Early yesterday morning I decided to invade my stash of vintage tobaccos to take one of them with me to share with my Saturday morning pipe-smoking crew. Pawing through the drawer, I came upon this old tin of British-production Capstan Yellow, their mild Navy Flake.
I’ve had this old tin for many years. It’s easy to discern from the photos that the tin has has taken a few dings and knocks on its journey from the factory floor to the present. Given all the abuse heaped on it, I felt I was betting against long odds that the tobacco inside would still be good. The seals on these old square tins are easily compromised. I’ve opened pristine-looking vintage tins only to discover dust or mold inside. This tin was anything but pristine.
After breakfast, I settled down on the old blue sofa in Old Virginia Tobacco Company’s back room. I put the tin to my ear and shook it, listening for that dry, tobacco death rattle that compromised tins issue upon being shaken. All I heard was a dull series of thunks as the papered brick of flakes slid slightly from one tin side to the other. I asked my friend, Jim, if he had a quarter I could use to twist the tin lid away.
“I can do better than that,” he replied, handing me a Sacajawea dollar coin. I took the coin and began trying to pry the lid off, but to no avail. Watching me get nowhere with the tin lid, Jim took a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and flipped out the screw-driver-bottle-top opener. I pried the top open and looked down at the crisply folded paper surrounding the flakes.
Scents of port wine, figs, molasses, and vinegar wafted up. I pulled the paper back and there, swaddled in white and gold paper, lay a brick of oily chocolate and gold navy flakes in perfect condition. I pulled the brick and paper from the tin, removed the tobacco, and inspected the striated tobacco flakes. The top two flakes had slid down the side of the brick before packaging, resembling a coverlet that had slid off a bed.
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