just like this, but in white bone.
Somewhere, a sad-looking LOL cat gazes longingly at a white Holley, over the caption,
"WANT!"