Luggage, Memories and Art

Suitcases have been an integral part of my life story. They transport all sorts of things from one place to another and they can be powerful metaphors for journeys. My first memories of such items are of my parents’ 1940s Samsonite brown faux leather hard shell suitcases, most likely a wedding gift or purchased for their honeymoon.

The larger of the two suitcases had a wardrobe frame with hangers and to my recollection it was lined with a patterned fabric. They were very much like the one pictured below.

a typical tan suitcase

The only photograph I have depicting either of these suitcases is a priceless image, part of a well-documented event when my father loaded a pile of furniture on top of the car making it looking like the Clampetts from the Beverly Hillbillies during our yearly family vacation visiting my grandmother. This photo shows what appears to be the larger of the suitcases tipped upended on top of the 1962 blue Buick station wagon.

loaded and ready to roll

For most of my growing up years we would travel every summer 800 miles to visit my dad’s family, with a car full of luggage, kids and dogs. The Clampett episode was a one off when my parents needed furniture for their new house they had moved into a couple months prior. Looking back, I’m assuming that my experience of travelling annually to visit loved ones influenced my choice of subject for a demonstration speech I gave in my high school Spanish class pictured below.

Cómo hacer la maleta

I thought ‘How to pack a suitcase’ would be an entertaining focus for this assignment. The photographer for our yearbook happened to be in the class during my delivery and hence this photo has been permanently etched in the Rouser pages for posterity.

I had no idea how prophetic this activity was at the time and how important the suitcase would become as an invaluable functional and metaphorical object in my future.

I received my first proper set of luggage as a high school graduation present from my mother, two cream coloured hard shell Samsonites. Forty years design advancement from my parents’ set meant that they were lighter, more streamline, had wheels, a pull handle and the casing was polypropylene with an injection moulded shell that had a bit of give – not quite so rigid.

These suitcases served me well over the next 20 years. They were drug back and forth to and from university, taken along on several holidays, accompanied me on my honeymoon, helped me moved across country from Chicago to Seattle. Finally these two workhorses along with 14 other pieces of our family’s luggage (most of the others bought in charity shops for about $1) ended up venturing to the UK bringing clothing, children’s toys, games, art supplies, books and toiletries. After over two decades, those suitcases are sadly now long gone after leading much appreciated useful lives.

Due to the nature of my life, frequently going from one country to another, the suitcase became objectified over the years becoming a symbol of travel and journeys. It was inevitable that it would make its way into my artwork. I have used suitcases, suitcase handles and luggage tags all within my assemblage art. Here are three examples.

The first was a commission representing the life of the Murray family, who enjoyed travelling. I also included other objects representing the family such as the children’s shoes.

Life's Open Book (detail), Assemblage 1999, © Kate Eggleston-Wirtz 

The second example is one of two suitcases that were part of an art installation in the What Would You Do If? Exhibition at Salford Museum in 2006. The installation was a response to working creatively with older people about their of evacuation during WW II. The suitcase pictured below is about a Jewish boy who fled his home in Hockenheim to settle in the North West of England. Included in the artwork were photographs and relevant text. By using objects creatively in this way, it helps to 

bring stories alive.

What Would You Do If? Exhibition (detail) 2006, Salford Museum, © Kate Eggleston-Wirtz 

The third example is a more recent artwork, the Insect Hotel, commissioned by Manchester Museum for my Artist in Residence in 2020 set within the Beauty and the Beasts: falling in love with insects 

exhibition.

The artwork was constructed out of a grandfather clock and was a creative interpretation of an insect hotel. I consulted with others about what would be included in this insect hotel. I received answers 
such as a spa, suitcases and leaves for bedding. One can find a suitcase handle on the top right of the artwork. The artwork is on permanent display on the 3rd floor of the newly refurbished museum.

The Insect Hotel and detail, Assemblage 2020, Manchester Museum, © Kate Eggleston-Wirtz 

I was creatively inspired by the museum’s entomology collection not only to produce the 3-d Insect Hotel but also to produce a collection of poems about different insects and other small creatures with the same title. Here are the first and last poems of the collection:

Welcome

This hotel will make you smile.

Check it out and stay awhile.
Have we got a room for you?
Tiny friends indeed we do.
Tuck in tunnels warm and snug.
Perfect beds for any bug.
Underneath leaf litter - crunch.
Might find something good for lunch.
Time for dinner. Time for tea.
Door is open. Here’s the key.
Come on in - creep or crawling.
Fly in visit - comforts calling.
Call it home - a new frontier.
Be our guest, your home is here.


Letter of Appreciation

Dear Guest,
Thank you little friend for coming,
we truly have been blessed.
You came, checked into our hotel,
you’ve been a perfect guest.

No other visitors were stung
or eaten, thankfully.
We hope that you’ve enjoyed your time
and that you would agree

your bed was cosy, belly fed,
the room kept out the wind and rain;
you felt at home and free from harm.
Please visit us again.

Kind Regards,
Manager and Staff
The Insect Hotel

And finally for a bit of nonsensical fun written this week inspired by the ‘How to Pack a Suitcase’ demonstration speech…

In the Bag

Lug the luggage,
gage the gage.
Lug the lug nut,
page by page.
Bag the baggage,
throw in stuff.
Stuff the suitcase,
that’s enough!

