A questioner said:
We pulled down a false wall in the cellar of our 1857 house and found this! What is it? Any idea?
May be an image of water heater and hearth
Some of the people comments about this found were:
How come no one talking about the tea kettle that’s just suspended in the air
Weird it was covered
My mother cooked on one of these, she made amazing meals, also bread and cakes, Friday was bake day. We lived on the moors in the borders of England and Scotland. I now live in western Maryland, US.
Excellent find, too bad it was not a treasure chest
That is beautiful. An antique dealer will give you quite a lot of money for that. I wouldn’t move it or touch it until I talk to antique dealers.
What an amazing find. I wonder why the former owners covered that up.
Nice I would start tearing down other walls maybe find something else!
It was probably too heavy to get it out of the cellar so they left it.
Wooooow lucky you I would be over the moon and use it with pride … I remember staying with my nan at weekends she had one and remember her having an iron on there to do her ironing … and doing toast on the fire it was lovely… lucky you 
What a treasure
So the original kitchen may have been in the cellar or it was the kitchen for the servants. Love it
I’d leave it right there. Dust it off. Then design around it. It would be the focal point of your room.
NO!!!is it full size or a child’s size? Whatever! What a FIND!
It appears like they intentionally closed up the fireplace with stove and kettles intact for a future find like this. As a builder/contractor we almost always leave little mementoes or time capsules in the wall or closed off portions of the build. We often include owners information and pictures as well as our information. Coins from the year we did the project. Even bran new tape measures or hammers. Sometimes I’ve included brief essays on current events or political thoughts. It’s fun.
Imagine putting a wall up with the kettles still on the stove!
It looks child Size. That’s truly amazing!
Do you think this was original kitchen?
Wow! They left the tea pots in there!!
I used to black lead one of these for my gran, when I was a child. Of black lead can still be bought ot will come up like new.
That old black grate is in great condition. So what are you going to do with it?
What are your thoughts?
Owning an old house often feels like holding a piece of history in your hands. Each creak and groan of the floorboards, each worn corner, and each weathered brick tells a story. When we bought our 1857 home, we knew it had secrets. Little did we know that one of its most remarkable stories was waiting to be uncovered behind a false wall in the cellar.
The Discovery
Our journey began with a simple home improvement project. The cellar, with its stone walls and cool, damp air, had always intrigued us. One wall, in particular, seemed different. It sounded hollow when tapped and had an odd, almost hidden, seam running down its length. Curiosity got the better of us, and with a few tools and a lot of determination, we decided to investigate.
As we carefully dismantled the wall, brick by brick, our anticipation grew. Finally, the last layer crumbled away to reveal a dusty, forgotten room. What lay within was beyond our wildest dreams.
The Hidden Room
The room was like a time capsule, sealed away and untouched for decades. Dust motes danced in the beams of our flashlights, illuminating a collection of objects that seemed frozen in time. We found old furniture, crates filled with yellowing papers, and a variety of curious artifacts.
Treasures and Traces of the Past
Among the most fascinating finds were:
Antique Furniture: A beautifully crafted wooden rocking chair, a small writing desk, and a trunk filled with linens and clothing from the 19th century.
Historical Documents: Letters, diaries, and legal papers that offered a glimpse into the lives of the home’s previous occupants. One particularly poignant diary detailed the daily life of a woman who lived in the house during the Civil War.
Vintage Tools and Equipment: A collection of old tools, a sewing machine, and even an early model of a phonograph.
Personal Items: Family photographs, a set of silverware, and a few pieces of jewelry that likely held sentimental value.
Piecing Together the Past
As we sifted through the items, we began to piece together the story of the house and its inhabitants. The documents revealed that the house had been a refuge during tumultuous times. The hidden room might have been used to store valuables or even serve as a safe haven during periods of unrest.
One particularly fascinating letter was from a former owner to a relative, describing how the false wall was constructed to protect the family’s most prized possessions from potential looters during the Civil War. This discovery added a layer of historical significance to our home, connecting us to the broader tapestry of American history.
