Antiques As A First and Second Career

 

Photos by Suzanne Currie

I’VE ALWAYS HAD ANTIQUES AS A FIRST AND SECOND CAREER AND OF THIS I ALWAYS HAD MY SAFETY NET

A PREAMBLE TO TODAY’S POST

BY TED CURRIE

     So what might a long serving antique dealer expect as a Christmas gift. Something historic, intriguing, unusual, and stranger than the Christmas before. I bet, that in this whole wide world, no one would open a rather heavy present, and expect to find a ball and chain inside. In fact, it took sons Andrew and Robert at full strength, with a reinforced box, to bring this former penitentiary-used ball and chain upstairs and to my tree side chair. If you think this is weird, last year I was given a hand made tin identification tag from the former Confederate Army run “Andersonville,” a horror by any accounting, such that the commandant was eventually tried for his crimes of inhumanity and hung following the Civil War. Why would either of these be appropriate gifts at this religiously significant time of year, and in the spirit of good will; when obviously there was a lot of bad will, and negative karma attached to each. It’s sort of the point, in reality, because we are not only antique hustlers, and sellers, but we are first and foremost historians and stewards of our interesting bits and bobs of world heritage. We actually used these materials as display pieces, and would never think of selling items of this provenance, and, yes inhumanity, for those folks who visit our shop and show and interest about what these items represent, as awful as that is in fact, we are only too pleased to show and explain the hardships attached to each piece. And there are more. We have quite a few bayonets from both the First and Second World Wars, and we have materials from the American Civil War, that allow us to curate small information sessions, that don’t glamorize war, but do offer the hard realities that were experienced by soldier participants. I’ve worked and acted as an administrator of museum and exhibition artifacts, including sports related collectables, and I never tired of letting folks, under our dutiful watch, hold a former National Hockey League player’s hockey stick, skates, mask as in the case of Roger Crozier of the Detroit Red Wings, or hold onto a trophy presented to Irvin “Ace” Bailey back in the days of the fledgling Toronto Maple Leafs. We’ve always had an interest in carrying the history thing to a contemporary actuality, by letting these materials be touched, and enjoyed, and that has included many pieces of original Victorian clothing, hats, and shoes. We have had our share of criticism because we won’t sell certain pieces that we could obviously flip for a fairly high profit. We just wouldn’t feel right about it however, and this is something all of us Curries have agreed to, ever since we began buying and selling all types of heritage items, big and small, negative provenance and positive. 

     We never brag about having these things, but we do share enthusiasm about being able to represent these heritage items in the critical light they deserve. And the ball and chain, which could have been from a Civil War era prison, is one of those terrible realities of past imprisonment, that can be used in a most positive way, to show just how bad it was back then, and even in some situations today, where imprisonment is just as cruel and inhumane. Putting the cold iron bracket around my own bare ankle is enough of a shock to remind me that there are aspects of history I fear might repeat on a free world; and I think that most who look upon the rusted iron ball and chain would feel a shiver up the spine, that this was a daily use article of painful imprisonment. As both an antique dealer and an active historian, I have access to these materials regularly, but there are a select number of artifacts that add to our capabilities of representing heritage in all its raw realities; much of it interesting and enriching, while other items are stark reminders to anyone who thinks history was much better than the present, that it’s just not true. I love being an antique dealer but I am not ignorant of all that it entails to be an historian to interpret all that comes down the proverbial pike, and into our possession as either collectors, dealers or curators of our frequent in-shop exhibitions.

SURVIVING IN THE ANTIQUE BUSINESS THROUGH TWO WORLD WARS AND THE GREAT DEPRESSION - A BIOGRAPHY WE SHOULD KNOW ABOUT

THE PASSION FOR ANTIQUES MAKES US DO WHATEVER IT TAKES, TO MAINTAIN OUR COMMITMENT TO HISTORY AND ITS FINER POINTS

     During the past thirty-five odd years, (some more so than others), I've thoroughly enjoyed the antique business, mostly because of what it didn't possess, in the way of work-day stresses. Running an antique business has always been challenging and historically charged; but truthfully, always more satisfying, because of its free-wheeling liberalities. Unlike what I experienced working in other capacities and professions. I loved my newspaper jag, if I'd ever been able to work at it, without management constantly kicking at the backs of my shoes, reminding, as if I had a shallow memory, who the boss was! I loved any opportunity to sneak into some of the old time, mom and pop antique shops, in the Toronto area, and I considered it part of the quest, to connect with veteran dealers; who by the way, weren't adverse to sharing their own intimate biographies about the profession. I am glad I had the opportunity to visit, and chat with these folks, because it re-enforced some of my own values, about the business I was planning to pursue. These fine folks offered a great deal of sage advice, about the pitfalls of the industry, and how they, (most were co-owned shops), had successfully navigated economic downturns in the past. My questioning was probably quite annoying to them, but possibly they saw the next generation of antique dealer, and gave me the benefit of the doubt. I would have very much enjoyed the opportunity to meet with Reginald Way, the British antique dealer, who I have been profiling for the past week. Suffice that I have his biography, "Antique Dealer," published in 1957, to consult, when I start wondering what it would have been like, to be in this profession much earlier in history. This is what I have in store for you today.    

