It’s a humble thing at first glance — solid brass, weighty for its size, with the faint patina of a tool that’s been used but never neglected. There’s no obvious clue to its purpose, aside from the way it seems built to bear weight. The engraving reads “Ausinel” and “Dee Why,” two names that feel local and proud, yet offer no easy explanation.
For years, it’s been one of those objects that invites speculation. Too sturdy for ornament, too refined for machinery. I once thought it might have belonged to a workshop or a ship’s galley. But time, and a few conversations with older collectors, revealed something much gentler.
This little brass piece was a step stool — a small, sturdy aid for those who found bending difficult, especially the elderly or those living with arthritis. Its solid construction made it dependable, its compact size easy to keep by the bedside or near a chair. Simple, clever, and deeply human in its purpose.
I first came across one in an antique shop years ago, and since then, I’ve seen two more. Each time, the story was the same: “My grandmother used one of those,” or “Dad said it helped his mother stand when her knees went.” It’s not the sort of thing history books record, yet it tells a story just as real — of aging gracefully, of small inventions that made life a little easier.
Sometimes, the most ordinary objects are the ones that speak most quietly of care.
