Object of the Year 2026

Purchased by Rev. Morice in 1802 for £29 8s, the piano accompanied him through his clerical appointments, including Dagenham and later Ongar Parsonage, Essex. Broadwood’s own records reveal that in July 1812 the instrument was returned for repair and dispatched back to Morice via Nicholls’ wagon from the Three Nuns public house in London—a charming detail that evokes the logistics of early 19th-century life. When Morice became Vicar of Ashwell in 1812, the piano eventually moved with him to the newly built Vicarage in 1814.

After passing through auction and returning to Broadwood’s care, the piano was generously donated to our museum in 2025. Its mahogany case with satinwood banding remains in excellent condition, though the interior mechanism is fragile and unrestored. Expert conservator Lucy Coad confirmed that making it playable would compromise its originality, so it is preserved as a rare and authentic example of its type.

This instrument is more than a piece of furniture—it is a witness to family music-making, craftsmanship, and the cultural aspirations of its time. Visitors can explore its story and even hear how similar pianos sounded via QR-linked recordings, bringing the music of Morice’s era to life.

Born in 1824, Pritchett was the son of an Essex rector and became an architect, inventor, radiologist, and passionate collector. Starting his practice in Bishop’s Stortford in 1849, he was elected FRIBA in 1861 and went on to design or restore over 60 churches, including St Michael’s, All Saints at Hockerill, and Holy Trinity in South Street. His architectural legacy also includes Oak Hall, his Tudor-style home built in the 1860s, and the Saffron Building Society premises in Potter Street. Oak Hall later became a World War I and II Prisoner of War camp, adding yet another chapter to its story.

The cabinet itself, with its sharkskin covering and brass fittings, reflects Victorian craftsmanship and the era’s fascination with classical antiquity. Originally housing Roman coins, it embodies Pritchett’s scholarly interests and the 19th-century enthusiasm for collecting and preserving history.

This object was selected and displayed by Young Curator Rene Campbell during her work experience. Rene has completed our Young Curator induction, volunteered at museum events, and even contributed original artwork for story time sessions. The Young Curator programme is part-funded by the UK Government through Shared Prosperity funding—if you’re aged 14–21 and interested in museums, contact us to get involved!

Lancaster’s fundraising efforts, such as this appeal, enabled him to create the first widespread school system using the Monitorial method, where older pupils taught younger ones. His schools were revolutionary, introducing the “Three R’s” curriculum—Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic—at a time when many believed working-class children needed only to read the Bible.

Perhaps most strikingly, Lancaster’s schools were non-denominational. While scripture was taught, it was done “without anything like sectarian influences,” creating an open and inclusive system where children of all faiths could learn together. Lancaster also established the first professional teacher training colleges, attracting students from around the world.

Recently added to our collection, this handbill is a rare piece of evidence from a turning point in history. Everyday documents like this are often lost, yet they offer a unique window into the origins of education as a universal right—a principle we take for granted today.

This bed was crafted for the young Hubert in the early 1860s by his father, Lorenz Herkomer, a skilled woodcarver. It is a rare surviving piece of Herkomer family history and a testament to Lorenz’s craftsmanship. The bed was rescued from Herkomer’s grand mansion, Lululaund, before its demolition in 1939. After passing through family hands and being sold locally in the 1970s, it was finally acquired by Bushey Museum and Art Gallery in 2005, thanks to the Friends of Bushey Museum.

The bedhead bears an emblem of St Hubert, patron saint of hunters, archers, mathematicians, and metalworkers—sharing his name with the young artist. According to legend, St Hubert converted to Christianity after seeing a vision of a crucifix between a stag’s antlers. Fittingly, Hertfordshire’s emblem is also a stag, making this piece a beautiful coincidence of name, faith, and local identity.

Christopher’s exact arrival date at the Abbey is unknown, but his presence spans centuries of change. He witnessed the Abbey’s decline, its Victorian restoration, and its elevation to Cathedral status in 1877. Today, he remains a symbol of continuity and compassion, reflecting the Cathedral’s enduring mission to care for the underprivileged.

