Admit it: those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer are OVER. Autumn’s here. Time to rinse out the swimsuits, deflate the floaties, and figure out what to do with that beach bag bulging with souvenir sea shells. Hmmm…
Well, you could always make something.

No kidding. Items made entirely of shells, covered with shells, or just dotted with the occasional accent shell, have been tops as summery souvenirs since at least the 1700s. In 1703, a London woman offered her services as an instructor in the delicate art of “shell work in flowers, sconces, and rocks.” Mary Granville Delany, another turn-of-the-18th-century Londoner, was renowned for her challenging shell projects. Among them: a chapel ceiling, with shells woven into a pattern resembling flower garlands. The fascination with shell craft as a refined art form continued well into the Victorian era. The 1876 guide “Ladies’ Fancy Work” offered detailed instructions (plus glue recipes) for using shells to form “exquisitely beautiful articles of adornment for parlor or dressing table.” As one British publication of the time put it, shells were “so brightly clean, so ornamental to a boudoir” that shell craft was a pursuit “peculiarly suited to the ladies.”

Tell that to the Marines. During the 1800s, many seafaring men brought “sailor’s valentines” to the girls back home. These octagonal wooden boxes had covers decorated with elaborate shell designs. Appropriate sentiments (e.g., “To My Sweetheart”), were picked out in shells of a contrasting color. Romantic legend has it that, in their downtime, these water-weary voyagers not only carved the boxes, but also came up with their intricate shell-patterned lids. Just another way of whiling away the hours between monsoons.

A more likely (if less sigh-inducing) theory is that even the Ancient Mariner, after spending months at sea, knew better than to return to his sweetheart empty-handed. Last-minute peace offerings were called for, and the Caribbean craftsmen of Barbados were happy to oblige. The labels found on many “sailor’s valentines” list their actual source as “Native Manufacturers in Fancy Work.”

By the mid-20th century, sailors were no longer crafting (or at any rate purchasing) their valentines, and other forms of shell art had become a bit less refined. Now, any gift shop claiming even the slightest proximity to water wasn’t complete without a shellcraft selection. Vacationers loved shell souvenirs. They were fun to look at, and cleverly made. They were inexpensive, so no need to shell out a bundle. And best of all, travelers could take them home and display them on the mantel. It was an unobtrusive way of telling the neighbors, “Guess where WE went this summer?”

“Hey there, fella! Step right up and take yer chance! Knock down the milk bottles, and win a kewpie for your girlie! All it takes is one thin dime!”

Lines like that have been circulating around carnivals for years… and over those years, lots of fellas have been falling for it. Usually, it took plenty more than “one thin dime” to knock over those bottles, but eventually, down they went. The determined, now dimeless, player (or more likely, his “girlie”), proceeded merrily down the midway, the proud possessor of a chalk-ware “kewpie doll.”

While oversized stuffed animals rule the fairground roost today, it wasn’t always so. During the heyday of traveling carnivals, from the Depression years of the 1930s well into the 1950s, chalkware figurines were the sought-after prizes in games of chance. Originally called “kewpie dolls,” after the Rose O’Neil impish bald-headed cherubs which populated their ranks, chalkware characters actually came in many guises. There were quaint animals, from piggy bank pigs to pipe-smoking chimps … jolly clowns and seductive “sweater girls”… patriotic portrayals of George Washington and Native Americans… plus pop-culture favorites, ranging from the Lone Ranger to the Easter Bunny.

Carnival-goers loved chalkware figurines because they were colorful and fun. Carnival operators loved them because they were inexpensive: a 1940 catalog, from novelty supplier Gellman Bros. of Minneapolis, listed a ‘Popeye” chalk lookalike for 13 cents (or just a few pennies over that “one thin dime”).

Before wending its way to the midway, chalkware had occupied a loftier spot. Dur-ing the 1800s and early 1900s, there were those who admired Staffordshire por-celain figurines, but were unable to afford them. Staffordshire-like chalk reproductions of elegant couples and docile animals proved an acceptable substitute. And, since chalk-ware was essentially molded plaster of Paris, cold-painted in watercolors or oils, the results fit almost every budget (Today, those early figurines, attributed to the Pennsylvania Dutch, are as sought-after as their porcelain predecessors).