Where: Mrs Whiting’s Boarding House

Who: Mrs Whiting and her husbands

This vase is my late husband, Arthur Giddings. Arthur was such a sweet man, very gentle with me, but quite weak of chest. He inhaled a child’s milk tooth while sorting out in the heaps one day and within a week was a vase. Mr Shanks, my second husband, proved to have a most provoking temper under his great oiled moustache. One morning I woke and there beside me, was this great heavy thing; Mr Shanks had turned paper slicer. He’s dreadful sharp, careful how you handle him. But Mr Whiting was a very different sort of case indeed. I cannot help but grow melancholy when I think of him. I have felt loneliness since Mr Whiting became a handbell.

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