POT Luck

estimate he scribbled down after taking a few measurements was about the same as the Tip-Top one so Sylvia saw no point in haggling – and she had taken a shine to him, anyway. “I’ll make us a cup of tea and we’ll fix a convenient date,” she told him, adding quietly to herself, ‘Goodbye, Toronto’. When she returned with the tea, she found Andy sitting in Harry’s old chair, examining the plant pot decorated with bulbous-eyed frogs and yellow creepy crawlies. “Hideous, isn’t it?” she laughed. Andy asked: “How long have you had it?” Sylvia told him its history and how it hadn’t even found a buyer at the church sale. “It was my gran’s – a wedding present, I think. And, as you can see, it’s chipped.” She wondered why he was interested. Surely he couldn’t actually like the thing? “Only small chips, nothing significant. Have you ever had it valued?” Sylvia shook her head. “Goodness, no. It’s a wonder it’s still in one piece, all things considered.” Andy grinned. “Oh, it’s pretty tough is Majolica ware.” “Is that what it’s called? The word rang a distant bell with Sylvia who liked watching antiques programmes on television. “It’s a jardinière,” Andy continued, running his hands over the pot. “A flower pot, in other words. It was designed to stand on a pedestal to hold large plants such as aspidistras.” Sylvia clapped her hands. “I do remember now! Gran had an aspisdistra – a horrid spiky thing it was.” “The Victorians loved them,” Andy said, turning the pot over. “And this one isn’t just any old Majolica, it’s Staffordshire Majolica – and a rare name, too. If I’m not mistaken, this comes from a small pottery in Stoke – late 19th Century – just before they went out of fashion. They only made a few.” “I’m not surprised,” Sylvia said. “How do you know all this, anyway?” “Roofing is my job, but antiques are my passion,” Andy answered. I spend most weekends browsing car boot sales looking for treasures like this.” “Treasure?” Sylvia laughed. “I don’t think so!” Andy nodded and pointed to the roof. “It would cover the cost of having that replaced, with a bit left over, too.” Sylvia gasped. “You’re joking?” Andy shook his head, placing the pot carefully on the floor. “I’m not. Take it to the auction rooms in town and have it valued. They have a monthly sale. And you should put a reserve price on it.” They both looked at the pot and Sylvia regarded it with a new respect. Andy said: “I wish I could buy it myself – do a straight swap with you – but I can’t quite manage that at this stage.” Still astounded, Sylvia tried to come to terms with her new-found riches. She would never have believed the old pot could be an heirloom, despite her gran’s insistence that it was valuable. And if Andy hadn’t been an honest man, he could have swindled her easily. “I do appreciate your honesty, Andy. You needn’t have told me all that.” “Don’t worry, if anyone ever cheated my mum I’d be livid. But don’t forget, if you find any other hideous objects lying around, remember me, eh?” “I’m not likely to forget. It’s a miracle it was never thrown out. And a wonder to me that anyone could find it remotely attractive – I wouldn’t give it house room!” “Well, you know the old saying – beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Sylvia beamed. “And another old saying is waste not, want not. Now, young man, how about another cuppa to celebrate my forthcoming trip to Toronto?”

‘Well you know the old saying – beauty is in the eye of the beholder’