Chocolates were not in great supply when I was young. They were a treat strictly for birthdays, Christmas, and - oh quiver, tremble, quiver - for Valentine's Day! But then it was an adult treat - or for those on the first steps of adulthood. For us not quite up to the bar, it was tins of caramels with fluffy dogs or cats on the lid. But oh, those fancy chocolate boxes my big sisters received.
Just look, they had drawers - many - think of all the stitching things you could pop in one of those, and scented hankies, ribbons and other items too precious to talk about.
This was a favourite box that I coveted so much. It was plain and grown up with a tassel fastener casually sealing the box from prying fingers (which were usually mine, I must admit.) And look.. it has a tray that sits on top, so you can hoard in the secret space beneath precious tiny golden safety pins, mother of pearl buttons, sequins shed from blouses and dresses, needle-threaders, farthings and silver threepenny bits, hankerchiefs flowered with edelweiss, orphan ear-rings and spare thingies that were attached to suspender belts that held up your silk stockings, and no manner of little tokens from your beau.
I coveted these so much and for so long, that my patience and desire eventually paid off. My sisters left to get married, and silly boxes such as these, outgrown, worn and, frankly, so childish were left to me.
And I have had them so long, that now, coming up for air, I realise that they just don't do chocolate boxes like these anymore. For shame. Why ever not!
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