     I've raised the point many times, with associate antique dealers, about the potential dire consequences of a future recession, the likes of the one we experienced in the late 1980's, through until the mid 1990's. Some of them hadn't become full fledged dealers at that point, and really don't appreciate my stories, about watching regional businesses suffering huge losses, and closing altogether. My warnings, I suppose, sound more like tall folk tales than economic histories. A lot of folks lost their homes, when the real estate market collapsed, and to make matters more consequential, they lost the jobs, that had provided re-payment capabilities, for their large mortgages. If they don't appreciate the real estate inspired collapse, of the nineteen nineties, there seems little point dredging up horror stories for businesses, from the period of the First World War, the Great Depression, and the Second World War. While I get stuck on the historical precedents, these periods now offer us modernists, facing our own contemporary risks and downfalls, it always amazes me, how those in the history-conserving business, can have so little regard for these catastrophic events, that always have the potential of returning with a renewed vengence. I keep harping on these issues, because Suzanne and I believe there is a greater purpose of writing a biography, than the self-indulgent, horn blowing to be expected from such intimate reflections. We opened Birch Hollow Antiques, from our Ontario Street home, in Bracebridge, only a few years before the onset of that era's recession. By time it hit with the tell-tale slump of the real estate market, we had just recently partnered, to open a main street antique shop, on upper Manitoba Street, less than a hundred yards from picturesque tree-lined Memorial Park. It seemed like the perfect partnership, but there are no perfect partnerships except on a drawing board, or in one's most hopeful imagination.

     I won't bore you with details, but the poop, and I mean a really big poop, soon hit the proverbial fan. Suzanne and I found ourselves without a business partner, which had nothing to do with antiques, and everything to do with the fact I had changed jobs in the local newspaper war, and our work-mates had a stake in the paper I had just quit. Thus, it wasn't long before the partnership died, and we had to hustle to find a replacement investor. In a short period of time, we had at least ten major adjustments to make, including the fact our car used to stall at sixty miles per hour, our new house was worth thirty thousand less than when we purchased it the year before, and by the summer of 1990, my jobs in radio, print, and museum management had ended, in part because of recessionary stresses, and my unwillingness to settle for less. We were fortunate Suzanne had a secure teaching job by this point, and at the very least, we had a business location on a prime stretch of the main street, and I understood the antique business pretty well. There were a lot of bleak years, and winters that were wretched in the economic sense. But thanks to new partners, and many consignors, who liked the fact, we only took twenty percent commission, and trusted the way we handled their heirloom pieces, we inched over the economic canyons, on the most slender fibres of bridging; and let me tell you, this was a sad enterprise by itself, because many of our consignors, themselves, had one proverbial foot on a banana peel, economically speaking. I sold off some of the last material pieces for customers who had just lost their homes to bank foreclosure; and for those having just lost their jobs with no prospects on the horizon. We all profited a little bit back then, because the consignment pieces were better, at that time, than anything else we had for sale. Funny thing about this, is that we undoubtedly would have closed our shop in Bracebridge, if it wasn't for the happenstance of selling on consignment; which happened innocently enough one day, when a fellow came in with some outstanding pieces, that we couldn't afford to buy outright. He asked if we would agree to sell them on consignment. I agreed and for the next two years, we sold lots of his vintage wooden boxes, trunks and blanket boxes, that he restored beautifully. It was our kick-start, that let us know, we didn't have to lay out big whacks of cash in order to maintain an inventory. These consignors, who offered us the chance to sell some amazing antiques and collectables, saved our business, but I probably never told them this before now.

