Miniature Tin Toy & Candy Shop

I found this antique miniature tin shop on display with a whole town full of other buildings, including a movie theater (with a marquee that read "Moving Pictures"), a drug store, and a red schoolhouse. Sadly I could only afford one, and this was my favorite, of course. Dating from 1914 and measuring just under 3 inches tall, the lithographed tin shop was originally a candy container.

The detail is remarkable
for such a tiny piece.
In the toy window,
you can just make out
a teddy bear, doll,
and red wagon:

German Dollhouse Pastry Shop Revisited

A few months ago, I posted about an antique German dollhouse pastry shop we restored. I've been fiddling around with it since then, trying to get its accessories just right. One of the things I've added is a tiny table and chair, making a little dining corner. The shop is so big, there's plenty of room, and I think the addition has made it more interesting.

I also added a new shopkeeper, who seems to match the surroundings better than her predecessor:

"Hello dears! What can I get for you? 

The coffee cake is particularly lovely today."

Vintage Playtown Meat Market

Dollhouse grocery shops are some of my favorite miniatures to collect. The tiny accessories (cans, boxes, packages, fruits, veggies, cheeses) are fun to find and stock the shelves with. This particular shop has a more limited product range, and it's one that will definitely not appeal to vegetarian readers.

The Playtown Meat Market was made in the 1940s -50s by Playtown Products Co. of New York. Playtown sold a whole range of these little shops, averaging 7 inches tall, including a bakery, general store, grocery shop, supermarket, and a fabulous luncheonette. (Click here to visit a great website featuring many of the Playtown Shops.)

The shops came filled with tiny items.
This one still has most of its original stock,
plaster meats housed behind sliding doors.













The market is just the right size for the contemporary Flagg Family Dollhouse Dolls, who are stocking up their freezer.

Miniature Groceries

Antique dollhouse grocery shops are some of my favorite things to collect. Most were made in Germany, from the mid 1800s all the way through the 1960s. Here are a few accessory pieces I found recently to restock my shelves.

Miniature canned goods (milk, coffee, and sausages): tin cans with paper labels, made in Germany circa the 1930s, 1 1/2 inches tall.

Tiny cheeses: cardboard, composition, and glass. Dish is 1 1/4 inches in diameter, circa 1930s.

Antique Show Report: Tons of Tiny Treasures

The first antique show of the season arrived this past weekend with the stormy spring weather. I gathered up my pocket change and went to see what treasures I could find. My budget was very limited this time, due to an upcoming vacation, so I tried to look only at very small things. Fortunately, there were a lot of very small things! I found:

Some antique dollhouse "tobacco felt" rugs. These 5 inch rugs were given away as premiums with cigarettes and cigars in the early 1900s. In the same booth, I also got a nice old dollhouse plate rack, complete with its plates.

Next, I got a bunch of dollhouse grocery items, all made of wood with paper labels. The largest can is 1 1/4 inches tall, and they all date from the 1920s-30s.

Pigs in Clover, an absolutely impossible hand-held dexterity puzzle from the 1950s, was next:

And my favorite find of all was a little vintage 1960s troll, 3 1/2 inches high, wearing his original outfit and shoes, with very unusual rooted, variegated hair:

Hi!

1950s German Dollhouse Grocery Shop

I just don't seem able to resist these German dollhouse shops. Just when I think I've seen all the varieties there are, another one turns up. This one, from the 1950s, is in a great modern style, a wonderful contrast to my antique versions.

 Measuring a whopping two feet wide, the wooden shop in a period-correct salmon pink color features a fruit and vegetable stand and an unusual pastry case.

The stand holds fruits, veggies, cheeses, sausage, and a rather macabre (by today's standards) pig's head, all made of chalk:

The pastry case is filled with tiny breads and cakes:

The shop came absolutely packed full of what to appear to be its original miniature boxes. My favorite is the "Wackel Peter" package:

There are only three drawers to this shop, which appear to be all it ever had. Kaffee = coffee, Zimmt = cinnamon, and, according to Google Translate, flaumen = flood. Hmmm. Ah, Google thoughtfully asks if I meant "pflaumen," and, if I look closely, I see what may be a "P" trapped under the left side nail, in which case pflaumen = plums, which seem much more likely than floods to be stocked in a grocery store. 

Two of the most interesting items in the shop were these miniature glass bottles of refreshing beverages:

 My family of 1950s Schuco teddy bears are just the right size (and vintage) for this shop. Looks like they're stocking up on cake (and pigs heads...)

