Bidding one’s time
Timing, as Roger Field has discovered, plays a big part in auction success – that and a bit of good, old-fashioned luck
Timing, as we all know, is essential in most things, from meeting the perfect partner to getting that dream job (to dropping the perfect pheasant) to being in the right place at the right time so that you buy something “well” at auction rather than paying through the nose or missing it altogether. Last December, i spotted a lovely little gold bracelet at JS Auctions. Would my wife like it for Christmas? Silly question. The auctioneer reckoned that £x would near guarantee it based on gold price and add a chunk – no, i’m not revealing how much i spend on my presents – but this, he cautioned, was December and pretty gold trinkets would catch the attention of people like me: people needing to buy a present prontissimo. “Be prepared to go double £x.” i did, and still ended up the under bidder: bad timing.
my next cunning idea was probably doomed from the outset. i am no petrol head – frustrated boy racer is probably more my league – but Bonhams’ car catalogues are full of open-top racers, cat-nip to the likes of me. So, the Den Hartogh collection, which they sold in Holland on 23 June, seemed to hold few delights. The deceased had built a, literal, museum (323 lots) of American cars of the sort that i would pay good money to avoid visiting: mostly 1920s/’30s and ’40s barouches. Yawn… But lot 283 was a different animal altogether: a 1931 Ford model A “racecar”, bright yellow, open topped, totally impractical and with a “come hither” estimate of €2,500 to ¤4,000. With the summer’s amazing weather scrambling my few senses, and at that price, i could just imagine myself bimbling around the neighbourhood
in it. A car designed to make you smile – that is, until it went wrong and the repair bills started coming in but, with the sun out, I decided to ignore that. A more careful read of the catalogue explained that this car, built on an original chassis and engine, was more an homage to those far-off days when you bought the basics and another company would build you a racing body. But, so what? I’m no motoring purist. A call to my contact at Bonhams cars elucidated that it worked (he had heard the engine roaring) and it was in good, although “as seen”, condition. On the key boy-racer question: it would do 60mph to 70mph but could be tweaked, although he questioned how fast you’d want to go on the road with its old-fashioned brakes and steering. He reckoned there would be a load of cars from the sale coming back to this country on transporters and he reckoned that, with luck, £800 to £1,000 might see it safely delivered here. And the price? His guess was more than ¤10,000, maybe as high as ¤20,000. But, he cautioned me – and as I continue to discover when I do occasionally get “lucky” – if you are not in it you cannot win it. So I duly registered online for the auction. I never got to press the accelerator (ok, my mouse). The bidding started at ¤6,500 and the chequered flag dropped at ¤18,000. And why wouldn’t it for an opentop racer when the sun is shining, although I’d like to think I’ll be relieved once normal service resumes with the British weather. Before leaving Holland, one other lot did catch my eye and proves that when it comes to quality and rarity then it doesn’t matter what time of year it is: a 1930 Ford Model A (again) Snowmobile (estimate ¤20,000 to ¤30,000). This time a hefty cab and body, Caterpillar-type tracks to the rear drive and skis alongside the tyres at the front had been added to that same chassis and engine. Apparently “enthusiasts” love driving these relics through the snowy wastes. They certainly competed for this rarity as it fetched a nose-chilling ¤76,000.
