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Keeping the piece
With the introduction of the plasma
screen, fewer people will be adorning
their homes with "antique" cabinets to
hide the television. Like a Porsche or a
Rolex, plasma, it seems, is something to
show off. And when it is not in use, you
can display Van Gogh's Sunflowers on its
wide screen.
A George II mahogany dwarf linen
press.
Treated carefully, it would accommodate a
huge
television screen and heaps of video
equipment.
There was a time when the television
salesman could offer a variety of
mock-Georgian mahogany cabinets to put
your new purchase in. These characterless
brown wooden boxes would sit in the corner
of the room with a few photos on top and a
handful of wires sticking out the back. A
dwarf linen press from the 18th or 19th
century would do the job just as well, and
would hold its value.
I saw this genre of furniture taken to
its limits when I was required to value a
Chippendale period bookcase in a mews
house. Mews houses being the size that
they are, fitting any form of bookcase in
would be a challenge.
I was taken through to the
drawing-room, which was delightfully
furnished with antiques and a fine
collection of English watercolours.
The bookcase in question took pride of
place across the largest wall. It was a
classic model, of breakfront form with two
pairs of glazed cupboard doors to the
upper section housing a fine assortment of
leather-bound books, and two pairs of
panelled cupboard doors below.
The cornice was flat, with dentil
mouldings typical of the period, and just
tucking in below the ceiling.
With torch in hand, I set about the
detective work. I always look for evidence
of cuts to the cornice or the plinth,
suggesting the bookcase has been reduced
in size, and check to see if the hinges
are original or the doors altered -
patched areas where the original hinges
would have been will indicate such work.
Then I compare the construction and timber
quality of the upper and lower sections -
a marriage of two halves is always a
possibility. These checks should determine
whether the bookcase is a FUBAR (Fiddled
Up Beyond All Recognition).
Content with my findings at cornice
level, I began to investigate lower down.
I opened the mahogany panelled cupboard
doors and began removing the statutory
board games and empty port bottle.
Suddenly I was met with a waft of warm air
and a whirring sound - it was if I had put
my head into a fan oven. Once the contents
of the cupboards had been removed, I saw
to my horror that a hole had been cut in
the original 18th century backboards,
shaped to allow the gleaming chrome
radiator panel of the owner's Rolls-Royce
to poke through.
As I removed my head and shoulders I
turned to the owner with a look of
complete bewilderment on my face and said:
"You appear to have a fan-assisted
bookcase."
He explained that his Rolls-Royce was
too long for his garage, so he had cut a
hole through the wall and the bookcase. (A
tennis ball hanging from the garage
ceiling indicates when he has successfully
parked the Rolls in the bookcase.) I could
see the logic, but was a little perturbed
that he had not held on to the cut-out
from the backboards.
If you must make an outlet in a piece
of furniture, be it for electrical wires
or oversized television backs, make sure
that only the backboards get disturbed. A
small drilled hole for an electrical wire
can easily be plugged, and original
timbers can be reinstated.
If you must make an outlet in a piece
of furniture, be it for electrical wires
or oversized television backs, make sure
that only the backboards get disturbed. A
small drilled hole for an electrical wire
can easily be plugged, and original
timbers can be reinstated.
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