Due to his fragile condition, Christopher is housed in a purpose-built storage box in the Archives. A replica stands in the Cathedral, while the original is brought out for special occasions—educating schoolchildren about the Reformation, starring in exhibitions, and greeting archive visitors.

More than a figure, Christopher is a storyteller. He embodies five centuries of faith, charity, and community life, and continues to welcome all with his jovial presence.

The calendar’s bold colours and dynamic illustrations perfectly capture the spirit of the late 1960s. Its playful figures and energetic movement evoke the optimism and vitality associated with Ovaltine during this era. Recently conserved by our paper conservator, Kate, the calendar has undergone careful surface cleaning to restore its original vibrancy. Kate also repaired minor tears and strengthened the perforations for the detachable calendar section, ensuring this piece of advertising history remains intact for future generations.

Ovaltine has long been a household name, and its advertising campaigns are iconic. From radio jingles to print adverts, the brand cleverly combined health messaging with lifestyle appeal. This calendar is more than a functional object—it’s a window into the world of 1960s consumer culture, design trends, and the global reach of a product made right here in Hertfordshire.

Today, the calendar stands as a nostalgic reminder of a time when marketing gifts were both practical and stylish. It celebrates the craftsmanship of commercial art and the enduring legacy of Ovaltine in British life.

Paul Mellows served with distinction in the RAF, flying Mosquito aircraft on daring missions across Europe. The bear accompanied him on 50 operations, including the final mission where Mellows shot down an Me110 and destroyed a V1 flying bomb. On landing, he discovered the aircraft’s rudder and fuselage had been badly damaged by enemy fire. For his courage, Mellows was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Paul proposed to Jean Wills during the summer of 1944, and the bear became a symbol of their bond. After the war, Paul and Jean married in 1946. Today, the bear is more than a mascot—it is a witness to bravery, love, and resilience.

The Jean Wills Bear has been shown to many school groups and featured in exhibitions, including the 85th anniversary celebrations of the Mosquito’s first flight. A small bear with an extraordinary history.

Branded under the trusted Lion Brand name, this product carried the same assurance of quality as Dickinson’s stationery, though those who used it might have disagreed! At the time, it was not unusual for paper manufacturers to diversify into domestic essentials, and this roll reflects the practical, wide-ranging applications of paper in the early 20th century.

Though it may not be the first object that comes to mind when thinking about Hertfordshire’s paper heritage, this toilet roll is a reminder that paper history is about more than books and letters. It tells a story of innovation, adaptation, and the everyday items that quietly shaped life over a century ago.

The Inter Works Sports League was established in 1912, giving local factory workers the chance to compete in regular sporting contests representing the industries where they worked. Rival firms battled for supremacy on the hockey pitch, tennis court, and bowling green. There are even stories of companies hiring employees for their sporting ability to gain an edge!

For much of the 20th century, many people had a “job for life,” with children often following parents into the same workplace. This fostered strong camaraderie and deep ties to the local community. Sport was a vital part of that culture, and trophies like this one celebrated teamwork and pride.

We hold dozens of trophies from the Inter Works Sports League—but only one intense, stylish bowls guy! A small figure with a big personality, he captures the spirit of competition and the unique character of Letchworth’s industrial sporting heritage.

The flyer is preserved within a Hertfordshire Constabulary file (HALS Ref HPF/R/694) detailing policing arrangements for the 1974 and 1975 festivals, including plans for managing the crowds passing through Stevenage en route to the site. This connection makes the flyer particularly significant in a year when HALS has completed major archive projects on both Knebworth House and Stevenage New Town collections.

The 1975 festival is remembered not only for Pink Floyd’s performance but also for its dramatic staging, including the unforgettable moment when Spitfires flew over the stage - a spectacle that cemented Knebworth’s reputation as a premier venue for rock music.

As we mark 50 years since that summer, this flyer stands as a vivid reminder of Hertfordshire’s place in music history. Rumours of another legendary band returning to Knebworth in 2026 may be unfounded, but if it happens, HALS wonders - will they match the drama of Pink Floyd’s Spitfires?

As a boy, Cameron treasured Teddy as a playmate and comfort. That boy grew up to become Governor of the Bank of England and later Lord Chamberlain to Queen Elizabeth II, yet Teddy remained a cherished reminder of simpler times. After Cameron’s death, Teddy was carefully packed away with his belongings—still dressed warmly for the long wait.

In 2025, archivists exploring the attic discovered a box of Cameron’s most personal possessions. Inside, staring up with worn but friendly eyes, was Teddy—a bear full of history and wonder. Checked over by experts, Teddy now sits proudly on his favourite chair in the Hampden Room at Knebworth House, admired by thousands of visitors.

Teddy is more than a toy. He is a symbol of love, loyalty, and the stories objects can hold—a small bear who shared a lifetime of adventures and now continues to delight all who meet him.

The exact cause of the crash remains unknown. However, what is remembered is the selfless act of 2nd Lieutenant John D. Ellis, who deliberately steered the stricken bomber away from the built-up areas of Cheshunt and Waltham Cross, almost certainly sacrificing any chance for the crew to bail out. This heroism was later commemorated in 1995 when a nearby road was renamed Lieutenant Ellis Way.

Amid the wreckage, this map somehow survived—a poignant relic of that fateful mission. Today, it stands as a silent witness to courage and sacrifice, reminding us of the young men who gave their lives to protect others during the Second World War.

You can’t visit the museum without opening up the wooden insect cases which house the Siphonaptera and looking through the magnifier at the dressed fleas or pulgas vestidas. Charles Rothschild, the brother of Walter who founded the museum brought them home from Mexico in about 1905. At the time they were curiosities, handmade as a form of folk art and sold to tourists. According to the label, these fleas were dressed by a woman who worked on them during the evenings after her children had caught them off dogs and cats during the daytime!

In the fourth century, her role changed. When a family faced the heartbreak of losing their 18-month-old child, they placed this figure in the grave—a final act of care. By including Dea Nutrix, they ensured their little one would not go hungry or be alone in the afterlife.

More than an archaeological find, she is a poignant reminder of enduring love. Across 1,600 years, this simple object speaks of parents’ hopes and grief, their desire to provide comfort even after saying goodbye. Today, she stands as a testament to humanity’s timeless need to nurture and protect.

Measuring just a few inches long, the phone combines playful design with practical function. The handset forms part of the mouse’s body, while the dial pad is cleverly integrated into the base. Phones like this were marketed as fun alternatives to standard telephones, appealing to collectors and anyone looking to brighten up a desk or home.

Although Kingtel is best remembered for its novelty phones of the 1970s–1990s, the KT-846 Mini Mouse reflects the era’s fascination with character-themed gadgets and the growing trend of personalizing technology. Today, these phones are sought after by collectors of retro electronics and pop culture memorabilia.

This object reminds us of a time when telephones were not just tools for communication but also expressions of personality and style—long before smartphones took over.

The Wolf Head was likely held aloft by “Akela,” the Cub Scout leader, symbolizing the pack’s alpha wolf. Totem heads like this were popular in Cub packs during the 1920s–1950s. Their purpose was both symbolic and ceremonial: to reinforce unity, encourage spirited participation, and cement the Scout Promise.

Now displayed at Redbourn Village Museum, this striking artefact reminds us of generations of Cub Scouts in Britain, and particularly Hertfordshire, who began their meetings with hope, energy, and a collective vow to “do their best.”

In 1944, Wedd was transferred to camps in Japan, including Osaka and Nagoya, where he remained until liberation in September 1945. Amid these harsh conditions, Wedd transformed his mess tin into a personal record of survival. Using a nail fixed into bamboo as a makeshift tool, he painstakingly punched dots into the metal, engraving the names of the places that marked his ordeal.

At the centre of his design is a detailed image of the USS Mount Vernon, the ship that carried him from Halifax to the Far East in 1941—a poignant reminder of the journey that led to years of captivity. This mess tin is more than a utensil; it is a testament to resilience, creativity, and the human need to remember.

