A Clay Pot Story

Examples of my clay flower pots, very probably made with clay excavated when building London's Piccadilly tube line

Photo: Chronica Domus

Last month, I found myself on the other side of the telephone from Guy Wolff, the very jolly and talented potter behind Guy Wolff Pottery, a small family run business in Connecticut that focuses on making clay flower pots inspired by 18th and 19th century designs.  While placing an order for one of the very beautiful Peale pots, Mr. Wolff regaled me with some interesting tales about his family background and how he became a potter, an art form and skill I've greatly admired since applying my not-so-steady hand to it during my years of school pottery lessons.  We quickly moved onto the subject of where I was born; obviously, he could guess I was English from my accent.  When I told him I was born and bred in London, he asked if I had seen the short video clip produced in the early 1950s by British Pathé, the media organization behind cinema newsreels that were screened through the second world war informing the general populous of current world news events.  I had neither seen nor heard of the clip but was interested in viewing it with alacrity. So, upon concluding my telephone call with Mr. Wolff, off I went in search of what it was that had so intrigued the famous potter.

The rough interior of my old flower pot exhibiting all the hallmarks of being hand thrown

Photo: Chronica Domus

The video, which can be found here, and runs for just over a minute and a half, delighted me on several counts. Firstly, it tells a story of how the dense sticky London clay was discovered during the excavation work performed in preparation for constructing the Piccadilly underground line, which runs right by, and possibly under my childhood home. The Piccadilly line is a route I know intimately from having ridden it countless times during my lifetime. The clay was used to produce an estimated seven million flower pots per year, to be sold to Londoners and plant enthusiasts, all fired in a kiln that had been in continual use since 1860 and located on White Heart Lane.

 Two of my smallest pots, known as Tom Thumb size, hold succulents and stand less than three inches in height

Photo: Chronica Domus

It pleased me no end to view and learn a little of the history regarding my old stomping ground.  To add to my delight, I concluded that by statistical probability and geographical location, I likely own several of these little clay pots. Had you asked me where these pots were made prior to my watching the video, I would not have had a clue, but now I am almost certain as to their local origin.

A potter's smeared fingerprint, immortalized in clay

Photo: Chronica Domus

There are two styles of flower pot shown in the video clip.  The first, located on the majority of the drying racks, has a simple beaded edge running around the rim.  The style shown on the bottom shelf is of a plain tapered shape, just like the ones I own. All of my pots were picked up in a small antiques shop just off the Portobello Road, London's world-famous antiques market, almost twenty years ago. I recall them costing no more than a few pounds each.  The shop contained a beguiling selection of antique and vintage garden implements and there were many, many of these horticultural pots, nested one within the other in short rows, and held in wooden shallow seed crates, all for sale.  I would have purchased several more were it not for the practicalities and considerations of packing them up safely for the transatlantic journey to their new home.

A gathering of my antique clay flower pots 

Photo: Chronica Domus

I love the simple shape of these vessels and the fact that they are so distinguishable from today's mass produced, machine made clay pots with their flawless smooth appearance and perfectly uniform lines.  No, my little clay pots are lopsided and charmingly rustic in their appearance.  Some are so thin towards the rim that they've crumbled away over the years since they were expertly and quickly thrown on the potter's wheel.  With careful examination, one can even see the potter's fingerprints embedded within the clay for future gardeners to discover.

If you are interested in learning more about the history of London's old potteries, I encourage you to visit this page for a fascinating look into the story of a long-lost industry.

 Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.