The Doll's House

When dear old Mrs. Hay went back to town after staying with the Burnells she sent the children a doll's house. It was so big that the carter and Pat carried it into the courtyard, and there it stayed, propped up on two wooden boxes beside the feed-room door. No harm could come of it; it was summer. And perhaps the smell of paint would have gone off by the time it had to be taken in. For, really, the smell of paint coming from that doll's house ("Sweet of old Mrs. Hay, of course; most sweet and generous!") -- but the smell of paint was quite enough to make any one seriously ill, in Aunt Beryl's opinion. Even before the sacking was taken off. And when it was . . .
There stood the doll's house, a dark, oily, spinach green, picked out with bright yellow. Its two solid little chimneys, glued on to the roof, were painted red and white, and the door, gleaming with yellow varnish, was like a little slab of toffee. Four windows, real windows, were divided into panes by a broad streak of green. There was actually a tiny porch, too, painted yellow, with big lumps of congealed paint hanging along the edge.
But perfect, perfect little house! Who could possibly mind the smell? It was part of the joy, part of the newness.

An obvious opening I know, but the excitement, anticipation and grandeur that a doll's house can provide is detailed so beautifully by this story that I couldn't resist borrowing a paragraph or two. I will admit that Katherine Mansfield's words were not the inspiration or even a slight influence on my desire to make a doll's house, as much as I recall enjoying the short story in sixth form English.

The earliest I can remember being interested in doll's houses was when I was around 7 or 8. I would frequently take delight in looking at the pictures of the period houses in the big orange book on our shelves that was The Reader's Digest Things to Make and Do. I don't know if I ever went so far as to ask Dad to make one for me, but looking at the photos was satisfying enough. Shortly after arriving in New Zealand we made friends with the next door neighbours, they had a doll's house. It was fantastic! Rachael and I quickly became friends and playing with the doll's house occupied many a wintery days for us. Especially during school holidays.

Several years later, in 2001 I recall a particularly wet windy day during the holidays in which I decided to make my own doll's house. I will be the first to admit, like many projects I took upon myself during my teens, it didn't turn out too well. It consisted of three cardboard boxes stuck together, and for some reason painted forest green. I have a feeling it was the only colour paint I had at the time. I recall the day so well as it was the day Sir Peter Blake was killed by pirates in the Amazon delta. I caught the news updates in between my painting and gluing.

This recent interest in the creation of my own doll's house was ignited about 6 months ago when Nigel showed me a book at his work about Queen Mary's Dolls House This truly magnificent house is something so impressive and beautiful it can't be anything but an inspiration to someone with a slight interest in making a doll's house. And from that grew what is becoming a keen interest of mine. Several books have been purchased and poured over. Websites about architecture, period furniture and decorating, and how to guides on making houses (of the doll variety) have been looked up and book marked. And now I'm at the point where I'm starting to actually make the house.

As excited as I am to be doing this I'm also under no illusions that it's going to be a long, and expensive project. I'm also well aware that I'm not experienced in such projects and maybe tricky and possibly will not turn out exactly like my plans. But so far I'm enjoying myself and all being well, in however many months it will take, I too will have my very own perfect perfect little house.