Thank you for reading!
Kate J

Sources
Samsonite, 2024.Samsonite Our History. https://www.samsonite.co.uk/history/ Accessed 28 March.
Travel and Leisure, 2022. The Evolution of Luggage: A Timeline. https://www.travelandleisure.com/style/evolution-of-luggage Accessed 28 March, 2024.

Read More

Luggage

I’ve never really understood suitcases. Never had one. And as for the evil contraptions of umbrellas, well that’s another story. I basically prefer having both hands free when I’m travelling hence I’ve always travelled with a rucksack and waterproofs.

But I do have a soft spot for that golden age of travel between, let’s say, the 1860s and 1930s when railway station platforms and the sides of liners in dock would be awash with luggage of all shapes and sizes. When I started to think about the subject I began to wonder how on earth the suitcases, bags and cases actually got sorted out.

At the beginning of the railway era, moving passengers and their luggage trunks was little more than a lottery. Luggage not stored in basically more than a rudimentary goods wagon was lifted onto carriage roofs, strapped down and protected by tarpaulin. Any trunks not securely fastened might tumble off and be lost in transit.

By the 1870s, the use of railway guards vans—containing floor space for trunks and parcels, and a fold down seat and desk for the guard—was far more prevalent.

In time there was further expansion of specialist vehicles that came about according to former National Railway Museum carriage curator David Jenkinson, as ‘the natural outcome of the sheer volume of luggage which, increasingly, during late Victorian and Edwardian days, the ever-growing numbers of passengers wished to take with them on their journeys.’

Railway companies became adept managers of the passenger luggage process, allowing travellers to forward-plan individual requirements. At stations carefully labelled luggage could be left in advance of travel. This then could be put on a train ahead of departure or alternatively placed on the train on the day of travel by guards who ensured personal possessions arrived safely at the destination with the traveller. Passengers simply collected their luggage at journey’s end or arranged to have it delivered to where they were staying by the railway company.

Travel and holiday planning were part of a new-wave industry attracting the attentions of specialist organisations. Firms such as Pickfords Travel included a separate connected business for the cartage of passengers’ advanced luggage to Victoria and other main London stations. This was a new outlet for which the company received a business commission.

Into this mix could be added left luggage and baggage storage for which railway stations were ideal. For couples or family groups, the opportunity of being able to leave luggage in secure and staffed facilities safely for just a few hours or for longer periods was a tremendous traveller enhancement, especially for passengers waiting for a train at a main station terminus that could be several hours later. For passengers with a minimal amount of luggage such as an attaché, brief case or small suitcase, convenient self-service locker facilities emerged at mainline railway stations.

As a result, the management of passenger luggage became a key part of the railway company’s remit. Railway porters strolling along station platforms with their trucks were familiar sights. For passengers not wishing to leave their luggage to the safety of the railway company, carriage compartments with special overhead racks provided perfect sanctuary.

By the 1930s travelling in style became de-rigueur, refined luggage was a status symbol, part of a sense of individual style, and just as important as personal appearance. Not perhaps the first consideration of the many thousands heading to places like Blackpool in the season.

But mention of carriage compartments and luggage (and, of course, style) always reminds me that you can still get a tiny sense of that 1930s travel by going to the Severn Valley Railway. How I love that Kidderminster station.

Severn Valley Railway with Geraldine

Kidderminster to Bewdley: 1120 hrs
I could have stayed all day
surrounded by suitcases and the 30s
but we had a train to catch
and oh my word did we get one
seven carriages in brown and cream
we got a compartment
slid the door shut
put on do not disturb faces
until we were safely in Worcestershire
where elephants roamed
as you said they would

Bewdley to Arley: 1134 hrs
We’d calmed down by now
time to stroll the corridor
nodding to other travelers
I do wish I’d had a hat
you went for your camera
but didn’t come back
which I thought was odd
but nowhere near as odd
as finding you gesticulating
A Strap A Strap
this window has a strap.

Arley to Highley: 1150 hrs
We settled into the rhythms
of our Midland adolescence
you seemed to stay by the river
while I let patches of thought
hitch onto clouds of white smoke
drifting into woods
on the other side of the valley.

Highley to Hampton Loade: 1201 hrs
We got back on track
( I’m allowed to say that )
and began to notice
wooden cabins with verandah views
of us on a steam train
at the end of well tended gardens
we waved at people on the river path
they waved back
I wondered if the VR in SVR
had more than one meaning
nothing is this perfect

Hampton Loade to Bridgenorth: 1213 hrs
The Guard slid open the door
to clip our cardboard tickets
and how I wanted to be him
while you could be one of the porters
waistcoat and sleeves rolled up
chatting to passengers
in the snug waiting rooms
or guiding folk off the train
that you in your peaked cap
wave off with whistle and flag
and I was just about to rant
that this is how it should be
instead of desolate toiletless
perspex-ridden staff sacked platforms
when we arrived spot on 1228
the end of the line
but not if you include tea
and scones at the station café.

First published in The Journal, Oct 21

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

Read More