It’s my obsession
Collecting is an admirable hobby, agrees Roger Field, as a collection of Winchesters came to the market. But to what lengths should you go to add to your hoard?
THE Pope has been busy canonising deceased folk of late; making them into saints and, in the Monopoly game of death, sending them straight to Heaven, avoiding Hell and passing straight through Purgatory. The Pope should consider the late Max Gau as the patron saint of secret collectors. This misunderstood category lacks a patron saint; a glaring omission that needs rectifying. Let me expand. On 28 November, Bonhams Modern Sporting Guns auction sold the third and final part of Max (soon to be Saint Max, I trust) Gau’s definitive collection of fine (and super fine) Winchester rifles. Monsieur Gau, he was French, spent a quarter of a century buying nothing but Winchesters; collecting them and shooting them. There were 100 in this sale, meaning, this being Part 3, he had about 300 at his death. The foreword to the catalogue should serve as his nomination for sainthood in the weapons hoarding category: “The extent of his passion for Winchesters remained a secret from his family, a secret which was only revealed after his passing.” (How I hate that American word – ‘passing’; ‘after he fired his last cartridge’ would have read better). What a glorious epitaph for 25 years of deceit, determination and massive expenditure. A smuggler supreme. Marvellous!
Although, if he’s now shooting half-inch groups on the celestial ranges, he’ll be spinning in his rifle butt to discover that his
family went “Whoopee!” and despatched his treasures to Bonhams. That, sadly, is the fate of many beloved collections. My own long-haired hater of ‘rusty metal’, as she deems my wonderful old armour and swords, does not mince words when I return with yet another treasure; “a bargain” I assure her. She knows her first angle of attack will fail, but tries regardless: “Excellent. Show me how clever you are and sell it for a profit.” When I demur she follows this with: “Then write it down so I know what it is worth when the time comes.” Bushes are beaten in our house.
There is a dark side to obsession. Many – most, perhaps – of these ‘super’ collectors are obsessives; money no object when they want something. Worse, some enjoy displaying the depth of their wallet almost as much as their collection. Which wrecks the fun for we rather less pecunious folk who are invariably outbid. An auctioneer tells me about a ‘known in the trade’ collector who was hoovering up gallantry medals. The auctioneer, whilst pleased to be getting high returns for his sellers, became so disenchanted with the buyer’s overbearing ‘what I want I get’ attitude, he took huge pleasure in secretly negotiating the gift of a particularly interesting set to a national museum. And then got the extra buzz of keeping a straight face as the collector ranted and raved about
missing them and boasted about how much he would have paid. The family, he tells me, knew what they were worth but preferred to see now-deceased grandfather’s amazing medals on public display rather than squirrelled away in a private collection. After all, those medals were, literally, valueless – without monetary value – to grandfather. Some collectors are so fanatical that they alienate rather than make friends it seems.
On 12 December, Dix Noonan Webb sold ‘a trio’ of Peninsula war medals that even I covet – I sometimes question this collecting of other, non-family, men’s service and bravery medals, but that’s just me. The DCM (Distinguished Conduct Medal), the first ‘gallantry’, as against ‘being there’, medal awarded to other ranks, was instituted in 1854. Before that soldiers got Military General Service medals – not unlike today’s GSM (General Service Medal) – for ‘turning up’ with clasps to say where you had put in an appearance. These three corkers, one with 14 clasps and two with 13, were awarded to three hard-fighting, muchwounded brothers called Hardy who all served in the 7th Fusiliers between 1793 and 1814. They fought, obviously, in most of the big name battles of that bitter campaign. They all survived; one a sergeant major, one a corporal, although Private James, the first to enlist, was ‘much impaired’ when he was finally demobbed in 1824. So rare was this combination of medals that they were bought by one Lord Cheylesmore for his collection in 1880. They blasted through their top £30,000 estimate to sell for £38,000. We will, truly, not see their likes again.