Preserving Our Find
Realizing the importance of our discovery, we decided to preserve and document everything we found. We contacted local historians and museums, who were thrilled at the prospect of examining the artifacts and documents. We even received guidance on how to properly preserve the items to ensure they remained in good condition.
A New Chapter for Our Home
Uncovering the hidden room has deepened our appreciation for our historic home. It’s more than just a place to live; it’s a repository of memories and stories that have transcended generations. We plan to incorporate some of the artifacts into our home decor, creating a small museum-like display to share the history with visitors and future generations.
Conclusion
Our discovery behind the false wall in the cellar of our 1857 house has been nothing short of extraordinary. It serves as a reminder that the past is always with us, waiting to be uncovered and appreciated. As we continue to explore and restore our home, we look forward to uncovering more secrets and preserving the rich history that lies within its walls.
A Stranger Volunteered to Hold My Grandson at the Laundromat — His Next Action Left Me Breathless
When my washing machine broke while I was babysitting my grandson, I reluctantly headed to the laundromat. A kind stranger offered to help by holding the baby while I sorted clothes. Grateful, I accepted, but when I turned around minutes later, I saw something that made my blood run cold.
I’d been counting down the days, practically bursting with excitement. My first weekend alone with little Tommy, my precious grandson. At 58, I thought I’d seen it all, done it all. But nothing could have prepared me for the rollercoaster of emotions that lay ahead.
The day finally arrived. Sarah, my daughter, and her husband Mike pulled up in their sensible SUV, packed to the brim with what looked like enough baby gear to stock a small daycare.
“Mom, you sure you’re gonna be okay?” Sarah asked for what felt like the millionth time, her brow furrowed with that new-mom worry I remembered all too well.
I waved her off with a confident smile. “Honey, I raised you, didn’t I? We’ll be just fine. Now scoot! You two deserve this break.”
As they drove away, I turned to Tommy, nestled in my arms, his tiny fingers curled around my thumb. “It’s just you and me now, little man,” I cooed. “We’re gonna have the best time.”
I had it all planned out: cuddles, bottles, naps, and playtime, all neatly scheduled. What could possibly go wrong?
Famous last words.
It started with a gurgle. Not the adorable baby kind, but the ominous rumble of my ancient washing machine giving up the ghost.
I stared at the growing puddle on my laundry room floor, surrounded by a mountain of tiny onesies and burp cloths.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, feeling my perfect weekend plans crumble. Tommy chose that moment to unleash an impressive spit-up all over his last clean outfit.
I took a deep breath. “Okay, Grammy’s got this. We’ll just pop down to the laundromat. No big deal, right?”
Oh, how wrong I was.
The local laundromat was a relic from the ’80s, all buzzing fluorescent lights and the acrid smell of too much detergent.
I juggled Tommy, the diaper bag, and an overflowing laundry basket, feeling like I was performing some sort of demented circus act.
“Need a hand there, ma’am?”
I turned to see a man about my age, all salt-and-pepper hair and a grandfatherly smile.
Under normal circumstances, I might have politely declined. But with Tommy starting to fuss and my arms about to give out, that offer of help was too tempting to resist.
“Oh, would you mind? Just for a moment while I get this started,” I said, relief flooding through me.
He reached for Tommy, his weathered hands gentle as he cradled my grandson. “No trouble at all. Reminds me of when my own were little.”
I turned to the washing machine, fumbling with quarters and detergent pods. The familiar motions were soothing, and I found myself relaxing. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
That’s when I felt it. A prickle at the back of my neck, a sudden silence that felt oppressive. I glanced back, more out of instinct than any genuine concern.
My heart stopped.
Tommy, my precious baby grandson, had something bright and colorful in his tiny mouth. A Tide pod. And that “helpful” stranger? He was just standing there, smiling like everything was fine.
“No!” The scream tore from my throat as I lunged forward, my hands shaking so badly I could barely grab Tommy.
I pried the pod from his mouth, my mind reeling with horrible possibilities. What if I hadn’t turned around? What if he’d swallowed it?
I turned back to the strange man in a fury.
“What were you thinking?” I yelled at the man, clutching Tommy to my chest. “Don’t you know how dangerous these are?”