1890s German Dollhouse Pastry Shop: A Restoration Project

If you've followed the blog for awhile, you'll  know that I have a thing for antique dollhouse shops. One of the variations I've most longed for was a large-scale, ornate style German model, but when seen, these rare toys were usually priced far out of my price range. 

But then I found this, a big 1890s-early 1900s German dollhouse pastry shop or confectioner's, measuring 23 inches wide and 13 inches tall. As is the case with many old German miniature shops, it had suffered poorly done but well intentioned updates and repairs over the course of its long life.

 In her wonderful book, Doll Kitchens, German author Eva Stille explains that toy kitchens (and by extension their companion pieces, these shops) would be brought down from the attic each Christmastime by parents who would freshen them up with more grocery supplies, a new pie plate or two, and a bright new coat of paint. All winter, the shops and kitchens would entertain the family's children, until, with the warming spring weather, the toys, now depleted of provisions, temporarily lost their interest. They would be packed back up and returned to the attic, as the children moved their play outdoors, only to be brought back down once more, refreshened, and placed under the tree again the next Christmas.

These toys were usually passed down through several generations: Stille gives an example of an 1885 doll kitchen ordered by a wealthy family in Bregenz. The toy was passed down among girls in the family all the way to 1979, when it was bequeathed to the most recent descendant, who was still playing with it at the time of the book's publication in 1988. I've purchased three different antique German dollhouse shops, and each has had evidence of continuous play through at least two generations, with products dating from as early as the 1900s to as late as the 1950s.

This shop last went through a renovation sometime in the 1930s or early '40s. The original dark red stain, particular to many German dollhouse toys of the early 1900s, had been heavily painted over (sloppily) in green and cream kitchen paint, and the remains of the original paper "wood parquet" floor had been covered with linoleum. Bits of trim had broken off, and been reglued or lost. One decorative front pillar was gone, along with the counter. The lovely, handpainted wallpaper was brittle, stained, and torn, and a modern mirror had been installed along the back wall. An electrified Bakelite doorbell had been screwed in, and to finish off the list of indignities suffered by this once grand toy, an infestation of woodworm had occurred.

But large swathes of the original red stain were visible underneath the shelves, and much of the trim remained, as did the drawers with most of their porcelain nameplates, tiny handles, and the matching jars. I loved the idea that it appeared to be a pastry shop or something similar, as one of my most fanatical collecting categories is antique dollhouse cakes.

The price was (relatively) low, due to the condition, and my mother, even though she had never done a dollhouse restoration before, was sure she could handle it. And she did. 

First, everything had to be pulled off and out. (My mother recommended I not watch this part, and I agreed. This step was pretty scary.)

Then, the paint had to be stripped, and all the old repairs disassembled.

At this point, we discovered a stamp and some writing on the underside of the shop, but have been unable to decipher them:

I wish I knew what this said...

 I found a replacement counter, and my mom fabricated the missing front pillar and bits of trim. Then she matched the original, heavily varnished red stain finish almost exactly and reassembled the shop shelves.

 Gluing in process.

Finally, we deliberated over the replacement papers. We weren't able to find the same patterns, but when we saw this combination, it just seemed perfect. The papers are reproductions of antique originals, the closest we could get to the real thing.

 Paper installation underway.

And here's the finished shop:

Loaded up with cakes, pies, baking accessories, and a shopkeeper, too:

 Here's a closeup of the lovely shopkeeper. She carries a big spoon, all ready for customers who would like a sample of the many pudding cakes on display:

 All but one of the drawers still have their original porcelain labels. Some are identifiable (cocoa, bonbons, chocolate) while others aren't, at least to me (geh Aepfel? Bucker?) 

 Here are closeups of some of the antique German made cakes, and the very old compote full of wax fruit:

 This tiny cake has "Germany" stamped into one side.

Some of the little accessories include grocery boxes, a tin plate, a copper bowl, and a cake mold:

Here, one of my favorite miniature dollies tries to decide which treat to buy:

1925 Tootsie Toy Dollhouse

It adds a lot to an antique toy to purchase it directly from the original owner. The trail of provenance is then intact, which adds monetary value, but that isn't really what I mean. It's more of a sentimental quality that can't be quantified...to know that you're only the second person to ever own the toy; to have (hopefully) given the owner, usually elderly, comfort in knowing that their beloved toy will be cared for...these are wonderful things.

