Viewers of early evening TV may recognise the title of this piece as that of a programme that airs on BBC2. It is a gentle, heart-warming antidote to the mass-produced, throwaway society in which we live. The premise is that divers owners, usually of a mature age, arrive with items of quality and value, even if that is merely sentimental value, that have seen better days and are thus in need of restoration and repair. These items are widely varied – a piece of furniture, a clock, some porcelain, a rocking horse, a WWII leather jacket, a steam-powered toy ship, an oil-painting. Every item leaves in a much-improved condition, usually to gasps of admiration, shock and, not rarely, pure emotion. The venue is a rather splendid thatched oak barn at The Weald and Downland Living Museum in West Sussex, alas externally adorned with a slightly tacky, incongruous, electric light-bulb ‘Repair Shop’ sign.
Jay Blades does the meeting and greeting and for the rest of the time wafts around, generally being affable, getting in the way of the experts and not being useful. Each artisan has a specialist skill, quite often teaming up to bring their combined experience to bear where multiple talents are required.
But why is it that people want these items restored? Here’s a box of bits that was once a camera. Why not just chuck it? Digital photography is cheap, convenient and quick – yet soulless. We never find out how much time and effort is expended on each restoration and who covers some quite considerable costs. One assumes that the BBC funds the programme along with the wages, materials and equipment. Some of the restorations are vastly time-consuming and complex and probably not commercially viable. But then that’s the point. Commercialism is not what the programme is about. Every item means something and has a story to tell. They are heirlooms. They hold memories. They are links to the past. They are possessions to pass on to future generations. And that is why the owners are so emotionally attached. The items belonged to parents, grandparents and other predecessors who must not be forgotten. In turn, they too must not be forgotten. It seems to spring from the fear, uncertainty and doubt surrounding death, or at least, a refusal to accept the finality of death. Greatly esteemed forebear is looking down with pride and approval on the restoration. When the current generation passes away, the thought of being forgotten can’t be contemplated. Solomon observed that humans have eternity within their hearts. We don’t want to die. We don’t want our loved-ones to die. It seems so unnatural yet so inevitable. So we keep their memory alive through heirlooms which, from time-to-time, need some TLC. These items become memorials in their own right.
But will the coming generations who have known only this consumer society have any regard for keepsakes and heirlooms that once belonged to predecessors they never knew? Or will it all be sold-off and dumped to fund lifestyle, or even just to keep the roof over the head? I fear so…
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