A teapot shares its memories.

My name is Brown Betty; at least, that's what everyone calls me. I've lived in large and small houses with large and small families, and I've seen some sights, I can tell you.

I'm a teapot: I can make ten cups of tea all in one go, but lately things have changed. My owner never has ten visitors.

All of a sudden I'm far too big and old fashioned. Apparently, I take up too much space in her smart kitchen. She's brought herself a shiny new aluminium teapot and doesn't need me anymore.

So here I am, on a shelf in the charity shop sitting side by side with her mother's old-fashioned tea set.

There's a lady behind the counter called Lizzie. She polishes me every morning. The shop is busy all day with an endless stream of visitors. Some come to chat with Lizzie, and others come to have a look round - but nobody wants me. I shine on my shelf trying to catch their attention, but it really is very different for an old Brown Betty like me.

Ah, here's someone. She's picking me up, taking off my lid and looking inside. Now she's putting me gently back on the shelf.

"No, no, far too big, I need something smaller," she says to Lizzie.

So I'm still here on my shelf, watching and waiting for the next prospective buyer. Here's another one. She's also having a good look and shaking me up and down.

"No, no, won't do at all," she's says, "... lid rattles."

Thank goodness she's gone. Didn't like her at all, put me down with a great thump, she did, it's a wonder that I'm still in one piece.

Someone else has come into the shop. Lizzie is talking to her.

"Hello, Joan, I've got just what you're looking for... on the shelf over there."

Joan is walking towards my shelf. She's picked me up and holding me gently, she's looking inside.

"Oh, yes, thanks Joan, this'll do nicely. Just right for Tuesday afternoons when my friends come to play cards."

Good, yes, it looks like I'm going to be useful again.
"I'll wrap it up for you." Lizzie is wrapping me in soft tissue.

Ooh that's nice. Joan is carrying me home carefully.
Oh, yes, I like it in Joan's kitchen. I have a new coat, blue and yellow to match her tea set. Every Tuesday I make tea for her friends. There's usually eight or nine. My tea is so good that they all have a second cup. I'm so useful now and Joan dries me gently with her yellow tea cloth when I've done my work for the day.

The trouble is - it seems that real happiness is too good to be true . Linda and Susan are in the kitchen today: they're Joan's daughters. There have been so many visitors here for tea, but the strange thing is I haven't seen Joan all day. Come to think of it, I haven't seen her for a number of days. Linda and Susan are talking about clearing out Joan's flat!

"Sue, if there's anything you and Alec would like," Linda is saying, "you'd better tell me before the dealer comes."

"Oh, yes, please, I'd like the large brown teapot. It'll go well in my kitchen. It's just the right colour."

Linda is wrapping me now. She handles me roughly. No soft tissue this time... yesterday's old newspaper cradles my base. She's putting me into an old plastic shopping bag.

So this is my new home. I'm sitting on Sue's worktop in pride of place, on a white ceramic teapot stand. I've got a different coat, a horrible, stained brown cosy. There's a brown gingham cloth on the table and that's stained as well.

All in all, this is not a nice place. There's something here that's not right. Sue and Alec, he lives here as well, never hug or kiss, they're always shouting at each other. Now, in Joan's home she was always hugging and kissing her visitors. It was a very happy home. Nobody seemed to mind me watching. I was always the centre of attention on Joan's table. But I've been here a week and I haven't made any tea yet. They make tea in a mug with a tea bag! Oh, how standards are slipping. Why did they have to choose me? I'm just something to show off, something to look good in their kitchen. I feel so neglected.

They're shouting more than usual today. Alec is quite rude to Sue sometimes. Oh my goodness! She's picked me up and I'm flying through the air, aiming straight at Alec's head. Oh no! He ducked and I've crashed into the wall and landed on the floor. My lid and handle have gone their separate ways. My spout's broken as well. What a sorry sight I am now, no good for anything.

Sue's picked me up together with all my broken pieces. She's carrying me out of the house. I can see the rubbish bin getting closer. Please ... not the rubbish bin. I land inside with a thud.

It's quiet and dark in the bin and it smells foul, but there's a lot of noise outside. Someone's taken the lid off the bin. I'm looking at a man that I don't know. He's picking me up, having a good look inside. What must I look like? I can see myself reflected in his dark glasses, all dirty and broken.

"You're just what I need," he's saying to me, so it looks like I'm on the move again.

'Hey, wait a minute - all my pieces are here as well. You'll need my pieces.' It's too late; he's carrying me away. His hands are warm and muddy but, at least, he's carrying me gently.

"Not far now," the man says.

We're at his house now. I can see a bright yellow front door. He's carrying me through to his kitchen.

"A good wash is what you need, I'll soon have you sparkling again."

He's polished me with a lovely soft yellow cloth. But now he's filling me with water!

'Hey, mister, you can't make tea in me. I've no spout and my lid's long gone!"

"There, you sit there on the windowsill."

This is nice - warm and sunny. So here I am in another new home with another new job, but this one's slightly different. We have an excellent relationship, him and I. I sit contented on the sunny windowsill: he looks after me - and I look after his daffodils.

THE END