Mine is made of corrugated green glass and it has been a fixture on the kitchen bench all of my life, in Brisbane, Adelaide and now in Perth. I’m not sure exactly when Mum bought the butter dish, or perhaps it was a gift, but, as a small child, everyone’s Australian mum had a similar one sitting on the kitchen bench or table.

As a little girl in Brisbane, Queensland sometimes Mum had to pop our butter dish into the kerosene fridge on the veranda, or the icebox, to cool the butter down before placing the dish on the dining table. There was a matching bread box, also made of green glass, in which hand-sliced pieces of bread were stored for those people who ate bread with their meal.

Mum didn’t eat bread with her dinner, she considered it to be ‘common’, as her French mother taught her. However, I observed, most of the men at our dinner table usually tucked into a slice or two of our home-made wholemeal bread, lavishly spread with some of Grandma’s home-made butter, fresh from the farm.

In Adelaide, the problem with the butter in the green glass dish seemed to be one of hard, rather than soft, butter. I was about 8 years old and was helping Mum to prepare for Sunday afternoon tea, which a monthly ritual in our home. Grandpa always came, as did Auntie Joan and as many of her 8 children she could fit into her little Mayflower car and some of Mum’s female friends or work colleagues, making a group of 12 or more hungry people.

My task was to make the asparagus rolls, a most complicated job for a small girl standing on a stool at the kitchen bench. Mum had sliced the bread thinly and opened the can of asparagus spears for me, which were draining in the colander. My next step was to cut off the crusts and lightly roll each bread slice with the rolling pin, and I managed each of these jobs easily, piling the slices into two towers. Next came the buttering of the bread – ‘Just spread the butter thinly,’ said Mum, bustling around the kitchen.

This was easier said than done! I loaded the butter onto the knife, a hard chunk of it, and lowered the knife onto the bread as I drew the knife towards me. Disaster! The bread tore as the hard butter clung to the knife and I was faced with a huge rip. “Just do another one, carefully,’ snapped Mum, as she filled brandy snaps with cream, with one eye on the clock.

After 5 ripped and torn slices were discarded, she placed the green butter dish over some hot water to softer the granite-like butter. Ahhh! The power of steam worked its magic and softened the butter into a smooth and spreadable consistency and the bread, sprinkled with grated cheese, topped with the asparagus spear, rolled and fastened with a toothpick turned into a pile of glorious rolls.

When Mum died, the green glass butter dish was one of those possessions which came my way, my sister and her family preferring margarine to butter. Since 1979 this relic of an earlier era has resided on my kitchen bench, holding a neat half pound of butter at the ready. The golden butter held inside has spread hundreds of loaves for school lunches, greased many cake tins, been creamed with sugar to form the bases of cakes and pastries, slathered onto ears of golden sweet corn or fresh pancakes or, best of all, spread onto a freshly baked scone!

Nowadays, every time I place it on the table when entertaining friends to a casual meal, invariably someone will tell a story about a similar dish their mother had, especially if they, like I, grew up in the 1950’s. My son, recently staying with us from Sydney, asked if he could have it as the ‘retro’ look is ‘big’ amongst his friends. I had to reluctantly decline. I can’t quite see this piece of 1940’s kitchenalia in a slick modern minimalist Sydney kitchen with granite benches and all mod cons!

It is cracked through the bottom now, and the top has some chips missing from the rim, but it sits, quite harmoniously on the bench top of our 1880’s Victorian weatherboard cottage. The green glass looks cosy with the willow patterned plates, Mum’s old bread board and knife, with a butter knife at the ready for spreading a smear of sinful butter on to piping hot toast or to add a touch of flavour to steamed vegetables – what bliss! The simple things in life are the best!