The dinner service

It had been a wedding present.
Royal Albert.
Porcelain with a spray of pink roses and a looping band of gold.
Two cracked cups and a missing side plate.
Once for best it saw us all Christened and Christmases as far back as I could remember. Until in the 80’s just after we buried Nan, in her saved for best shoes, it didn’t get put back away.

Except the tureens. Our life didn’t need them.

It had a hot wash (too delicate for the dishwasher.) And then sat with us daily even though the bowls never quite held enough cereal.


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