“The oak tree was an acorn once,” and so was the case of my first grandfather clock. Quite by chance in 1902, I noticed in a shop window a brass dial bearing the inscription “John Burgess de Wigan,” with well-engraved numerals, and fitted with quaintly cut brass hands. On enquiry I was told they had a case for it, and this was found propped up, for its feet were groggy. As 17s. was the price asked for the lot, I plunged. To my amazement an old clockmaker soon had the works going and he assured me they would see me out, but I have some anxiety about the original wrought iron hinges, which I compute will have swung, back and to, nearly 90,000 times.

The minstrel (Moore and Burgess) sang that “the grandfather clock was too tall for the shelf, so it stood ninety years on the floor.” My old gentleman had evidently been in more confined space than this one they made such a song about, and as the owner could not bend its back he knocked off the feet. I fitted him out with new understandings made of very old timber, which suited him down to the ground. When the case was renovated the venerable timekeeper was placed in my hall, where he has ticked away regularly except on those days when his rope has not been wound up, or when a new rope was necessary. I found, by starting a correspondence in the Wigan Observer, that Burgess was one of the earliest clock-makers in Wigan, and that my clock was made about 1690.

The first long-case pendulum clock was made by Thomas Tompion in 1681 and the prefix “de” to names was dropped about 1700, so it would be interesting to know how many clocks are still in existence bearing the “de” in front of the surname. I have had clocks offered to me said to be 300 or 400 years old, while one man thought his would be at least 500; when I stated that I had read in my clock book that 240 years was the limit he disdainfully brushed that opinion aside with the remark, “Oh, books! Do you believe all you read?”

This was the antique seed that has spread from hall to room, and from room to room, until there is no room for more. Strange to say, within a week I had found a companion to “old Burgess” in the form of a very ancient oak Ecclesiastical chest, bearing four locks without wards, but with each key-hole a different shape; the keys to correspond would be in the hands of the parson, two wardens and sexton respectively (See Plate VIII). The clock and the chest have stood vis-À-vis since their introduction, and if the regularity of the former and the complacency of the latter had been emulated by the occupants of the house, what a model home they would adorn!

It is believed that on one occasion “old Burgess” forgot to strike, for which he may be forgiven. On the newel post there is fixed a fine old bronze female figure, bearing a light, and on the occasion of a young cleric spending the night with us this statuette was found draped in a Varsity blue wrap (the owner of which has since served as an Army Chaplain throughout the War)—truly a sight to set any decorous time-server off his balance! (Plate I.)

This model of the female form divine deserves an artistic treatment, to which I do not feel competent to do justice, but I opine the modeller, L. V. E. Robert, who was doing his level best about sixty years ago, intended it to be a representation of “Summer,” or “Hygeia,” and that he was proud to impress his name thereon. It stood for years in a mansion, and was turned out into the cold when the premises were altered on changing owners, so I then found it a home.

I was very proud of “old Burgess” (and am still) and, of course, called the attention of all our visitors and the piano-tuner thereto. This musical fiend struck a discordant note when he piped out, “I see it’s only a 30-hour. I have one that belonged to my wife’s great-aunt and it has an eight-day movement, which is so much more convenient.” There are some people who seldom do, and never say, the right thing. That set me on looking for an eight-day grandfather, and I looked in vain, and for fear I might strain my sight I confided my absolute requirement to a friend who knocked about the country, and he assured me at once he could soon fix me up, “but what price will you go to?” As I wished to give him as little trouble as possible I said, “Oh, I’m not particular, say fifty shillings.” One morning not long after this the commissionaire announced in my office that two gentlemen wanted to see me in the hall—a marble hall, mark you!—and here I found my friend looking very worried, with a man who touched his forelock, but to whom I was not introduced. They had with them something that bore resemblance to a coffin with a dirty shroud, the latter having apparently twisted itself round the former, a state of packing that no estimable undertaker would undertake. They then proceeded to unshroud and prop up the outer shell, which had three sides and a bit.