I've only ever managed it a few times in my toy collecting career, but one of the most exciting happened last month. A man put his mother's 1925 Tootsie Toy dollhouse up for sale, complete with all the furnishings and accessories she filled it with as a child. The online pictures weren't the clearest, but were enough to reveal there was a lot of vintage Tootsie Toy (TT) furniture inside.

When it arrived, however, it took my breath away. In addition to complete sets of the earliest TT furniture, there were French penny toy pieces, a delicate German tin fireplace, tiny TT streetcars and automobiles, and even a miniature German bisque doll. And everything was in incredible condition.

Two things were clear upon examining the house and its contents: the young girl who owned it filled it with items she got back in the 1920s, probably at a local candy/toy shop; and the grown woman cared for it all lovingly for the next 85 years.

And here it is:

 The front of the 21 inch wide cardboard house opens wide, revealing four front rooms (dining room, living room, bedroom, and nursery), with two back rooms visible beyond the arched doorways.

The back of the house opens as well, allowing access to two small back rooms (kitchen and bathroom):

Let's start our tour in the dining room, furnished with Tootsie Toy's classic 1/2 inch scale painted metal furniture, including a round table, buffet, chairs, and sideboard. (For a sense of scale, the chairs are just 2 inches tall.) This room, like the rest of the house, features printed decor on the walls and floors, including rugs, panelling, tile work, curtains, and paintings:

The adjoining living room stretches the full depth of the house, and is filled with TT pieces, including a sofa, matching chairs, floor lamp, drop leaf desk, a French penny toy telephone (out of scale, but original to the house, so it stays), and a beautiful German tin fireplace, complete with its red foil "fire". Just out of sight in the front left corner is a TT Victrola, while visible on the right is a staircase to the second floor. I added the little china doggie on the sofa, because he just seemed to belong there:

The delicate, German tin fireplace was one of the greatest finds in the house. Here, the doggie curls up in front of the roaring (foil) flames:

Upstairs, the bedroom also stretches the full depth of the house. It contains a TT bedroom set of matching twin beds, dresser, vanity, and chairs, plus a French penny toy sewing machine and a tiny German bisque doll with sleeping "googly" type eyes and a mohair wig:

The little 2 3/4 inch doll was original to the house, and is of a type often referred to as a "candy store doll." These were inexpensive small dolls that were sold at candy shops from the late 1800s - 1930s, where they were displayed alongside the sweets. Little girls would have been able to purchase them with their pocket money. This one was clearly dear to her original owner, and has been lovingly cared for. Even though she's quite homely and a bit out of scale with her surroundings, I wouldn't dream of removing her.

Upstairs, the nursery held a wonderful surprise: beautiful, French-made penny toy furniture, including two tiny beds, a vanity, and a round table with matching chair and bench. These ended up being the only things I removed from the house (after much deliberation), because they perfectly suited another antique dollhouse I had that needed furniture (see it here):

Also in the nursery, and also likely purchased by the original owner as a young girl at her local candy shop, were a tiny Tootsie Toy auto and streetcar (just 1 1/2 inches long), along with a fragile celluloid doll and animal, and more French penny toy pieces: a toy stove and a baby carriage. The survival of these tiny, fragile toys attests to their owner's decades of tender care. 

Turning to the back of the house, the kitchen was a delight, housing not only the appropriate TT furnishings of table, chairs, stove, icebox, sink, and Hoosier cabinet, but also a tiny advertising charm shaped like a ham, a giveaway from Swift's Premium Ham Company.  It's amazing to think of the little girl who first owned this house picking up this charm somewhere, maybe on a trip to the butcher's or grocer's with her mother, and realizing it was just the right size (1 1/4 inches)  for her dollhouse kitchen. And there it has remained all these years...

The final back room is the bath, complete with some of the smallest and rarest TT  pieces: a towel rod and medicine cabinet:

Also visible from the back of the house is the closet under the staircase, which opens:

I've tried to resist adding anything to the house, so as not to spoil its original, "as-found" quality (as mentioned earlier, I just had to put the little doggie in, though, and I did "borrow" the French furniture for a different house). But I temporarily posed some of my miniature dolls and bears inside for a few quick pics:

The way the lighting turned out in this one, my 3 1/2 inch dollhouse lady looks like she's waiting for a surprise party to begin:

A dapper dollhouse man warms his hands at the fire after a night out on the town:

And the Tootsie Toy tea cart is just the right size for a tiny Schuco bear: