Greetings and salutations, everyone; yes, once again it is I, your popular host, Mani the purebred border collie, here to bring you a very short, sentimental post about the rattan couch. You may remember me from such couch-related posts as “The Couch–An Interlude”, among at least a few others.
Here I am in a characteristic pose. It’s true that the guy I live with did lure me up there with a couple of Fruitables, for the purposes of sentimental illustration, but that didn’t matter so much because they’re good.
The guy I live with went over to his mom’s house for a while today. There are lots and lots of pictures to sort through. There was one picture which made him feel very sentimental indeed.
Here is his mom, age almost eleven, with her parents, in their quarters at 23 Upper, Topside, at Fort Mills on Corregidor in the Philippine Islands, in September of 1939. 
Until next time, then.
the miserable gardener 
Wow. At my house, couches never last that long. Rattan or otherwise.
Someone (not saying who) chewed the cushions something fierce; new ones might be appropriate pretty soon.
Oh! Still receiving highest and best use …
Yes, I would agree. I think I’ve said that the guy I live with’s wife would sometimes say a new couch would be nice, and then the guy I live with would remind her of all those nights when they could hear Flurry get up and down from the creaking couch. Sometimes he would sleep with his back facing the front of the couch, fall off, and growl. The old couch remained.
Wow that is amazing! I loved the couch before I knew of it’s history, but now it is even better. Great job taking care of it all these years. You could probably have some cushions made just like the originals. Very special indeed. I love antiques and all the stories that go with them.
The rattan table, with the cast resin skull of a lion on it, and the chairs you sometimes see, are part of the set. There are three tables which nest, I guess they say. The other two tables are downstairs. Looking at pictures, the guy I live with was reminded that there was a circular coffee table, with a glass top, but that was gone a long time ago, and anyway there would be no room for it in our tiny living room.
Love it. Thanks for sharing. Now don’t chew it up!
There’s not much to chew, any more. The cushions are foam rubber (fifty-year-old foam rubber) with some of the original kapok batting, but mostly polyester batting. Flurry, the first purebred border collie who lived here, liked to tear up the couch and eat the batting. The guy I live with still finds batting out in the “way back”. Both Slipper and Chess liked to tear up the couch, too. Chess was especially naughty when it came to rearranging the pillows and shredding the insides.
It is heard to think of an inanimate object as a witness to history, but you might ask the guy you live with to tell you the story of how that couch got from Fort Mills to Colorado. It is probably one heck of a story.
That’s fairly easy. From Corregidor to stateside, Oakwood Avenue in Los Angeles, in 1940, where the guy I live with’s mom and grandmother were living during the war.
Then to the guy I live with’s parents’ house in Long Beach, in the early 1950s. Then to Denver in 1961, when his mom and dad moved there, where it was the furniture first in the breezeway, then in the family room when it was converted to one in 1963.
Then, except for the round table with the glass top, to the guy I live with’s and his wife’s house in 1985, since they had given the couch they had to his sister and her husband, and so a couch was necessary for the new house, and his mom wanted a new couch for her family room, and the guy I live with was ultra-sentimental about the rattan furniture (he adored his grandparents) and they would get tables and chairs as well.
Holy Cow! Like everyone else says, sofas just do not last that long. Mine was from the mid 1950s, but that was about as old of a sofa that I can think of.
Well, the cushions didn’t last so long…
Well, that is understandable. Nonetheless, it is impressive that the rest of it lasted so long.
Well, “impressive” is my middle name. Or it would be if I had one.
The photo from a faraway place and time adds resonance to my favorite picture of you, Mani — from when you were tiny and new to the household. It’s in this post: https://paridevita.com/2015/03/03/the-infernal-machine/
That’s one of my favorites, too. I was pretty cute when I was little, if I do say so myself.
Examining the photo anew: is the white attire of the gentleman officer’s requirement, doctor wear or tropical suiting? All three figures are in white, which is unusual for the period but not the posting. My mother had shoes like those worn by the female figure, and my mother’s Army nurse posting was in the tropics. She served several years and emerged from the tent hosting an all-night officers’ poker game to see Japanese planes bombing Pearl Harbor.
It’s an Army white uniform, worn in the tropics. The guy I live with’s grandfather was an Army doctor, was in New Guinea and the Philippines during the war. The guy I live with adored his grandparents.