“The case is the nearest match I could get to your thirty-hour; and the dial and works are in the box there.”

“But where is the back?”

“I can’t exactly say; some is on the Birmingham platform, some at Stafford where I changed, there is quite a lot on the platform here, and I noticed pieces kept falling off as I followed this man wheeling it from the station; but whoever looks at the back of a clock? You can easily fit in another without anybody being the wiser.”

I then saw the dial and works, and found I was face to face with Grandfather Philip Smith of Barton, which Barton I cannot say, but probably near Nottingham. I did my best for him, and he has done his best for me, so I am recompensed for the expense I was put to in renewing his youth.

“Sergeant, just sweep up that dust in the hall.”

“Yes, sir.”

I now received a welcome gift of two high-backed Lancashire Cromwellian black oak chairs from a revered friend, who was wishful to encourage my new craze, and very useful and instructive these have been. I say instructive, for they had not been in the shadow of “old Burgess” long before I compared the grain of their oak and his, with the result that while the panel in the back and front leg spindle of one was finely carved, and the oak undoubtedly 17th century, in the other they were as modern as the frames. I may here mention for the benefit of any reader who does not know that old oak furniture is seldom black with age, and that the polisher can stain it any shade preferred, that when Nelson’s flagship, the Foudroyant, built in 1797, was wrecked at Blackpool in 1897, much of her oak was made into furniture, and some fine chairs quite light in colour may be seen at the Hotel Metropole there. I have a black gate-legged table made from Foudroyant oak which is an exact replica of a good Cromwellian design with twisted legs, and which was quite light in colour until it was stained (Plates X and XI).

I now had another oak grandfather clock with a brass dial offered me, and although it had a thirty-hour movement I did not hesitate to pay the price asked. It had come from Ormskirk, where it was made by T. Helm about 1770, as in the Constable’s book of accounts for that year there is an entry “paid Thos. Helm for taking care of clock.” It stood for a hundred years in a farm opposite my house, and I got it from descendants of its original owners, so for sentimental reasons I would not part with it, even at an advance on the first cost. This clock originally was worked by a rope, but a chain was substituted before I became its possessor. I have other things to talk of than grandfather clocks, but three were not enough for me. I have from time to time provided room for others, and for the last few years have found nine none too many, as seven of them need winding only once a week. They do not all strike at once, for a few have been deprived of their capacity for music-making, by having the striking weight taken off.

By the aid of the photographs and with the following particulars the reader has a fair illustration of the evolution of the external part of grandfather clocks extending over one hundred years. I believe the dates I estimate are not far off the mark, and I hope some readers may be enabled to set their minds at rest if they have been in doubt as to the age of their own grandfather.

So far as I know the nine clocks are genuine. I could find no trace of any material repair before I got them, and I have been most careful in the renovating which was necessary with some of them. I ought to explain in regard to “Phillips” that I fell in love with him in an auctioneer’s stock-room because his style seemed just to agree with my oak dresser and I bought him, although he was fitted with a 30-hour movement which was quite worn out. Having obtained the works of an old eight-days by buying a white dial in a case I cared nothing about, I had two holes drilled in “Phillips’” face and so converted him. It was a simple thing to do, as the centre of the dial is matted without engraving and the centres could be made anywhere to correspond with the requirements of the winding arrangements. This is an example of what may happen to old clocks when in the dealer’s hands. I have been in places where a number of old grandfathers have been in stock, and changing a good dial which would suit a better case was considered quite the proper thing to do, but consequently the grandfather would in future bear a wrong cognomen, while the case might be quite of a different date from that indicated by the maker’s name.

“Former Clock and Watch Makers,” by Britten, was my text-book for this department, and I must have given my friends the impression that I was an authority on horology, for on reflecting I find I purchased, selected, or had a hand in the choosing of about thirty grandfather clocks. Narrow cases and brass dials were my usual stipulations.

