Tins, tins and more tins.

I love a good old rusty, dented tin and so it seems do a lot of you. So much more a glamorous receptacle for storing things in than a plastic box. Tins have been the ultimate in recycled packaging for a long time now; one of the first biscuit tins being designed for Huntley and Palmers in the 1860's.  People hold on to them, many ending up in sheds or lurking in attics stuffed with rusting nails or old buttons.

One of my favourite tins is one that I found in my grandmothers bedside drawer and in it were all manner of things that had been special to her. 

Ribbons from First communions tucked around pendants of the Virgin Mary. Rites of passage in a tin, carefully folded. I put it back in its drawer. There to stay.

Tins were often given as gifts with toffees or biscuits contained within, taken abroad to family members to remind them of home or as souvenirs. Their decoration has included everything from works of art to cartoon characters, budgies to kingfishers, rural scenes to kitsch photographs of floral arrangements.

I love nothing more than coming across a great big haul of tins in all shapes and sizes. Someone's collection, often with items still contained within.

Imagine my immense joy on purchasing all of these on a recent forage. Some were rusted shut. One had a shilling and a two-shilling coin nestled within.

One was filled with never used bandages still in their original 1950's packaging, for a never occurring emergency, but just in case.

One had neatly folded plastic shoulder guards to protect ladies clothes whilst washing their hair, together with a knitted hair cowl.

All kept in tins. Hidden away. To be opened again like a treasure chest on someones passing.