My British fiancé, Richard, came with a dowry. Lest anyone think I married money, china and sterling-for-eight, let me set you straight: Richard’s dowry was a huge, wooden salad bowl, a carpet sweeper and a stool. My dowry had the china, sterling and a vacuum cleaner.
No stools were made for Charles III’s coronation, although many chairs have been for important guests. What a shame
The salad bowl was significant to our courtship as it held the grand salads that Richard indulged in on his terrace in Grandvaux, a tiny village, above Lutry on Lac Léman. When our courting became significant, Richard wooed me with his salads – heaps of the freshest lettuce, sliced tomatoes, spring onions, beetroot and cucumbers bought at the Lutry Saturday marché and sprinkled with his mother’s vinaigrette, consisting of the usual basics plus milk. The bachelor carpet sweeper went the minute we became engaged over Christmas 1971. I had a Hoover.
The stool was not just any stool. It was the stool Richard’s godfather, Roger Wilson, Bishop of Chichester, sat on for four hours during the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953, nibbling on Aunt Joyce’s cucumber sandwiches that he’d hidden under his mitre to stave off hunger. Following the coronation, those who sat on stools (bishops and pages to peers) and coronation chairs (peers and their spouses) could purchase them. The Wilsons paid four pounds seven shillings for the plain oak stool, covered in the same blue-green velvet, trimmed in gold braid, of the chairs. The stools were leftovers from the Queen’s father, George VI’s coronation in 1937, thanks to the postwar austerity the country was still suffering from.
No stools were made for Charles III’s coronation, although many chairs have been for important guests. What a shame. I am wondering if those dignitaries will be able to purchase the chairs – and for how much, of course. The stool stands beside me as I wonder if I should pack it with the 50 years of memorabilia from our marriage. I am moving from Montecito to Burgundy to be with my family following Richard’s passing last September.
The memories are legend to me. They begin with Richard and I setting out in February 1972 in his TR6 for the UK to meet his family in Hove, his chums from his London days after Oxford, a visit to the Palace of Chichester to meet the Wilsons and collect the stool, followed by an overnight stay with his old friend from Uppingham before venturing to Scotland to meet more members of the Corner clan.
I remember the warm reception in Hove – my first experience at having a bed warmed by a pan filled with coals – the acceptance of mates who couldn’t believe the 39-year-old was finally going to end his bachelor days thanks to an American. The high tea served in the Palace, replete with lapsang souchong, delicate pastries and the thinnest of cucumber sandwiches – the same sandwiches that uncle Roger had under his mitre, while his bishop’s bum sat on the stool at the coronation – was an important first. The delicate stuffing of the stool into the boot of the TR6, necessitating putting the TR6 top down (it was February!) and putting our suitcase behind the seats was insane. We froze en route to Richard’s friends in Sheffield, where they took the stool and offered to ship it to Lausanne.
The stool has travelled far since that eventful trip, now 51 years ago. It has moved from Switzerland, to Belgium, to Cape Cod, to Connecticut, to Manhattan, to Scottsdale, to Montecito. It has been sat on by children and grandchildren, family and friends and most recently held a chess board, while Richard played chess with his mate, Ed. I think Richard would agree with me that the stool has travelled enough and that our stool is a rarity, having been used in two coronations – one recently fetched £6,900 at Christie’s. Being a Scot, Richard would say, ‘Sell it and dine well off it with family and friends in Burgundy.’
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