LACQUER CLOCKS

Lacquer clocks have increased greatly in value recently on account of their scarcity. About twelve years ago I had one offered me for £4 10s., but as I did not admire it, and had no idea where I could get the needed repairs executed, I left it alone. I have just seen one sold by a dealer to a dealer for £37. On my last visit to see a collector and dealer, whom I respect for his straightforward dealing, I found he had parted with his lacquer clock, which I had seen in his room for many years, and was told a dealer had tempted him to sell it for £50, and that he now realised he had practically given it away at this price.

BAROMETERS

Having provided for reliable time-keeping, my next requirement seemed to be something experienced in ruling the weather. I found my first antique barometer hanging outside a tall warehouse, when out cycling with a friend. This emporium was a three-storeyed building, filled with all kinds of “rubbish,” valuable and otherwise. While my friend studied the old books I poked about and made my first purchase of old china and old pewter, but these will be dealt with on other pages. I made further visits to this building, which now forms a portion of the offices of a very large soap works, and think if I had known anything about old engravings I might have found something worth while. I feel sure there were many fine works hanging promiscuously on the walls, for they comprised some of the ugliest and most weird things in pictures I have come across.

That barometer has been a tried and trusted indicator, and I was so pleased with its usefulness that I thought it would be a good idea to get another, and fix it in the precincts of the kitchen, so that the laundress might know the right time to hang out the clothes. Having bought another of the good old type, and having found just the place for it, I next gave careful instructions to the female mind which had to cope with the laundry department as to the reading and the adjusting of the indicator, so that the fine drying days could be intelligently anticipated, and I figured out the saving of coal effected would soon pay the modest cost of the barometer many times over, but the affairs of men and mice and charladies aft gang agley. I was not long in noticing that barometer No. 2 did not work in accord with No. 1, and I worried about it, in fact at the time of writing I am still worrying about it. There is a cause for everything, and when things go wrong it is necessary to find out the reason before they can be put right, and when the discovery is made you can fix the blame where any may exist. Imagine the shock I experienced one day when I found that the maid had been in the habit of taking the instrument down, and laying it flat on the table to give it a good polishing. Where the mercury slipped to is a mystery, but I must admit that I never gave her warning that an antique barometer when charged must be kept perpendicular. The instrument went to be refilled with mercury soon after the War started, and has not been returned to me yet!

DRESSERS, CHAIRS, ETC.

The next antique furniture I desired was an oak dresser to show off the pewter which had been accumulating, and I was fortunate in obtaining one, which originally had come from Wales, without delay. The oak proved to be elm, but I bought it without first seeing it, and I have been pleased that it turned out as it did. The inverted pediments are of holly and the doors work on pins. To get the dresser out of the farm where it had played its part for generations, the farm door jambs had to be removed, so I was informed, but it just fitted my hall, which was all that really mattered.

Another dresser was reported to me as having come from Wales, and I bought it from a Mr. Jones, and although I had not seen this until it came to me, it was good old oak sure enough. I believe the elm-made dates from early in the seventeenth century, and the oak one about fifty years after.

These old dressers were complete, but one had a portion of the back decayed, probably through standing for years against damp walls, so an obliging builder let me have some boards sawn from an oak beam he had taken out of an ancient Quakers’ meeting-house, and I was able to maintain the true character and charm of these time-worn stagers.

