Country life
Something for everyone
Leanda de Lisle
It was raining and muddy underfoot as we arrived at the Newark Antiques Fair perfect conditions for my shopping spree. The weather would put off a lot of casual customers who might have come to buy Christmas presents for godchildren or sib- lings and perhaps an object for the house, as I had myself.
Several stallholders had dressed in ski wear in an attempt to keep warm and dry while they stood outside in the fields, or sat for hour upon hour in sheds and marquees. I wondered what it was that had encour- aged them into this business. Was it a love of collecting snuff-boxes or glass or some other thing? Was it a magpie eye? They looked bored as they waited for custom, like soldiers in the pause before battle. Cigarettes were smoked despite the fire hazard of a thousand butts smouldering amongst Victorian chests-of-drawers and piles of old prints. Cups of tea grew cold alongside half-eaten bacon butties.
I don't think people go into the antique business for the health of their arteries, but it can't be for the money either. The most important trade at Newark is done dealer to dealer, and I sometimes wonder if the internal antique market isn't in fact more significant than that which embraces the public. We are like guests in the antique dealers' world — rather irritating, over- anxious guests. In part, this is thanks to those television programmes that have encouraged people to believe that owning an antique is like owning a lottery ticket. What is just a piece of old crockery one day may be worth a fortune the next — but which piece?
Nervously, people turn over the items on display and offer the stallholders half the asking price. On the Antiques Road Show the stallholders are presented as the fall guys who sold a £20,000 dinner service for a few quid. 'It's not like it is on the telly,' they reply sourly. Other people come to Newark to buy themselves a little class. You may live in a suburban semi, but you have an earl's linen in the dining-room and his bedpan next to the three-piece suite. Others again just want a reminder of their own past. I saw some very strange china lambs at Newark — horrible looking mon- sters with necks as long as a giraffe's — but I nearly bought them because I remem- bered having some just like them in my bedroom as a child. It's strange what nos- talgia can do to your antique taste buds.
However, shopping for antiques doesn't necessarily indicate greed or psychological weakness. You can do it for fun. It's like a glorious treasure hunt — and not in some grand way. It can be just about looking for pretty things, as a child does when he gath- ers jade-green pebbles and milk-white seashells on the beach. I bought a glass horse from a Chinese couple for £6.50 at Newark because I liked the deep turquoise colour and I liked the fact that the horse appeared to be laughing. They threw in a silk-covered box for the price and it is now sitting on a mantlepiece in a guest bed- room that is filled with Oriental bric-a- brac.
For obvious reasons I can't tell you what presents I bought, but I can tell you what I didn't: fantastic diamante chokers that began just beneath the chin and hung in dazzling strands down to the breast; Bohemian scent bottles and beaded hand- bags; a pin mounted with a fox's head in gold; and a hundred different pages from the Illustrated London News. There were giant Playmobil figures, policemen's hel- mets and pearl-handled pocketknives. I came away with something for everyone. A damp day at the Newark Antique Fair is never wasted.
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