There was a stampede for St Max’s Winchesters. A very shootable though pretty bog standard S1 Firearms Certificate, .30 ‘Model 1894’ made in 1902 was yours for £550 (estimate £400 to £600). Estimated at £12,000 (although there were higher estimated lots), it would have helped to rob the local stagecoach before ‘ponying’ up a top price £16,050 for an engraved – Mexican eagle and snake - brass ‘receiver and side-plates’ .44, ‘Henry 1860’ lever-action rifle built circa 1865. All the serial numbers matched and everything was there, including an optimistic, folding ladder rear sight, graduated out to 900 yards. This was the quintessential, top-class Winchester, even if it does have a hairline crack on the right of the wrist.
I would happily shift a few swords along my wall to make space for a handsome old Winchester, which is doubtless why a number of decommissioned examples made surprisingly high prices; all the pleasure of displaying it without any licensing issues. Estimated at between £300 to £600 they mostly fetched more than £1,000 each. For example, a .44-40 ‘Model 1873’, ‘left the factory 1883’ (great documentation with most of these guns) plus its 2019 deactivation certificate, the sort of no-frills Winchester a properly ‘tooled up’ cowboy or bank robber would have carried, fetched £1,100.
Finally, an entirely gratuitous pistol that looks amazing with its full-length, detachable rifle stock. It came with its original fitted leather case. A sort of Germanic: “Ach, Herr Field, you haff your Luger, I haff my Borchardt…” The first commercially viable, self-loading pistol, designed circa 1893 and the granddaddy of all the ones that followed. I’d certainly make wall space for that as well. It fell just short of its £20,000 top estimate at £19,050.
I’ve always fancied owning some ‘pieces of eight’, although I would not have recognised one had I seen it. They just sound splendidly piratical and a rum ‘sundowner’ is bound to be on the near horizon. Turns out that the Spanish cut up the silver (and gold) they mined, and stole, in South America and processed it into crude chunks, or pieces – not ‘coins’ as such. That happened back in Spain. Each chunk had a value and a weight. Approximately 25g to 27g of silver was eight reales, hence a ‘piece of eight’. It had an ‘8’ stamped on it along with the royal coat of arms. There were two and four real chunks as well; roughly a quarter and a half of that weight. On 14 November, Morton & Eden offered a ‘Mexico Collection’, some sourced to the La Maravilla shipwreck (and therefore more desirable), a treasure ship that sank off the Bahamas in 1656. A ‘Mexico mint’ shipwreck eight reales dated 1652, estimated at £120 to £150, fetched £420, whereas another better condition example, but no shipwreck provenance, came in under its £200 top estimate at £190. Wonderful pieces of history.
If these don’t amaze your friends, a chunk of meteorite sold by Summers Place Auctions for a bottom estimate £2,000 on 19 November might. Almost a foot long, made of iron, weighing two stone, it is, well, kind of black and solid looking. Quite what you do with it, I know not, but when your mates ask “WTF?” you can tell them it came from space and landed in China. I’ll bet they don’t have one. Then again, I accept that there might be a good reason for that…
Stuff taxidermy, think big. Like a 2ft 6inlong mosasaurus skull on a stand. Mouth agape, jaw full of teeth, this circa 100 million years ago survivor may only be modestly sized – they grew to 60ft long (although the monster in the ‘shark tank’ in the latest Jurassic World film was probably three times that) – but still looks incredible; mean and menacing. Could have been yours for a bottom estimate £15,000. Or, a more peaceful suggestion, a large display of blue butterflies under a glass dome, 20in high. Beautiful and nothing toothy there; bottom estimate £600.
They also had an object every fanatical collector will hanker after, not least as he or she will then need to devote time to filling it: an unusually large, gleaming, Georgian mahogany collector’s chest, or cabinet, probably made in the West Indies. But who cares about that? What matters is that it is 4ft 6in tall and 3ft wide and has lots of draws and slidey-out things for you to store and display your treasures. It should take ages and cost a fortune to fill. It is much more fun owning things if you can display them properly. A snip at a just under mid estimate £2,800.
Finally, proof, if it is still needed, of the fanaticism of the collector: a large, enamelon-metal, 1930s vintage, BP advertising sign of an admittedly splendid depiction of a racing car speeding through the finish; the bottom third with ‘losses’ – chewed and rusted, chunks missing and ‘found in a skip’ – but rare and Ÿber-desirable. Yours at Peter Francis on 18 December for a ‘mere’ £10,400. A prayer to St Max before smuggling this into the house might not go amiss…