What does precious really mean? Precious and valuable – or precious and valuable only to you?

Guardian Australia staff realised that when it comes to the treasures we inexplicably keep, it can mean both, and there are some items that must go into hiding during the annual throwout because of their sentimental value, no matter how unattractive they are.

Mike Bowers’ ‘jacaranda’ salt and pepper shakers

They lived in a glass-fronted cabinet with all of my mother’s treasures. They shared the cabinet with the “special” crockery, serving dishes purchased by my father while on assignments in far-flung parts of the globe and fine bone china teacups which belonged to my grandmother. Throughout my childhood I had always been attracted to them, I don’t really know why, they are quite ugly and look like purple pottery broccoli.

Their attraction for me is partly the way they look and the story behind their arrival in the Bowers house. The salt and pepper shakers were purchased by my parents while on their honeymoon in 1956, a motoring tour of New South Wales in their Ford Zephyr (a dog of a car prone to breakdowns). They were bought in Grafton and are of course miniatures of that city’s famed jacaranda trees.



I inherited them when my mother moved out of the family home in Canberra a few years ago. They are now my most treasured ugly treasure.

Calla Wahlquist’s Carmen Miranda teapot

My grandmother had a collection of more than 300 teapots: teeny tiny ones; multistorey teapot-and-cup arrangements sculpted into a condo for mice; several different versions of London Bridge. She had every kind of teapot except one actually used for making tea, preferring bags. We decorated the church with teapots at her funeral, much to the reverend’s displeasure, and each took one home after the wake. I chose Carmen.

Carmen: a multistorey teapot-and-cup arrangement

Patrick Keneally’s antique biscuit barrel

This biscuit tin was given to me by my grandfather before he died and although I treasure it for sentimental reasons, others are not so taken with it.

My grandfather was born in 1904 and this sat on the shelf of the general store his parents ran on the mid-north coast of NSW when he was a child, so it’s probably more than 100 years old. The metal lid and the lining is silver but badly corroded over the decades. The inside is porcelain and the word biscuits can be seen on the front if you look hard. I don’t know all that much else about where or when it was made. I keep meaning to get it restored, but since it has been banned from anywhere but my cupboard there is not much point right now. I’ve never actually used it for storing biscuits, but if I fill it up with Tim-Tams one day, maybe then it might be welcomed back on to the mantlepiece.

A biscuit tin that’s likely over a century old

David Fanner’s bottom rock

I found the bottom rock while exploring the forest that backed on to our family home. The exact moment of discovery has been lost in the mists of time, but I was probably seven or eight years old. What is clear is that I thought an arse-shaped rock was hilarious. We were living overseas at the time and it was one of the very few things I brought home to Australia.

I’m not sure why I still have the bottom rock … a tangible, craggy connection to the lost innocence of youth? Or maybe because it’s a fun talking point when we have guests over and they see it sitting proudly on our bookshelf. When not functioning as a piece of art, the bottom rock serves a secondary, more practical function as our household hammer. I think that’s how it has managed to survive my wife’s periodic decluttering purges.

The bottom rock is a joke that has withstood the test of time – and doubles as a household hammer

Graham Russell’s blue fish

My ugly treasure – an 1874 roach made in Beswick, England – might once have actually been worth a few bucks. They go for hundreds of dollars on eBay. Of course I’m talking about the ones that haven’t been toyed with by children and lost a couple of fins (and had them glued back on).

My treasure, let’s call him Roachy, is loved because he has always been there. His spot in my childhood London home was on a grand shelving unit in the living room, surrounded by images of a basin-haircutted young me and hand-painted Russian dolls and plates (my mother was born in Leningrad).

Through the various tumults and changes of family life, that home was to be sold, and I harboured plans to one day move to Australia. The day this home was to be cleared out came in a rush, even though it took ages to shovel the chintz of generations out of the door. Slightly panicked, I felt a need to “remember my roots”. A memento was needed, and it had be very easy to grab at the last minute. Roachy is about the width of a handspan.

He has since been with me through four different homes and various countries and he has always appeared content with his lot on the shelf, always looking at me but never judging me. Absolutely no one else in my family has any love for him whatsoever.

Roachy the blue fish has survived the various tumults and changes of family life

Bridie Jabour’s creepy doll

I was very close to my nana as a child – I even chucked sickies from school to hang out with her, I was so devoted. When she died I was devastated and inconsolable. Three months later it was my eighth birthday and I was given a porcelain doll she had picked out for me before she died. Her name was Kathleen and 22 years later she still lives with me.

I have carted her everywhere I have lived since I left home, and weathered the complaints of flatmates, friends, my husband and numerous slightly freaked-out tradies. No matter where I put her, she is always: a) instantly noticed and; b) labelled creepy. And even though I know I can’t refute that, I will be carrying her around with me until it’s time for my granddaughter to inherit her and endure Kathleen’s unsettling legacy.

Kathleen has weathered the complaints of flatmates, friends and freaked-out tradies

Gabrielle Jackson’s beautiful-but-ugly fruit bowl

I bought this bowl from an antique stall in Camden Passage in Islington, north London. I loved it the minute I set eyes on it and couldn’t believe it only cost me £20. From then on, it has taken prime position in every place I’ve lived. It has moved with me seven times, even taking the big journey from London to Sydney. I never doubted its extraordinary beauty until I moved in with my boyfriend last year. He kept finding new places for it – places where nobody could see it.

When I asked him how he could not like my art deco treasure, he looked at me and said, “Oh art deco, is it?” I started to doubt myself, and eventually I let it sit in the spare room instead of on the dining table. It was a little bit ugly, I realised, but wasn’t that part of its charm?

And then something extraordinary happened. I offered up my precious bowl for this feature and decided I’d better do some research before claiming it as an “art deco” treasure. And guess what I found? It is an art deco treasure! It’s a Brockwitz 1941 art deco pink glass fruit bowl designed by Friedrich Scheiner. And though I hate to admit it, the photo here makes it look a lot more beautiful than it really is – it remains in real life, my beautiful ugly treasure.

A Brockwitz 1941 art deco fruit bowl designed by Friedrich Scheiner

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