He just shrugged, that infuriating smile still in place. “Kids put everything in their mouths. No harm done.”
“No harm done? Are you mad?” I snatched up a detergent pod and thrust it toward him. “Here, why don’t you eat one then and we’ll see how it agrees with you!”
The man raised his hands and backed away. “What? No ways. It’s not like he got any, he was just nibbling on the edge…”
“Nibble on the edge then!” I snapped. I was practically stuffing the pod in his mouth at this point, I was so angry!
“Leave me alone, you crazy Karen!” The man tugged the pod from my fingers and threw it aside. “Fine thanks I’m getting for trying to help you.”
I wanted to shake him, to make him understand the gravity of what could have happened. I may well have done something crazy too, but Tommy was crying now, big hiccuping sobs that matched the frantic beating of my heart.
“You, are an absolute menace!” I yelled at the man as I started grabbing my things. “And an idiot, too, if you think it’s harmless to let kids chew on whatever they put in their mouths.”
I snatched up the washing basket, not caring about the wet clothes left behind or the quarters wasted.
All that mattered was getting Tommy out of there, away from that clueless man and his careless disregard for a baby’s safety.
The drive home was a blur. Tommy’s cries from the backseat felt like an accusation. How could I have been so stupid? So careless?
I’d handed my grandson over to a complete stranger, all because I was too proud to admit I might need more help than I’d thought.
Back home, I collapsed onto the couch, Tommy held tight against me. He was still crying, and I couldn’t help wondering if he’d swallowed some of the chemicals after all.
My hands were still shaking as I took out my phone and called my doctor. I couldn’t stop the tears that came, hot and heavy, when the receptionist picked up.
“Miss Carlson?” I sobbed. “This is Margo. Please, can I speak to Dr. Thompson? It’s urgent.”
The receptionist quickly put me through, and I explained everything to Dr. Thompson. He asked me a series of questions, like whether Tommy was vomiting or experiencing any trouble breathing.
“No, none of that, doctor,” I replied.
“It seems like you got lucky then, Margo,” he replied, “but keep a close eye on that grandson of yours and get him to the hospital immediately if he starts wheezing, coughing, or vomiting, okay?”
I promised I would, thanked Dr. Thompson, and ended the call. His words had given me some relief, but the “what ifs” kept playing through my mind like some horrible movie I couldn’t turn off.
What if I hadn’t looked back in time? What if Tommy had swallowed that pod? What if, what if, what if…
As the adrenaline faded, exhaustion set in. But even as my body begged for rest, my mind wouldn’t quiet.
The weight of responsibility I’d taken on hit me full force. This wasn’t like babysitting for a few hours. This was a whole weekend where I was solely responsible for this tiny, precious life.
I looked down at Tommy, now sleeping peacefully against my chest, unaware of how close we’d come to disaster. His little rosebud mouth, the one that had so nearly ingested something so dangerous, now puckered slightly in sleep.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” I whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Grammy promises to do better.”
And in that moment, I made a vow. Never again would I let my pride or anyone else’s apparent helpfulness put Tommy at risk. From now on, it was just us: Grammy and Tommy against the world.
The rest of the weekend passed in a blur of hypervigilance. Every little sound had me on edge, every potential hazard magnified in my mind.
By the time Sarah and Mike returned, I was a wrung-out mess of nerves and sleep deprivation.
“Mom, are you okay?” Sarah asked, concern etching her features as she took in my disheveled appearance.
I plastered on a smile, handing over a happily gurgling Tommy. “Just fine, honey. We had a wonderful time, didn’t we, little man?”
As I watched them drive away, relief and guilt warred within me. I’d kept Tommy safe in the end. But the close call at the laundromat would haunt me for a long time to come.
I trudged back inside, eyeing the pile of still-unwashed laundry. With a sigh, I picked up the phone.
“Hello? I’d like to order a new washing machine, please. ASAP.”
Some lessons, it seems, come at a higher price than others. But if it meant keeping my grandson safe, no cost was too great. After all, that’s what being a grandmother is all about: love, learning, and sometimes, hard-won wisdom.
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