     The bottom line, is that we survived being caught in the eye of a massive, and brutal economic storm, because we knew how to limit our purchases, and become, temporarily, a consignment shop, at a time, when a lot of folks needed to raise money fast in order to pay hydro bills and taxes; and of course, to buy food. We used to have daily discussions, when our group of consignors would gather at my sales desk, for our coffee club socials, and overview the prevailing crisis, as if these bull sessions made them feel better, about, say, the fact they had just received notice their gas was being cut off, or the town was coming after them for unpaid taxes. Or that the repair on their car, was going to cost way more than they could afford, even if I sold everything they had consigned. We compared our situations, and a few laughs took the edge away. I can remember one friend of ours, bringing us hot soup from home, as a gesture of shared compassion, and the same fellow brought our boys almost-new winter coats, his own sons had worn as kids. To manage store, home, family and transportation, we didn't have a lot of money left over to eat well, or dress beyond the consideration of what was warm and durable. Fashion went out the window for that half decade of nickel and diming, to keep our business open, keep up the payments on our house, and provide for Andrew and Robert without too many sacrifices. What's so important about all this?  Well, there's a lot to be learned from the biographies of others, who, like British Antique Dealer, Reginald Way, navigated the economic perils of two world wars, and the Great Depression. His reflections are important to antique dealers today, because it's quite true, that with some precisely measured and executed manipulations, our enterprises can survive almost anything, even our own demise. It is a unique and curious business, because of what it represents of antiquity, and its substantial values. Here now, as promised in yesterday's blog, are a few observations, from Mr. Way's biography, about the dark days and economic turmoil from the onset of the Second World War in the year 1939. You can archive back, in these blogs, to read his accounts of running the antique business through the First World War, and the Depression. Here now in the words of Mr. Way.

     "With the outbreak of war in 1939, the antique business took another knock-out blow, but things turned out better for me than I'd dared to hope. Almost the day after war was declared, the Admiralty moved their headquarters to Bath and several of the large hotels were requisitioned. This meant that there was a lot of inventory work to be done, and I was at once employed by the Bath auctioneers, Messrs Fortt, Hatt & Billings, to help with this work, which lasted for several years. Life was very hectic for my family. Gladys's brother, Cecil Walker, was a hosier in Weston-super Mare, and owned a branch shop in Bath. His manager there was called up (for military service), so Gladys was asked if she would take his place, as she'd had experience in this type of business at Weston-super Mare, during the 1914-18 war, when Cecil was on active service.

     "My daughter Peggy, who was about seventeen, at the time, decided that for her war work, she would get a job in a local day nursery, where the services of the right type of girl were badly needed, and our assistant, Jane Hutchins, joined the ATS. In this way the overheads of Gay Street were drastically cut. When my inventory work with the auctioneers ended, I was left alone in my business and life became horribly monotonous. However, that ended with the arrival of 'knocker,' Albert Swift, who immediately began his operations in and about the city. I was amazed at the large quantity of antiques he discovered, and, although I was not selling anything, the prices were so low that I couldn't resist buying them from him. Early in 1940 during the phoney war, business began to improve; for people, having got over their first fright, began to be interested once more in antiques, realizing that now was the time to obtain bargains. That only lasted until the fall of France, when business again came to a standstill."

     Mr. Way recalls that, "In July, I joined the Home Guard and was in it until the following November when my health broke down. This was due to the wound in my left hand from the 1914-1918 war (shrapnel wound). It had given me neuritis in the left shoulder and, I suppose, because of having to sleep in a wet cellar, while I was in the Home Guard, the neuritis became worse and finally spread to my right shoulder as well. On my doctor's orders I had, much to my regret, to resign. Early that September, I'd received a letter from a friend of mine, in Fowey, saying that Dr. Rashleigh was going to sell most of the contents of Menabilly, (estate) so I went down to the sale. Very few dealers were present at the auction, and I was able to buy the little walnut domed-top bookcase which I'd first seen, when I visited the house years ago, in the 1920's. Subsequently I sold the bookcase to a client in Bath, and I'm glad to say that it's still in her possession today, although it narrowly escaped destruction in the air raids when part of her house was destroyed.      "When the late Queen Mary came to stay with the Duke and Duchess, of Beaufort at Badminton, for the duration of the war, Her Majesty made frequent visits to Bath. At Christmas time she arranged a party for the village children at Badminton, and there was a large Christmas tree. Her Majesty visited Messrs Woolworth's, to buy gifts to put on the tree. The manager, whom I knew quite well, told me that he was in his office, when his secretary rushed in and said in high excitement, 'Queen Mary has just come in!' He thought she was giving him an important piece of war news about the famous liner and exclaimed, 'Good Lord, I thought she was in New York Harbour!' (he was referring, at that moment to the ship, not the actual Queen, who was soon after standing in the shop). As soon as he understood what his secretary meant, he rushed downstairs to show Her Majesty over the store. I was honored by a Royal visit on the 6th of February, 1941. I knew nothing about it until, during the afternoon, the manager of the Bath Chronicle and Herald newspaper, rang me up, asking if I knew the time at which Queen Mary, and the Duke of Kent, would be viewing my shop. Almost before I'd replaced the receiver, a large Daimler saloon drew up outside and Queen Mary, and the Duke of Kent got out. As I opened the door, Her Majesty said, 'I've brought my son to see you Mr. Way.' They both bought several things. Those purchased by Queen Mary were mostly small pieces of old china. His Royal Highness bought some old cut-glass Georgian decanters, some Oriental bowls and a perfect rectangular, pierced edge Chippendale mahogany tray.

