#janfan

Ava Ordonia

via GIPHY

Well, hello again, Dear Readers!  I hope your winter season is going well.  Have you been snowed in yet? Did you get the Chanel ball gown in the January sales for that elusive 75% off?  No?  Me neither, but never mind, the February half-term sales will be along soon.

There are lots of conversations going on in the Molluscan household at the moment, but one of the longest and most often recurring concerns the above titled Collective Noun.  With the current decant of the Museum’s collection we are becoming very aware of how many objects we actually have, and how many we have of each kind.  In some cases many more than the obligatory two by two.  The movers are moving the collections rapidly (singing along to Abba as they go) and sliding pillar boxes down the stairs and model trains into the lift, and generally shaking the Mollusc out of her winter torpor.  But, Dear Reader, I digress, as I am wont to do in even the most important meetings.  I suppose that’s better than falling asleep which I’m also known for.  But back to Collective Nouns.

The Collective Noun is a word that describes a group of things, most commonly animals.  They have long been a fascination of mine, ever since I found a list in the library of one of my schools. Some of them are quite old words, such as a cete of badgers, which is a 15th century late Middle English word, and some of them are in common usage, such as a pride of lions, and a herd of cows.  Some, such as a skulk  of foxes and a labour of moles presumably are descriptive of the animal’s stereotype; foxes are always lurking about and moles work blimmin’ hard underground.  But some of the most beautiful and mysterious refer to birds; a pitying of doves; an unkindness of ravens; an ostentation of peacocks.  Why is it a lamentation of swans? And an exaltation of larks? And a siege of herons? I could go on forever!

What started me off on this latest Molluscan ramble was the discovery in the Museum store of a box labelled ‘An enchantment of bullfinches’.  It must have been repurposed from the Natural History store, although it no longer contains taxidermy, now it holds a large ornate rainhead; a lead hopper which sits at the top of a drainpipe to collect rainwater from the gutters on a roof.  So the question for the rest of the family was ‘What’s the collective noun for rainheads?’. A flooding was the first offering from youngest cousin.  He must be speaking from experience since his gutters are never cleaned out properly.  Things carried on in a watery vein for a while and then spread to other parts of the collection.  How about a smoking of chimney pots? And a combustion of engines? The various models stumped us.  Auntie Pauline suggested a catwalk, but I think she must have missed the first part of the conversation and got the wrong end of the stick.  So your mission, Dear Reader, should you choose to accept it, is to come up with some relevant Collective Nouns for all the bits and pieces we have in the Museum’s stores; bricks, tools, castings and patterns, engines, clocks, bicycles, railway signs, drawing instruments, knitting machines, looms, etc., etc., etc.

And of course the perennial question is ‘What’s the collective noun for curators?’  So far my favourite is a keeping but I’m always open to better offers, particularly if it’ll get me out of a meeting.  So send us your ideas, but here’s a warning……………it does get a bit addictive…………before you know it you’ll be looking for a word for a group of plastic milk bottle………..a recycle? ...............and counting passing buses while waiting for your own……..a fullness?

So best of luck, Dear Reader, and, even though it’s late and the Mollusc has only just come out of hibernation, may I wish you all a healthy, happy and fulfilling New Year…..

Best regards

The day I found the impossible object started like any other; I got up at sparrow’s fart, crawled in to work under the influence of industrial strength caffeine, fed the hamsters and cranked up the computer.

But before we go any further, Dear Reader, perhaps a little background wouldn't go amiss here.  About 5 years ago I came across a record on the database which detailed…………or rather didn't detail……an ‘unidentified object’, and gave its location as ‘location unrecorded’.  Oh yes, I said to myself, was that record made after a hefty pub lunch (it was written on the 2nd March, a Friday as it happens) or was it an attempt to catalogue an impossible object?The Impossible Object soon became the Holy Grail of store management.  I imagined wild and wonderful things; was it a narwhal’s tusk, or a finely chased silver pectoral, or William Henry Fox Talbot’s spare camera?Unfortunately……………but let’s digress a bit further.

You see, every item in the Museum’s collection has an individual and unique number.  The Impossible Object’s number is 1990-33/58, this means it entered the Museum in 1990, it is part of the 33rd group to do so and it is number 58 within that group.  Our collections management database, called MODES, is ordered by number, and every piece of information we have about an individual object is added to that electronic record. Or not, as the case may be.

  A big part of my job is ferreting nosily in boxes in the stores; in fact it’s a bit like Christmas every day because all I do is open boxes and find fabulous objects, and that’s how I found the Impossible Object. The box was labelled, rather

intriguingly, ‘Bus material’, so I opened it up and emptied it in preparation for auditing, cleaning and photographing its contents. 1990-33/18, a ticket rack; yep. Click, flash, clean.  1990-33/17, a conductor’s ticket machine; yep. Click, flash, polish.  1990-33/58…………Yes!  Yes! Oh YES! (All those expensive acting lessons from Meg Ryan had finally paid off.) There it was, lying in the bottom of the box, neatly but tightly secured in taped bubble wrap; long, slim, and enigmatic.  

I lifted it gingerly, and then couldn't contain myself……… ripping off the bubble wrap………nearly crying with anticipation………yes……..oh! Yes ..........Oh…………WHAT? Um.

 There it was, lying across my hands in all its simple glory, long, slim and enigmatic, but very obviously not a narwhal’s tusk.  And I know that early Victorian plate cameras were simple things compared to today’s digital machines, but it wasn't one of those either.  I suddenly understood the lack of information on the record - Object name; unidentified object.  Beautifully made in laminated wood with a copper riveted brass fitting at either end……….but still……….an unidentified object.

 So this, Dear Reader, is where you come in.  I need your ideas, your thoughts on the function of this object. The only clue we have is that it is part of a group of bus related items.  It might even be part of the bus itself.  Your mission, should you choose to accept it………….

 Coffee …………..need more coffee…………….