Concerning Horse Brasses

We never really set by those horse brasses. No sir, we didn't. To us, they were always just artifacts in memory of our Great-Uncle Phil. He was the one with the craze for them. And we acknowledged this craze of his right from the day when we came to live with him. In fact, Robbie, my brother, got sick of those brasses more than once. Perhaps because the only decoration at Great Uncle Phil's huge house were the numerous and endless brasses. Cases after cases of them, there were, all from various places of the world.

We had a huge house too, once. It was taken, nay, all was taken from us. When our parents had boarded that train to Surrey, we had everything. Then, by that evening, after the dreadful accident, we had nothing. And not until we were told that Great Uncle Phil had our custody, did we feel that we belonged somewhere again. Even if it was somewhere we had only been to once. But Uncle was nice. And He was never short of wealth either, being a merchant. He took care of us, raised us and made sure we made something of ourselves. For that, we were forever grateful to him. Now, Robbie was in France, studying art, while I cooked for a living, at least that's what I thought.

We always knew Uncle had been preposterously diabetic, having rather a stubborn sweet tooth. But unfortunately, the sugar caught up with his heart. After all, he was eighty. And after a week-long medical stint, he was given peace. Now, the question of his huge Yorkshire house and all the contents was there to be solved. But that question of the huge house was solved rather embarrassingly by the courts, which held that Uncle was in huge debt with some dealers of his and that the house would have to be turned over to them. This grew chagrin from our perspective obviously, as we later found out that Uncle had willed it to us.

There was one consolation though, if at all. All the furniture and the horse brasses were to be shared by both of us (What a pity the brasses were still there). Of course, Robbie opposed vehemently to taking the horse brasses. With one swift look of malicious disgust, he rejected them. And nobody else took them either. Secretly, both of us didn't want it because of Uncle's memories. This actually made us a trifle scared of it. I remember that Mr. Frank Nugget across the street used to pay pretty generous compliments to the brass collection. "Ar! Finest one for miles, that collection is!" he used to say. Let alone finest, Robbie and I couldn't see the finer aspect of it. We hadn't seen Mr. Frank for a long time. We liked him. Last we heard he was at his sister's in Stanton.

Well, not wanting to seem ignorant of Uncle's collection and not having the heart to mercilessly abandon them, the only choice I had was to take them to my apartment in London. While talking to us about the brasses and in instances when we complained of his craze, Uncle used to often tell us –"Someday, these brasses will prove useful for you!"

I took them to London and thought of selling them, at first. And many people recommended the same. But neither at Yorkshire, where Uncle lived, nor in London, were there any takers or collectors of these brasses. If there were, they were hard to find. I even placed an advertisement in newspapers inviting buyers. But none came. Robbie suggested approaching the National Society of Brass Collectors, for donating or selling them there. But it seemed formidable to even contact them, much less meet them. Finally, after many attempts to strike a meeting, they regretted that only Members or their recommendations could deal with them. And that was that, regarding the brasses, for I had other things to attend to. I let them lie in my hall, as a souvenir, it would seem.

My catering projects weren't really going well. People wanted something new today. And even a slight recognition of a known taste found rejection. And London was a city full of demanding people, only satisfied with anything, be it food, clothing, accessories, tailor-made for them.