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Rumble
in the jumble
A little while ago a local charity decided
to hold a fund-raising auction. People
were encouraged to rummage in their lofts
and donate something antique or
collectable. I was seconded to the
organising committee to put sensible
reserves on pieces that had a real market
value.
Although auctions are a marvellous way
of raising money, often the donor does not
know what it is that they have donated,
and the buyer does not know what they are
buying, so the real value of an item is
not achieved. Indeed, some enterprising
dealers travel round charity auctions
picking up bargains and profiting greatly
this way.
We were given what appeared to be a
rare, cast-silver rococo teapot of the
George II period. Potentially this was
more valuable than everything else we had
been given put together. It had clear
hallmarks that dated it to 1749 and was
beautifully engraved. The spout was cast
silver and the handle was polished carved
wood. Unusually, though, it was square in
section. Then it struck me that I was
looking at a converted tea caddy.
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A
Georgian silver caddy and
teapot
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Some enterprising silversmith, probably
about 100 years ago, had cut a hole in the
caddy and added a spout and handle, an
ingenious way of creating a useful item
from a beautiful, but by then useless,
object.
An all-original tea caddy would have
been worth about £1,000; a period tea
pot would have been worth £2,500; but
as a converted piece, it had a decorative
value of only £350 - a shame for the
committee, who had thought that they had
achieved their target with one piece.
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Some
1950s ceramics from Holland,
Italy and the United States -
current prices in the region of
£300 to £700
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On the night of the auction people were
encouraged to bring additional bric-a-brac
to be sold off. Most of it was tat, but I
did spot a small vase with boldly stylised
floral decoration that was marked
Moorcroft and dated from about 1950.
Moorcroft is one of those manufacturers
that has an eager band of collectors, to
which the rarity of a design, rather than
its age, is more important. Rare examples
can make several thousand pounds.
Unfortunately, a hair-crack in this piece
devalued it considerably, but it was still
a lovely object, and worth more than the
£3.50 the lady running the stand was
proposing to charge.
The doors of the village hall were
thrown open, and villagers rushed in. One
couple saw what was in my hand. "How did
you get in before us and pick that up?"
they asked. "This is so unfair. We are
keen collectors of Moorcroft."
I explained that I was there in a
semi-professional capacity, and that they
were welcome to buy the piece, but at a
fair price. I am happy to say that they
did, and as a result the bric-a-brac stall
had one of its most successful evenings
ever.
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