The Affairs Of The Groom George

The Affairs Of The Groom George


The Groom George a Silver Egg Coddler with eagle finial


Upon four dainty, curved limbs the bulk of my frame stands, erect and never floundering. The bulk is more of a hybrid between a globe and a chest. Covered from head to foot in iridescent skin, I stand. Do I grow tired? Only in the scenery, never in chore. Within my loins I prepare some morsels for the family, a simple yet so enriching part of many a meal. For I incubate eggs unto the boiling point, serving them to utter perfection: warm, soft, and fresh. The Groom George is my name, and honoured I always am, even when unnoticed – but ever appreciated.

All the other silverware are slightly jealous of my role in the spotlight. I enjoy my status among the silver class, sitting at the dinner table for lengthy periods of time. I see myself as crowned a king with the feathered emblem of freedom perched atop my head. Long ago, my kinsmen and I were forged of pure silver – in the 1880's I believe, nearing the eve of Queen Victoria's prolonged reign over Great Britain. My kinsmen, an egg rack and a little spirt burner, have seen me through many years of service, we work flawlessly together. Today still both the rack and the spirt burner remain my close companions. We are a set; they are complimentary, and they complete me, and I them.

From the Mappin and Webb metal shop we were placed in a package, our handler taking special care not to damage the eagle with which my lid is adorned. The package was laid with countless others. With one unassuming postal box a set of shining instruments were being sent along on their way. They were to find a new life with abundant purpose once unwrapped by some lady or nobleman, ruling over some old, spacious mansion.

From London, I was carried to Sheffield, a pleasurable town. There I found a home in the grand household of a cheery family. I remained there for three generations. Each day saw me serving a dozen eggs to the heads of the household, their children and guests.

My capacity for cooking was never wasted. A flame lit beneath my bottom, I prepared boiled eggs for stomachs awaiting them. I was honoured to be present for many worthwhile conversations. My job has blessed me with many joys, particularly the family reunions around the holidays, the supreme one being Easter Sunday. On that day, as one might expect, I, the Groom George, and my kinsmen were used regularly for the cooking of eggs for the hunt. This hunt was an amusing game the children played. Since we were a big part of it, the youths were engrossed with us as well.

Alas, such a life could not go on forever. Upon the death of our last mistress, myself, my silver mates, and many of our co-workers were polished one final time and put on display. In the days following, crowds of people came through, complete strangers, examining us and everything else. Eventually bought, we have fortunately remained together since, exchanging hands a half dozen times until being purchased online. Now we eagerly await a new adventure in a new home... 

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Written by John Tuttle

John Tuttle is a Catholic man with a passion for storytelling in practically any format. Creator of wHat iF Studios' short films and podcasts, he loves writing on numerous topics. Published by Submittable, Lit Up, Seton Magazine, and others, he functions as a literary editor for the publication Written Tales.

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