1931 Fisher Price Woodsy Wee Zoo

The oldest Fisher Price toy in my collection comes from the company's first year of production in 1931, and is part of the firm's original line of 16 toys. The Woodsy Wee Zoo was one of several sets designed by Margaret Evans Price, wife of company co-founder Irving Price. Margaret Price was an esteemed and accomplished children's writer and illustrator of the time, with a talent for creating charming and colorful characters.

The set is still in its original stone-lithographed cardboard box. I love the caption at the bottom:

Inside, the set nestles in an insert, its name beautifully printed in a cool 1930s font:

The Woodsy Wee Zoo  is comprised of five different wooden animals on wheels, with metal hooks that enable them to join up and form a train. The colorfully lithographed critters include a giraffe, camel, elephant, lion, and bear, with the tallest critter, the giraffe, measuring 5 1/2 inches tall.

A slightly larger set released the same year, the Woosy Wee Circus, included these same animals plus a baby elephant, horse, clown, dog, and monkey.

Attic Find: Vintage Barclay Cowboy & Indian Figures

Every collector dreams about making a great "attic find": discovering a wonderful antique preserved in an attic, packed away and forgotten for decades. Finding such an item can feel like finding buried treasure, and not just because of the piece's monetary value. Particularly with old toys, it can be a warmly rewarding experience to "rescue" a forgotten item from a dim and dusty attic existence. (If you've seen the final Toy Story film, you'll know what a terrible fate attic banishment is for a toy.)

Every so often a news story will feature such a find, like a rare Steiff teddy bear or a valuable painting by a famous artist, discovered by a young couple in the eaves of their newly-purchased fixer-upper. As enthralling as these stories are, such finds are rarer than one might suppose.

I've only had two attic finds so far in my two decades of collecting. Both were low in monetary value, but rich with history and play wear. My favorite is shown below: two late 1940s/early 1950s lead western figures, just 2 3/4 inches tall, made by the Barclay Company.

This dime store duo have endured much play, and were clearly loved by their original owner. Somehow, though, they got left behind when he grew up...the two were discovered under a cracked floorboard in the attic of an abandoned farmhouse. As I hold them now, I wonder: where did they come from? how did they end up under the attic floorboards? who first played with these? what happened to him? does he wonder today where his little cowboy and Indian are? Just a week after we rescued them, the abandoned house was torn down. It was a narrow escape for these two classic American toys.

Changeable Charlie

One of my favorite vintage toys is Changeable Charlie, a classic American toy made from the 1940s through the 1960s. Charlie is a man of many personalities: colorful printed features applied to the sides of multiple wooden blocks can be flipped and repositioned, creating lots of characters.

The package claims an astounding 4,194,304 different combinations are possible:  

"It's a mathematical fact that you can play with 'Changeable Charlie' eight hours a day, five days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, making one change a minute, and not repeat yourself in over thirty-three years! If you want to know how mathematicians figured this out, send us a postal card with your name and address. We'll be delighted to show you how it's done."

Alas, I have to go to work each day, and so have been unable to test this claim. 

This 1948 set features fantastic caricatures.

Changeable Charlie was so popular, it spawned a sequel called Changeable Charlie's Aunt. This set dates from 1960.

Antique Photo Post Card: Boy with Dog Cart

I'm always on the lookout for old photos of children with toys, to complement my toy collections. My most recent find was this, a real photo postcard from 1910, of a little boy posed in a dog cart.

The poor doggy looks very unhappy, but the boy is adorable, as is the message from him on the back of the postcard. Sent to a Mr. John Rurth of Jefferson, Wisconsin on April 28 1910, it reads:  

"What do you think of me now. I grow bigger every day. I have a pony now clear white with brown eyes. I take dinner to Papa with him when Papa is very busy and won't come home for dinner. Harold (last name illegible)."

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: