The road home, this morning.
***
Sunday, 27 October 2013
Monday, 21 October 2013
MYSTERY OBJECTS
What is THAT?
Where is it from? What is it made of? How old is it? What's it worth...?
Rarely a week goes by when we don't scratch our heads and wonder about at least one of our finds - even after 30 years in the antiques trade we are sometimes uncertain. Usually we soon have the answer - stacks of reference books and old saleroom catalogues are a health hazard chez nous, but very useful. But sometimes the only sure way to solve the mystery - at least the "What's it worth?" part - is to sell the thing, then watch the happy buyer dance merrily into the distance, punching the air!
I found this beautiful hand-embroidered cushion recently, depicting Adam and Eve and the serpent in the Garden of Eden. It has age though I'm pretty sure it isn't as old as it purports to be - but is it Georgian, Victorian or Edwardian?
This piece is definitely early - each of these silk thread patterned petals and leaves has been embroidered with a tiny needle on linen as fine as tissue paper. But how early is it? The only work I've found that resembles it was made by German nuns in about 1300 - could it possibly be that old?
We also have a dusty shelf of probably worthless, but who knows, odd little oddments.
Made of bone - could this be some sort of tribal calculator?
We found something similar to our brass blade identified in an antiques magazine - a 17th century page turner, or so it said. The trouble was, nobody believed us!
I think it's a bat. It looks like a bat, it's as big as a bat - it is a bat! A washing bat for beating the filth out of ones dirty linen. Very useful!
Sometimes the answers we find are interesting and educational. Another recent mystery purchase was this pretty child's plate in Arts and Crafts style.
I'm no ceramics expert but I love this - its style and colours remind me of the things I saw in William Morris's Kelmscott Manor, earlier this year. The seller told me, "Frances Richards, Highgate Pottery..."
...which didn't mean a great deal to me, though there on the back was inscribed, FR and 1917. She wasn't easy to find but, luckily, I'm a blogger and I follow FIRED UP, Marshall Colman's interesting blog about pottery and the arts. He generously offered me a few ideas which set me on the right track. It seemed there were two lady potters called Frances Richards in the early 20th century - a time, by the way, of quiet revolution, when lower middle class and even some working class girls sometimes went to college, becoming freelance artists and craftswomen, often working from home.
One Frances Richards was the wife of the Welsh artist Ceri Richards, but in 1917 when the plate was made she would have been just 14 years old. The right Frances Richards was a Londoner and a cabinet-maker's daughter. She studied pottery at the Royal College of Art, exhibited regularly with the Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society, sold her work through Heals and never married.
As for the "Highgate Pottery" - Frances lived at 178 Archway Road, Highgate, now the Milano Pizzeria...
...and had a kiln in her back garden.
***
Monday, 14 October 2013
PLAYING SHOPS
Is it just me, or do most girls (and some boys) love playing shops, however old they are? There are many ways of doing this these days.
Under canvas on Britain's showgrounds.
Under a Victorian glass roof on Tynemouth railway station.
From a picturesque lock-up in Rye...
...to uber-cool Hendy's of Hastings.
Draughty lofts...
...and smelly cattle sheds - we've tried many selling venues.
Some of these places come with unexpected dangers. Last week at the International Antiques Fair at Newark I returned to our stand to find that Mr N had bolted, leaving a very grumpy looking cameraman with nothing to do...
If, like Mr N, you like to keep a low profile, the internet is great way of selling. My friend Lynn has created a lovely online shop at Once Upon A Time Bears, taking great care keep her teddy bears happy, in familiar surroundings, until they are adopted by new owners.
Some sellers I know promote their wares and fairs on their blogs:
And others are cleverly making and selling on Etsy,
here's Jayne with her beautiful textiles:
I've just taken the plunge and opened a Ruby Lane shop here
Will it be a success? Who knows, but it will be fun to play.
***
Sunday, 6 October 2013
END OF THE SEASON TICKET
A couple of weeks ago, in a feature about Britain's best views, the Guardian newspaper included this glimpse of Rievaulx Abbey, near Helmsley, in North Yorkshire. It just happened to be part of a walk that marked the end, for us, of this year's National Trust membership. Our Trusty tickets, that have accompanied us on antiquing trips for a year, are now defunct.
Rievaulx Terrace offers a wonderful promenade between two picturesque temples, with wonderful views of the Abbey below. Today the 18th century landscaped gardens are dotted with twiggy sculptures.
Inside the Ionic Temple is a beautiful banqueting hall with a decorated ceiling.
The miniature pomegranate tree is one of a pair made from papier mache, standing in priceless Chinese pots. Fabulous!
Of course, our camera's shutters will not be stilled. What shall we join now? English Heritage, The Landmark Trust, The Art Fund? Watch this space...
***
Sunday, 29 September 2013
LIFE ON THE EDGE
These are the White Cliffs of Dover, just a couple of miles up the coast from the town of Dover, at St Margarets Bay. This part of East Kent is where I grew up and we both love it dearly, though it is rather rough around the edges and a bit of an acquired taste. Some years ago we stayed in an eccentric house perched on the edge of the cliff pictured above. It is a "retired" gun emplacement, built in 1910 and once owned by Peter Ustinov. Its present chatelaine is the actress Miriam Margolyes and she lets it to holiday-makers (see here.) It is the closest house in the UK to France.
The arrow shows the position of this unique holiday let. There is no garden fence between you and the cliff's edge, gulls hover at eye level and I swear the sea shakes the cliff as it crashes rhythmically below - over and over, never ceasing - the sky ever changing its colours and moods.
The sun sets and the moon rises over the sea in front of the house.
Amazing!
It is an odd little building, an anonymous concrete box, slightly sunken into the cliff, but I instantly recognised it on a TV film the other night! In faded 1960s tints...
...there was the room where I also sat just a few years ago.
By great coincidence, within a day or two of the TV film, an email (in unmistakeable style) arrived from Ms Margolyes herself.
Experimental drilling is planned in nearby villages and residents are worried. Has my beloved East Kent become the "desolate North East" (Lord Howell commenting on suitable areas for fracking, a couple of months ago) of Southern England? Is beauty only relevant where residents are rich?
Perhaps I'd better sign the petition.
***
Sunday, 22 September 2013
BRIMHAM ROCKS!
We both agree - exercise is good for mind and body - but Mr N and I don't take kindly to organised classes (or organised anything really) so what should we do to supplement the antiques hunting and general domestic chores that make up our usual daily quota of physical effort? Since our cycling techniques are incompatible - he hurtles and powers, I pootle and wobble - we've decided to go on walking expeditions. Our first ramble on this new regime was at nearby Brimham Rocks, once called Brimham Craggs and now managed by the National Trust.
To start with it was much more fun than I remembered, largely because past visits have involved preventing small, wriggly boys and larger, foolhardy boys from hurling themselves to certain death off the ice age rock formations. This time there was just one old-ish boy...
...who seemed determined to escape my clutches!
Occasionally I'd catch a glimpse, but it was hard to keep up with him.
He loves to tease.
At last I caught up but then something strange happened...
...a blinding light,
a giant toadstool fairy ring, but not a soul about,
just the ever-looming sinister presence of the radomes of Menwith Hill communications station.
Please come home, Mr N, all is forgiven!
All these phenomena: natural, supernatural, man-made and artistic, can be experienced on a visit to the magical Brimham Rocks. (If you find Mr N, please leave a comment on this page and I'll come and collect him. Maybe.)
***
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