The Crow held a higher status than many alehouses of its time, yet its history was not without drama. In 1797, after drinking a quart of gin, Elizabeth Pruden stole a pair of pattens (overshoes) from the Crow and was sentenced to seven years’ transportation. In 1806, James Whitby was beaten by John Bocket after catching him stealing from their shared room—common practice when travellers lodged in inns.

The Crow finally closed in 1914, a casualty of the temperance movement and changing drinking habits that made many pubs economically unsustainable.

Now displayed in our exhibition “Inns and Alehouses of St Albans,” this sign tells a story of hospitality, crime, and community life. It stands as a rare survivor from a time when pubs were at the heart of local society—long before their decline reshaped the city’s social landscape.

What makes this tankard even more special is the inscription on its base, which marks a major milestone in Stevenage’s own story: the construction of the 1,000th ‘Mowlem’ house in the town. Mowlem was one of the key building firms involved in creating homes for Stevenage’s growing population during its development as Britain’s first New Town after World War II.

As Stevenage celebrates its 80th anniversary in 2026, this object connects two significant narratives—the pride of a national sporting triumph and the optimism of post-war urban planning. It reminds us of a time when communities were being built and hopes were high, both on the football pitch and in the streets of Stevenage.

Originally an anthropologist, the young Leonard Hussey was on a dig in Africa when he applied to join Shackleton’s Endurance expedition to the South Pole in 1914. Small and cheerful, Hussey went as meteorologist—but his banjo became a vital boost to morale during the crew’s epic struggle for survival after the ship was lost in the ice.

After returning, Hussey served in WWI in France and later joined Shackleton again in Russia. He qualified as a doctor after the war and returned to the Antarctic as medical officer on Shackleton’s last expedition in 1921–22. He practised in London until WWII, when he served throughout as an RAF medical officer, before settling in Chorleywood as the local GP.

Hussey was a strong supporter of the Scouts and personally awarded this adventurous training trophy, reflecting the spirit of exploration associated with Shackleton’s expeditions. The shield was well used, won by Scout troops—especially Explorer Scouts—across the area, with tallies engraved on both sides.

For over 50 years, Jack was deeply involved with the Tring Scouts, serving as both Scout Master and District Commissioner. His leadership helped shape generations of young people, fostering values of teamwork, resilience, and outdoor adventure. This hat, worn proudly in a 1948 group photograph, is a tangible link to that era of community spirit and dedication.

The hat was generously donated to the museum by the current Tring Scout group during a recent visit. Today, it forms part of a special display showcasing hats worn by significant local figures—each telling its own story of service and identity.

From an early age, Moreno began crafting toys and figurines from wire, paper, and wooden scraps—an “occupational therapy” that helped him through difficult times. Over the decades, he perfected this technique, earning Mexico’s Folk Art National Award for his mastery of papier-mâché. Today, he is widely regarded by scholars as one of Mexico’s leading folk artists, with exhibitions held across the globe.

This piece was acquired for the UH Art Collection from the touring exhibition Mexican Mythologies, held at the University’s Art & Design Gallery in 1999. Made from papier-mâché, wire, and paint, the sculpture measures 50cm high and 70cm deep, its dynamic form capturing the mythical energy of the dragon - a creature deeply rooted in cultural symbolism.

Moreno’s work celebrates resilience, creativity, and tradition, transforming humble materials into vibrant expressions of life and imagination.

The lively foreground features hounds, peacocks, deer, and horses, reflecting the grandeur and vitality of the estate. Turner’s delicate handling of light and colour captures both the architectural elegance and the natural beauty of Cassiobury at its height.

The Museum of Watford acquired this work in 1984 from Thomas Agnew & Sons, supported by generous grants. At the time, the museum had only recently opened in 1981, making this a bold and significant acquisition for such a young institution.

Today, the painting serves as a poignant reminder of the great house that once stood where Cassiobury Park now welcomes visitors. With many Cassiobury objects and artworks dispersed across North America, this Turner remains an important link to the estate’s rich history.