The Chinese Chippendale chair (Plate X) deserves special notice, for was it not my initial find in mahogany? Its home was in a building the walls of which were feet thick, and in generations past had formed part of a monastery, but which to-day is linked up with a more modern dwelling built of the same Scotch grey stone. It was in this house, near Dalkeith, while we were having a family holiday in the summer of 1906, and just when my soul was awakening to the mysteries of antiques, that I came across this relic. It stood in the room we occupied in the ancient part of the building, and was completely disguised by a covering of chintz, hiding strong canvas stitched over much padding. After lifting its skirt, peculiarly shaped legs were revealed, and my curiosity was aroused. Removing the chintz cover, by ripping off the canvas, and taking out about a sackful of wool, I was not only struck by the unique back, but astounded to find the original pig-skin upholstery in good condition. One mahogany arm was missing, and a very rough hard wood substitute had been fitted in its place. I was presented with the chair on the spot. A handy man from the village fetched “a wee bit o’ auld mahogany bed stock he had just sawed off to mak anither haundle for the chair.” I got him to make a case to hold it, and the “wee bit bed stock,” together with a spinning-wheel, and consigned it for home to await my arrival. I learnt “there was anither chair like it awa doon at Melville Castle.”

The spinning-wheel just mentioned was noticed by my wife when making a purchase of wool in a shop on Causewayside at Edinburgh, and she was told, “my mon had brocht it wi’ him on his last journey from Yell” (the most northern of the Shetland Isles), and although it was not for sale she “didna mind parting wi’ it, as she could aye git anither yen when her mon gaid for mair wool.”

When wanting more chairs I noticed a set of spindle-back rushed seats with pony feet, and on enquiry was told they had “one arm and six ordinary.” Ere learning the price I was asked, “How many do you want?” The idea of splitting a set of chairs over a hundred years old, and in perfect condition! Yet this is an indication of the value placed on this type fifteen years ago, while to-day dealers are scouring the country-side to make up sets. I gleaned that these were made by the grandfather of our local house furnisher; he (the grandfather) had six sons, and kept a farm, also a wheelwright’s shop in the country; that the chairs were made in the dark evenings for a few shillings each, so I got them at about their original price; that the wood used was oak from an adjoining park, and after dressing it was stained mahogany in a bath, that the spindles were driven home with the wheelwright’s hammer, and that “Uncle Richard was the finest rusher in Lancashire.” This is undoubtedly true, for there is not a spindle loose or a rush out of place. (Plate IX)

After buying the spindle-backs, on the same day and in the same street I visited another broker’s shop, but let me direct you in case you wish to call there any time. It is situated either higher up or lower down, according to which end of the street you enter by, but if you come out of a by-street you must be careful to turn either to the right or left, and keep straight on, for if you cross over and go ahead you will be up another street. Should you be walking you will keep to the right, but in case you drive or motor you must mind and keep to the left. Trams pass the door, and if you take the one going to Liverpool you will not get anywhere near it. It is situated on the opposite side facing a shop that has been “To Let” but is now occupied by a tradesman who has done well out of the war. By the by, if you happen to come in the evening, and take the North Star as your guide you will no doubt find the place—shut up. Readers can take so much more interest in a story when they have been made familiar with the locality, and especially in a case like this where the actual house has been pointed out. I entered the shop—do you follow me? I examined a birch chair with a broken arm, an artistic back, fluted legs, and a rush seat. While I am ruminating, the broker comes out of his parlour, leaving the door open, and I see other chairs of the same pattern, which are evidently in everyday use. I remark on them, and am invited to inspect. Having done so I enquire, “Will you sell them?” and am answered thus—“Will I sell ’um, I’ll sell you every old thing I’ve got.” I did not buy every old thing he’d got, but I secured the set of chairs, two arm and six ordinary, and when re-polished the figuring of the birch looked well. I also relieved him of a mahogany pedestal circular mirror, which I “could have for seven bob, as he was tired of seeing the thing about.” (Plate IX)

MAHOGANY GATE-LEGGED TABLE

My having over-stocked the house that day has kept me off buying higher class chairs, but one never knows what may happen. Quite recently I bought a gate-legged Spanish mahogany square ended table. I found it most unexpectedly the first day we decided we wanted such a thing, and it happened to be just the size desired. After a brief examination without going on my knees I told them to deliver it, and when it arrived legs uppermost I thought, “what a lot of worm holes for the money.” I said nothing aloud. Having ’phoned for a cabinet-maker, and after he had laid the table top downwards he dropped on his knees, and looking up with an expression of mingled pity and contempt for my credulity enquired:

“Have you bought it?”

