Manchester: And A Tale Of An Olive Tree Chandelier

One of my favourite blogs is My Marrakesh - I find Maryam's writing utterly mesmerising and I love seeing her beautiful photographs of Marrakech (where Andre and I honeymooned) and her stunning guesthouse, Peacock Pavilions. A few years ago, I remember (because I have the kind of strange brain that remembers these things) seeing a re-tweet from Maryam to a hotel furniture supplier who had offered to provide chairs for the guesthouse. "Thank you", said Maryam, "but everything at Peacock Pavilions is handmade".

Pardonnez-moi? I thought. Everything is handmade? How is this possible? Surely everyone buys the occasional lamp from John Lewis? But indeed, everything at Peacock Pavilions is handmade- by Maryam herself, by local artisans, by craftsmen and women Maryam has met on her travels, by local artisans using materials created by craftsmen and women Maryam has met on her travels. The place looks extraordinary, and is on my bucket list of places to visit, hopefully for a special anniversary trip one year in the near future.

And at the time, reading Maryam's tweet, I hoped one day to live in a beautiful house of my own filled to the brim with lovely handmade furniture and accessories, each telling a story.

The tale of the olive tree chandelier begins several years ago, when an English girl stood in a 700 year old church to marry a Portuguese boy, surrounded by olive trees. "Can we decorate the church with olive trees?", the English girl asked hopefully, having always dreamed of getting arrived in an Italian olive grove. "Yes, what a lovely idea", said the vicar. And so they did.

And then the olive trees lived happily ever after in the English girl and Portuguese boy's secret garden - until one day... no! There was a great snowfall and a freezing winter and the olive trees lost all their leaves and they never came back.

But the English girl loved her olive trees because of what they meant and so when they moved to their beautiful old Victorian house, the trees went with them.

By now, the English girl and the Portuguese girl had been blessed with the arrival first of a beautiful dark-eyed daughter called Eva, and then an equally beautiful dark-eyed daughter called Natalia. And the English girl decided to use one of the olive trees that she stood under when she married the Portuguese boy to make a chandelier for their baby girl's bedroom. So she cut...

{And well, why not wear neon-pink shorts while doing so.}

And she measured...

{And yes, why not rest your drill bit on a fifty-year old hand-embroidered tablecloth.}

And the Portuguese boy, with the help of the dark-eyed baby daughter, magically drilled a hole straight down the middle of the olive trunk and out the other end.

They threaded lighting flex through...

And wired up a bulb holder. But oh! It just didn't look right.

So the English girl bought a special chandelier candle bulb holder and sleeve, and took a piece of tree bark that had softened in the autumn rain, and she wrapped it round the bulb holder and tied it with string and trimmed it with scissors and glued it in place.

And it was much better that way.

And then the English girl strung the olive tree chandelier with beautiful vintage lead crystals that she had bought at midnight the year before while her dark-eyed newborn baby daughter slept peacefully in her arms, knowing that one day she would use them to make something beautiful and special and brimming with memories.

And the crystals sparkled in the afternoon sunshine of a Manchester autumn day.

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