At Bonhams’ sale of Modern Sporting Guns on 24 May, I hoped I might get my timing right. A friend invited me out a couple of times last season to load but also to share his gun. His late-season choice for mainly high pheasant is a 12-bore, side-by-side AYA No 1 Deluxe sidelock ejector. Whether it was the
need to really focus so as to not let myself down, or the lightness and smooth handling of the gun (or a mixture of both) I cannot say, but I was mighty impressed. And here was one in superb condition, beautifully engraved, at a mouth-watering £1,200 to £1,600 estimate. What’s more, while over-and-unders appear to know no season, “unfashionable” side-by-sides seem ever more seasonal these days. Good timing, perhaps? Four AYA sidelock No 2s – no slouches themselves as guns – preceded “mine”, with low-sounding estimates: from £300 to £500; from £600 to £800. When the four No 2s failed to sell my hopes rose. Although, the expert had cautioned me, “The No 1 might kick on a bit.” And so it did: £3,000. Foiled. Before leaving that sale there was one last monster that demands a mention: the Tranter Patent (Tranter designed it and licensed others to make and sell it) .577 six-shot “man stopper” – OK, park that: “giant stopper”, “grizzly stopper”, you get the idea – six-shot revolver. The pistol is simply massive, although the handle, in contrast, is surprisingly slim and small. Quite what the recoil would feel like as you unleashed a .577 slug I dread to think – Tranter “wrist snapper” might be another name for it. The expert was having none of it; “I wouldn’t want to be at the other end of that,” he replied. Point it and even a charging elephant might gulp and turn. It blew apart its top estimate to sell for £3,200.
My luck did finally turn. The previous October, I’d struck lucky timing-wise when Mallams, which might normally have one or two Japanese blades in an auction, suddenly had 60 to sell. That either gets the world’s experts and collectors in and bidding – and premiums paid – or it somewhat overwhelms the more local market. On that occasion, I walked away with a very fine, signed, Mino wakizashi (short sword) Muromachi period (15th century) for £1,100, just within its reasonable £800 to £1,200 estimate (extraordinary value, if you ask me). A European blade of that age and quality would cost in the tens of thousands. However, and of course, “size matters”, and I have since been hankering for a katana, a “long” sword, to match it with. Good katanas, I have since been discovering, cost a lot more as, well, they are bigger and thus more desirable. On 27 June, Thomas Del Mar had 91 blades on offer. The experts duly massed and fought over the best; one katana (not dissimilar in shape, design or age to my “Mallams” wakizashi) doubled its top £5,000 estimate to sell for £10,000. My friendly expert liked the heft (considerable) and forging of the steel of the blade of one katana. It was “Koto”, meaning “old (style of) sword” and therefore made pre-1596. Set in a basic, albeit acceptable, scabbard and handle, he thought its £700 to £900 estimate looked good value for something that old and in fine condition. For whatever reason, the experts weren’t interested and I got it bang on bottom estimate. It is still deadly sharp and, I tell you, you really would not have wanted to find yourself on the wrong end of a pissed-off samurai swinging that evil mother.
Byzantine emperor Romanus IV certainly found himself on the wrong end of history. On 27 June, Morton & Eden sold a 22/23 carat gold coin depicting Christ standing between the mightily chuffed looking emperor and his wife, Eudocia, as he pops the imperial crown onto his regal head. These boys,
masters of life and death and rulers of all they surveyed, were convinced of their divine rights as kings. Little did he know. In 1071, Romanus led a vast army far to the east to deal with the pesky Turks once and for all. Battle was joined at a desolate spot called Manzikert. A mixture of incompetence, treachery and superior Turkish cavalry tactics led to what the Byzantines thereafter called “the Dreadful Day”. Their army was routed and Romanus captured. The Sultan, perhaps having a sense of humour, treated him with respect and released him. The Byzantines, never liking losers, received him home with red hot needles with which they blinded him (sharpen up, Mrs May!) before sending him into exile. On the auctioneer’s advice, I bid well above top £250 estimate so as to be certain of securing this gleaming piece of history. But, come the day, I stood no chance either. It sold for £450; not exactly a fortune for something so old and evocative.
Perhaps it was excitement building as Wimbledon approached, or a couple of competitive collectors deciding not to back down but instead go to a record-making, final set bidding duel, but a circa 1885 white “base” metal (that is, not silver) lady’s lawn tennis player’s skirt lifter – stop giggling at the back right now, that’s skirt lifter – was sold by Graham Budd on 21 May. These small clips, with a string that attached to a belt, allowed the player to lift her skirt and so avoid grass stains. Designed as crossed tennis rackets with three tennis balls, this tiny item was described as unique and was sensibly estimated at £75 to £100. How wrong they were. The final forearm smash aced it for a whopping £3,200.