“Yes.”

“And paid for it?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask how much?”

“Eight pounds.”

“I’ve bought tables like this for 35s.”

“Yes, some time ago.”

At this stage I fancy he thought he had put my wind up, for he hedged by consoling me with the remark “I saw a table like this fetch £11 10s. at a sale, and it had worm holes too.”

Now take warning by this, and be sure you look out for worm holes, but don’t be over anxious to buy more than you can count, and if you should, then do not pay much extra for them. Further, if you find these pests getting busy in any of your furniture procure a solution of corrosive sublimate of suitable strength and saturate the parts affected, but as the chemical is a deadly poison it is advisable to use a long handled brush and not dab it on with the fingers.

I thank you for your sympathy, but am delighted with my bargain, as the frame only needed the inside soft wood to be replaced, and the table with its fine Spanish wood top supported by well-fluted legs makes a handsome, convenient, and useful centrepiece, for dining purposes, and can be folded and put aside any time.

The tables shown on Plate XIV are very good late eighteenth century examples. The one with drop ends is mahogany, has a striking shell-like satinwood ornamentation let in the middle, and inverted crocus inlaid legs. The table with the folding legs was in a very dirty condition when I purchased it, and was called mahogany, and it was not until it was scraped that I became aware it was made of birch, thickly veneered with rosewood, and richly inlaid with satinwood. Oh, what a prize surprise.

BUREAUX AND CABINETS

When China began to come in, I bought a fine mahogany inlaid bureau and book-case in Cheshire at about one-third of the cost of such a piece if you could find it to-day. On examining the secret fittings I found in pencil in quite old style handwriting on the bottom of one of the drawers some lines headed, “Over the door of a House of Pleasure at W/Church.” Unfortunately I cannot give the context, as I fear it would not pass the Press Censorship. When the bureau was cleaned and re-polished I protected this precious indication that a previous possessor was rather a sly old boy, and so I retain this unique evidence of age. (Plate XII)

When I commenced to write this book I found it quite impossible to get along with a rather modern light oak desk and I felt sure an old bureau would be of great assistance in carrying inspirations relating to antiques; and further that one must be obtained promptly. If you write a few hundred pages and have them typewritten in triplicate it is advisable to have somewhere to keep them, for it would be poor satisfaction to learn some morning that a few score had served the useful purpose of lighting the kitchen fire. The roomy drawers of a bureau answer admirably and find accommodation for the photographs as well. (Plate XIII)

My first enquiry was made of a dealer I will call A, who informed me that bureaux were very scarce, but as he attended most sales he would be on the look out and do his best. I then went to another dealer and told him of my intention, and asked him would he sell my flat-top oak desk? Certainly he would, there was a mahogany bureau to be sold at a sale the very next day and he would buy it for me if I would give him a commission. I said, “Very well I will slip over in the morning, look at it and let you know.” I disturbed the auctioneer feeding his poultry, and cajoled him to come to the house, which I had found locked up. The bureau looked very weary, but I knew it could soon be put right, so I posted back to B and told him to buy it, using his own judgment about the price. In the evening B called and said he had bought the bureau, but the price was more than expected as that chap A had run him up the last £2. Then it dawned on me that I had been bidding against myself.

I may here mention I have never attended sales and that this is the only antique illustrated in this volume which has been bought at a sale on my behalf.