     "He explained to me that he had a special room in which he collected a store of articles, which he kept to give as wedding presents, and that everything he'd bought that afternoon, except the tray, which he proposed to use himself, would go into that store-room. It's sad to think that the tray was to be used by him for so short a time. Before they left, the Duke wrote in his beautiful clear hand-writing, on the back of one of my business cards, the instructions for the delivery of his purchases. The card is still in my possession. With the arrival of the Admiralty in Bath and, in addition, a large number of evacuees from London, and other places, the city became congested. Room also had to be found for the Irish labourers who were working to enlarge the underground Bath stone quarries. All this new population necessitated the services of billeting officers, who went around inspecting all premises. In our own place we had, beside Gladys, our daughter Peggy and myself, a young employee of the Admiralty, Mary Croft, living with us. The three rooms at the top of the house had been converted into a flat, and at first this was occupied by an airman and his wife. After he was posted to another part of England, we had a very charming couple up there, a young scientist, who was working with the Admiralty, and his wife. This scientist was doing a very hush-hush job and at times he was most absent-minded. On Saturday afternoons, if he was free from work, he and his wife used to play golf. One Saturday his wife, who was waiting in the sitting room, while he changed into his golfing clothes, though he was taking a very long time over it; so she went into the bedroom to see what was happening. There she found to her surprise, that, instead of getting into his golfing kit, he'd undressed, put on his pyjamas, and gone to bed. One incident stands out in my mind, from those days of war; a light touch but one that's vivid to me.

     "When I left Bristol to live in Bath, I still kept my Bristol tailor, Mr. Hutchings. A week before Bristol was heavily bombed, I'd received a postcard from him, saying that a suit I'd ordered was ready for fitting. In that bombing attack much of Park Street, where Mr. Hutchings had his premises, was destroyed. Questioning a friend, from there, about the damage, I asked him how the centre part of Park Street had fared. 'All down,' he told me. Later I said to Gladys, 'So my new suit that Hutchings was making must have gone.' But a fortnight later, I got a postcard from him saying, 'You haven't called for your try-on, advice of which I sent you several weeks ago.' I went over to Bristol at once, and found Hutchings's shop still standing, looking for all the world like a small slice of wedding cake, left standing on a dish with all the rest of the cake gone.

     "When I congratulated him on his good luck he said, 'Who says No. 13's unlucky? Exactly six houses have been destroyed on each side of me, and I'm the thirteenth.' Poor Bristol, with its loss of Mary-le-Port Street, and its Elizabethan period houses. So much beauty that has been destroyed forever. Now the ruined walls have been demolished and upon the foundations have risen new, modern buildings. As an old Bristol client mourned to me, 'Bristol has lots its soul.' I wonder."

     Mr. Way concludes, "In 1941, the antique business began to get better for me; large numbers of Admiralty civil service staff were billeted in accommodation, so atrociously furnished, that they were glad to buy simple pieces of antique furniture, to make their rooms less ghastly. As Gladys was still at her brother's business, I found I needed some help in the shop. It was not difficult to get a suitable assistant, because a number of young wives had come down with their husbands, who were employed by the Admiralty, and my new assistant soon became efficient. One day I left her in sole charge, with instructions to write down everything of importance, that occurred during the day. In the evening I found on my desk the following note, 'There have been three air-raid warnings and a dog fight over the city, with much machine-gun fire.' No word of any business transactions. In spite of her mixture of war and business, she became quite capable of managing customers and, late in June, Gladys and I took a week's holiday and went to Fowey. It seemed rather a grim place in war time, after the happy days we'd known there. There was no bathing with the harbour, locked behind a boom; no boating, and most of the cliffs were fortified, and in the hands of the army. Pridmouth was controlled by the RAF, and all lanes leading to the camp, were barricaded with large notices saying, 'Keep out!" "In 1942, at the end of April, Bath suffered three bad raids which, for a time, dislocated all business in the city. These raids were very vicious. The first two were aimed at the business and commercial centre of Bath, and if all the bombs that were dropped had exploded, the devastations would have been terrific, but in the centre and busiest part of the city, there were between thirty and forty unexploded bombs. The third raid, which took place on a Sunday, was directed at the Georgian and residential parts of the city; and as Gay Street was in this part, we were most fortunate not to be hit. When the Germans found that there was absolutely no defence, either in the air or on the ground, during those raids, they swooped down and machine-gunned through the windows of the houses, in some of the wider streets. The greatest loss to Bath was the historic Assembly Rooms, which had recently been restored at vast expense. Fortunately, the old glass chandeliers, had been removed to a place of safety; but they are practically all that remains of this beautiful suite of Georgian rooms."