will take sides.’
‘But some of them will take sides with you. Old Titus included, I daresay. He’s always told me he likes people with guts. You might just get away with it, so long as you greet him with a cheery grin and don’t look hang-dog like you do now. On the other hand – well, let’s wait before we cross any bridges. Now, let me see: there’s ahouse sale tomorrow. We should pick up some useful stuff there…’
Some silly old lady had decided she was going to live forever, and didn’t need to make a will. The result was that a firm of Eastbourne solicitors was no doubt rubbing its collective hands together in glee, just like Griff when he saw a heap of unloved china, at all the money they were going to make from selling up the estate. A meagre knot of relatives stood round looking glummer and glummer as good stuff went for poor prices. Ralph Harper was there, sneering at some lovely Edwardian Regency-style mahogany bedroom furniture by Waring and Gillow. Even without the name, you could see that though the wood hadn’t seen wax polish for a few years, it was high quality stuff. He was next to a sleek-looking man wearing a leather jacket to die for, who muttered occasionally. Did I spot a little ring, dealers promising to keep prices down and then haggle between themselves? I was afraid so, and almost jumped for joy when a young couple forced the price up, just because the suite would look good in their bedroom. We got a complete 1903 Royal Worcester tea service embarrassingly cheaply. The current fashion was for much more highly decorated ware, but as Griff pointed out, at that price we could afford to keep it in the attic till tastes changed and prices went up accordingly. There was some nice Gaudy Welsh, but another dealer snaffled the lot. Since he had to pay well above the odds, Griff didn’t so much as sigh.
We went home with a lot of odds and ends, too, the usual mixture of ‘best’ and everyday items, with the everyday ones often worth a lot more than those theowner had thought were treasures. I hadn’t spotted that the old dear’s cats had eaten off Coalport plates, but Griff had. For penance, I’d clean off whatever yucky gunge was encrusting them. So we had a week’s work at home ahead of us, a quiet time unless one of Griff’s fellow Thespians popped in for a cup of tea and regaled us with what Griff called the latest
on dits
. You might have thought the prospect was pretty tedious, but I really enjoyed restoration work, from appraising what could and what should be done to putting the final glaze on a piece. Most of my skills I’d learned from Griff himself, but not all. He had friends in the business all over the country, and I’d spent a week with two of them, an elderly brother and sister up in Wolverhampton, picking their brains. They could manage such fine work that people called on them from museums and stately homes; Griff’s hands were now too shaky for all but the most everyday jobs; I was somewhere in-between. One day, if I ever allowed myself to think ahead, maybe I could give up what Griff called the peripatetic life and settle down in the cottage next to Griff’s with roses round the door, a couple of kids I’d bring up beautifully and a little part-time job I could do while they were at school. Not the usual sort of part-time job where employers screw the last drop from their underpaid staff, but one that paid really well. People were actually prepared to fork out more than a vase or figurine was worth to someone who’d make it look right after a disaster with a duster or a family pet. And that someone would be me. So these days if I found a job fiddly or tedious, I’d mark it down as part of my apprenticeship – we didn’t call it that, but that was what it was.
Today’s job was repairing a Worcester figurine using plastic modelling clay. I was shaping a tiny hand – you get the proportions right by studying your own hand. Once you’ve done that, you
‘But some of them will take sides with you. Old Titus included, I daresay. He’s always told me he likes people with guts. You might just get away with it, so long as you greet him with a cheery grin and don’t look hang-dog like you do now. On the other hand – well, let’s wait before we cross any bridges. Now, let me see: there’s ahouse sale tomorrow. We should pick up some useful stuff there…’
Some silly old lady had decided she was going to live forever, and didn’t need to make a will. The result was that a firm of Eastbourne solicitors was no doubt rubbing its collective hands together in glee, just like Griff when he saw a heap of unloved china, at all the money they were going to make from selling up the estate. A meagre knot of relatives stood round looking glummer and glummer as good stuff went for poor prices. Ralph Harper was there, sneering at some lovely Edwardian Regency-style mahogany bedroom furniture by Waring and Gillow. Even without the name, you could see that though the wood hadn’t seen wax polish for a few years, it was high quality stuff. He was next to a sleek-looking man wearing a leather jacket to die for, who muttered occasionally. Did I spot a little ring, dealers promising to keep prices down and then haggle between themselves? I was afraid so, and almost jumped for joy when a young couple forced the price up, just because the suite would look good in their bedroom. We got a complete 1903 Royal Worcester tea service embarrassingly cheaply. The current fashion was for much more highly decorated ware, but as Griff pointed out, at that price we could afford to keep it in the attic till tastes changed and prices went up accordingly. There was some nice Gaudy Welsh, but another dealer snaffled the lot. Since he had to pay well above the odds, Griff didn’t so much as sigh.
We went home with a lot of odds and ends, too, the usual mixture of ‘best’ and everyday items, with the everyday ones often worth a lot more than those theowner had thought were treasures. I hadn’t spotted that the old dear’s cats had eaten off Coalport plates, but Griff had. For penance, I’d clean off whatever yucky gunge was encrusting them. So we had a week’s work at home ahead of us, a quiet time unless one of Griff’s fellow Thespians popped in for a cup of tea and regaled us with what Griff called the latest
on dits
. You might have thought the prospect was pretty tedious, but I really enjoyed restoration work, from appraising what could and what should be done to putting the final glaze on a piece. Most of my skills I’d learned from Griff himself, but not all. He had friends in the business all over the country, and I’d spent a week with two of them, an elderly brother and sister up in Wolverhampton, picking their brains. They could manage such fine work that people called on them from museums and stately homes; Griff’s hands were now too shaky for all but the most everyday jobs; I was somewhere in-between. One day, if I ever allowed myself to think ahead, maybe I could give up what Griff called the peripatetic life and settle down in the cottage next to Griff’s with roses round the door, a couple of kids I’d bring up beautifully and a little part-time job I could do while they were at school. Not the usual sort of part-time job where employers screw the last drop from their underpaid staff, but one that paid really well. People were actually prepared to fork out more than a vase or figurine was worth to someone who’d make it look right after a disaster with a duster or a family pet. And that someone would be me. So these days if I found a job fiddly or tedious, I’d mark it down as part of my apprenticeship – we didn’t call it that, but that was what it was.
Today’s job was repairing a Worcester figurine using plastic modelling clay. I was shaping a tiny hand – you get the proportions right by studying your own hand. Once you’ve done that, you
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