The Legend of Stanley: Heirloom, Doorstop, Cigarette Snuffer

Meet Stanley. He’s a hand-carved wooden figure who currently holds down the crucial household role of official doorstop.

Why Stanley, you ask? He’s named after Henry Morton Stanley, the 19th-century journalist who famously uttered, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" on November 10, 1871, when he finally tracked down the missing Scottish missionary in Ujiji, near Lake Tanganyika in modern-day Tanzania.

Stanley entered our family history through my grandmother, Rose. Orphaned at just ten years old, Rose was sent to a workhouse where she was trained in the fine arts of Edwardian domestic service: cooking, sewing, and childcare. Upon leaving, she landed a job as a cook, housekeeper, and nanny in Evesham, right on the edge of the Cotswolds. She worked for the Shoveltons, a family of dentists based on Vine Street.

See the blog “My Nan's early life, from being orphaned, to the workhouse, to working in service.”

Rose clearly made an impression. Mrs. Marian Shovelton and my grandmother formed such a close bond that my own mother was named Marian after her. During one of their African travels, the Shoveltons picked up this wooden carving as a gift for Rose. Stanley came home with her, and he has been holding open doors in our family for as long as I can remember.

Naturally, Stanley’s life hasn't been entirely peaceful.

Years ago when my mum was a teenager, she was upstairs in her bedroom sneaking a cheeky, highly forbidden cigarette. Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs and smelling smoke in the air, panic set in. In a stroke of desperate, teenage genius, she lifted up Stanley’s hat, stubbed out the cigarette right on his head, and hid the butt underneath.

If you look closely at him today, you can still see the burn mark on the wood, a permanent testament to my mum’s hasty attempt to avoid getting grounded.

Stanley may have started his life in East Africa and spent a few decades as a polite souvenir, but he earned his keep as the ultimate accomplice in teenage rebellion. He remains on the floor where he belongs: keeping our doors open, holding our family history, and keeping my mum’s secret safe for the rest of time.