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Taking a stand
Given the changeable British weather it is
likely that many people will own stands
for hats, coats, sticks and umbrellas.
Ornate and elegant: this stand
is valued at £3,000
The most common form of antique stick
or umbrella stand is of barrel form, with
coopered staves and often bound with brass
bands.
These first appeared in the early 19th
century and have been made in similar form
ever since. With a bit of legwork you
should be able to pick up a Victorian
example for a few hundred pounds. But
beware of modern examples paraded as
antiques.
Check the quality and condition of the
brass bands and timber - in 19th-century
pieces, the brass should be thicker, and
the wood denser and more deeply coloured.
You would also expect some wear on an
authentic stick stand, so look for old
breaks, repairs and scuffing.
Much of the replica antique furniture
made today is given fake wear, known in
the trade as "chaining". The furniture
maker sets to with a chain to mark and
bruise the item. You should, however, be
able to spot the difference between
genuine wear and chaining easily. The
chaining will be uniform and in places
where you would least expect it.
The Victorians designed a wide variety
of hall stands: cast-iron examples
produced by the Coalbrookdale company in
the form of hunting dogs; oak and brass
examples retailed by the London department
store Shoolbred & Co; and combination
stands for hanging coats and hats as well
as sticks, canes and umbrellas.
Highly fashionable at the time, but not
so now, were stick stands made from
hollowed elephants' feet. With big-game
hunting at its height early in the 20th
century, trophies were brought back from
expeditions and displayed and used in any
way possible.
I once found myself discussing the
ethics of a hollowed elephant's foot with
its proud owner. It sat just inside the
hall and was filled with a collection of
ivory-handled walking sticks and
canes.
It soon became evident that "political
correctness" was not at the top of this
individual's agenda.
I was escorted into the billiard room,
which was adorned with animal trophies,
and shown a velvet-lined display case.
With some pride, the owner asked me if
I knew what I was peering down at. Laid
out in front of me were what appeared to
be a dozen ivory-coloured bones, all of a
similar form but varying size. I admitted
defeat. "That, young man, is the finest
collection of whale's penis bones in
private hands." To this day I have no idea
whether or not this was his idea of a
practical joke or if I was really looking
at a collection worthy of a museum.
Rather than frighten your guests away
with flea-infested lions' heads and
anatomical trophies, why not offer a warm
welcome with a Victorian hallstand that
would require little space, serve a proper
purpose and not cost the earth.
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