“There was an old woman who lived in a shoe” who was greatly perplexed as to how to accommodate so many children. I can sympathise with her, for having so much pewter and being anxious to show it off I was much worried “and didn’t know what to do.” I hunted about and advertised for an oak cupboard with glass doors but could find nothing suitable so I bought the chest shown. Then I had the cupboard made from oak taken out of a farm built in 1633 near St. Helens which had been pulled down, while the top decoration is some of the original wainscoting from Argoed Hall, Oswestry, which I had by me, and it came in suitably for the frieze. The top of the chest being in two pieces the cupboard just fits on the hind portion while the front half lifts off, and so I am enabled to stow a lot of extra pewter in the chest. (Plate XVII)

Pewter plates and blue and white dishes needing to be displayed, I had shelves fitted in my morning and dining rooms. To provide for the china I purchased the cabinet shown in Plate XXXVIII, and in a short time found four corner cupboards. It might take as many years to find a lot to equal these, which are mahogany made and all nicely inlaid. I bought them from the same broker who astonished me by saying, “I am a collector too—of sovereigns.”

DATED FURNITURE

Dated furniture is hard to find. I only have two specimens, of which photographs are given. The initials on the oak chest will be the initials of the first owner and his wife, but whether this dating may be evidence of a dower chest on their marriage, or whatever happened to them in 1702, there is no question about the chest being Queen Anne period. (Plate VIII)

As regards the salt box, the carved piece of oak which bears the date 1659 has a much older appearance than the rest of the box, although that is ancient timber. Probably the seventeenth century article fell to pieces about a hundred years ago, when the owners would have this one put together. This shows how easy it may be for the amateur to be misled as to the age of a faked article in which an early date has been worked. I found it in a shop on the North Pier at Blackpool, and was informed it was bought at an old farm sale near Preston. (Plate XI)

MAHOGANY CHESTS OF DRAWERS

When I bought the dwarf chest shown on Plate XVI, it was fitted with black wooden knobs which could not have been on many years. On examination, marks were sufficiently clear to enable me to judge to a nicety the design of the brass plates the original handles would drop on to; so I had five cut, and looked up some old handles and fasteners. Then I was able to give the chest its original appearance.

The large chest shown on Plate XV really is a beautiful piece of furniture, complete with its imposing brass ring handles, original and perfect in every way just as I bought it. The workmanship is of high class, and the long secret drawer at the top has made a good hiding place for a large number of amulets. The drawers are in smooth running condition, and the oak linings are a fine example of good work, while the mahogany cannot be beaten. It came from the sign of “Uncle will oblige.”

The chest with bureau fitment on Plate XIII is, I believe, a very rare specimen; it has one small and three large drawers, and is provided with a pull-out drawer, fitted to answer the purpose of a bureau. I was passing along a street in a busy town when I saw this standing on the pavement. Out of curiosity I pulled open the right hand top drawer, and immediately I realised what happened, enquired the price. “Five pounds; Mr. Smith is after it.” I paid the money without hesitation, as the chest was in fine preservation. Mr. Smith came after it about five minutes after it had been fetched away in the cart which I had sent after it about five minutes after I had walked back, it having taken me about five minutes to accomplish this; and so Mr. Smith was left “in the cart.” Moral—Go snap on a bargain.

TEA CADDY

I must apologise for having omitted to introduce a dear old friend earlier but I cannot let you complete this course without making her acquaintance. Her well preserved appearance coated with a rosewood overall, the rings she carries at her sides and her dainty claw feet must claim your notice. She has no hesitation in allowing you at any time to admire her tight fitting combinations which contain her black and green teas. I have lifted her covering to reveal her velvet lining which has stood the wear, without a tear, for more years than you will credit her with. With what tender care she has nurtured her Waterford Glass Sugar bowl now raised with her fittings for your inspection. She has never lost sight of her little Sheffield Plate spoon which has caddied for her on every occasion when her numerous admirers needed the cup which soothes. Taking all her good qualities into consideration we must pardon her desire to have her photo taken too. (Plate XIV)

I appear to have touched on nearly all the Furniture objects I have found it convenient to photograph indoors, and as I am not stocktaking or compiling a catalogue we will pass on to the second course.