The true story of a Triang house

 If you have followed my blog you know that I recently had to downsize from a large house to a small rented flat. All my dollhouses and most of my supplies are in storage until I find a new place to live. Until then, a new dollhouse is the last thing I need. And yet this is exactly what I have just purchased.

I was on a walking holiday in Penzance, Cornwall, and in the first afternoon my friend and I were strolling around in pouring rain, looking into antique shops. In one of them, I asked casually: "You don't seem to have any dollhouse stuff..." They said: "No, no stuff, but we have a dollhouse, with stuff". And then I saw it. And fell in love.

I cannot say that I have always wanted a Triang, but they are among my favourites in the Museum of Childhood, because they are both modern and traditional. Some time ago, knowing that I would be leaving the UK soon, I thought that I should consider buying dollhouse stuff that would be hard to get elsewhere. There is of course ebay and other online outlets, but shipping becomes prohibitive. Anyway, it was just a thought, and it wasn't specifically about Triang. Or maybe it was. But I don't think I would have bought a Triang on ebay, although there are plenty. It's different when you have the object of your desire right in front of you.

However, we had two days of walking, and nine hours of return train journey with two changes, so buying a dollhouse to transport from Penzance to Cambridge didn't seem a good idea at all. Yet all the time while I was climbing up and down Cornwall coast path, the Triang was calling to me. I knew it would haunt me until the end of my days. I had no idea what the shop would want for it, and it was total madness, just forget it.

That evening, I went to ebay on my phone and looked what Triangs were sold for. If my friend agreed to go back to that shop, I would inquire about the price, and if it was within reason, I would maybe, mind I said maybe, tentatively consider buying it. During our walk the next day, I said to my friend: "You know, I really want that dollhouse", to which she said, helpfully: "Then I think you should get it". She is not a dollhouse person, but she recognises a passion when she sees it. With two hours before our train home, we went to the shop, and I asked the price, and, satisfied, I asked whether they would be able to pack it so that I could take it on the train. (Yes, I did ask about delivery, but it would probably cost twice the price of the house).

I am sure this kind person will remember me forever. My friend and I went to local Tesco and brought back several cardboard boxes. They weren't large enough, but we cut them and fixed them together with tape, and more tape, and much, much more tape. It wasn't heavy, but bulky. The outdoor equipment store might have luggage wheels, but apparently such a thing isn't in demand any longer, because everyone has wheelie bags. I also thought about a large canvass bag or something, and then the antique dealer said they knew a shop nearby that sold everything, and called and inquired, and yes, they had superlarge laundry bags for two pounds, and we measured the now packed dollhouse, and my friend was an angel and ran to that shop, because our train was leaving soon, and we still had our luggage to collect from our hotel. Luckily, Penzance is not a very large town.

(As a side comment, I have seen people carrying these plastic chequered laundry bags and always tell myself that I would rather die than be seen carrying one). 

We got on the train, and the huge laundry bag fit into the luggage shelf, and then we ran across Paddington station to the underground, and from underground to King's Cross to catch the last train to Cambridge, me carrying this enormous bag and thinking what an utterly crazy thing I had just done, and why didn't my friend stop me. Because if she had said, as she should have, "Don't be silly, you cannot take this dollhouse on the train", I would have agreed. Moreover, I have no space for it in my flat. Although of course I will find space.

Isn't it a beauty?

I did some quick research online, so I now know that it is Triang #62, manufactured in the 1950s. If I had grown up in the UK I would probably have owned one like it. According to the antique dealer, it had only had one owner who will now be my age, if not dead (likely, and her children got rid of it together with other old rubbish from mum's attic). 

It needs some repairs: one window missing, another broken; gable beams missing, and many other small things I discovered on closer inspection. In the coming weeks, or more likely months I will be learning about Triang and about restoring old dollhouses in a gentle way that preserves the original as much as possible. Some furniture came with it, but not all to my liking. I have some perfect objects in storage when I one day can take it back. 

So watch this space - I will report from thoughtful and responsible restoration work and share my new knowledge about this exciting piece. A whole new world is opening in front of me.