You either love 'em or hate 'em

Despised by minimalists, treasured by those with more eclectic tastes, Staffordshire figures bring humour and merriment wherever they’re put, believes Catriona Gray

- Catriona Gray

WHETHER peering out from a crowded dresser or sitting proudly at each end of a chimneypiece, Staffordshire figures have long been a part of English interiors. The most ubiquitous examples are the china dogs—solemn, upright King Charles spaniels from the reign of Queen Victoria—but they span a much wider period and an extraordinary breadth of subjects, from exotic animals to pastoral scenes and legions of long-forgotten celebrities. Despite their different forms and being made by a number of potteries, they’re curiously easy to spot. Their gaudy appearance, the lively expressions on both people and animals and their simple, earthenware shapes make them instantly identifiable.

In Marmite fashion, Staffordshire figures tend to divide opinions quite strongly—few people view them with ambivalence. Their popularity rises and falls, largely dependent on decorative trends. Minimalists, unsurprisingly, tend to loathe them—they are the epitome of a dust-catcher, serve no purpose other than to entertain, and will look wildly out of place in a home that’s a shrine to grey or beige. Others love them—those who prefer a relaxed environment, their houses filled with armchairs, books, and dogs, with chimneypieces busy with invitations and old wooden dressers brimming with collections of hand-me-down china. Here, the Staffordshire figure comes into its own, adding an element of humour and merriment wherever it is placed.