Jan and John Maggs Antiques

A Chance Encounter

After four days of shopping in the Cotswolds, we had driven to our motel in Leicestershire, planning to rise early on Tuesday morning and shop the Swinderby show a few miles to the north. We'd been looking forward to this evening, since six months earlier we had discovered an outstanding pub in the vicinity and were planning to visit it again for dinner. Shortly after 6:00 we drove to the pub and asked if a table was available.

The barman apologized and explained that food was not served on Monday nights. Our disappointment was somewhat mollified when he added, "Aren't you the antiques dealers who were here a while back?"

As we were expressing our wonder that he would remember us after half a year, the man sitting at the corner of the bar enjoying a pint said, "I'm an antiques dealer as well. What do you sell?"

We told him a little about our business and agreed that, yes, we were here for Swinderby and Newark. He introduced himself as "Simon" and suggested that we might like to visit his shop, located a few doors from the pub. We tentatively agreed to stop in if we had any energy left after our day at Swinderby.

On Tuesday we trudged through the field at Swinderby from about 6:00 a.m. until 3:00, when the law of diminishing returns decreed that it was time to call it a day. On the way back to the hotel we debated whether or not to visit Simon's shop. Time and again we'd been sent to shops by people trying to be helpful, and almost without exception, we'd found only motley collections of horse brasses, bric-a-brac, and used furniture. After eight hours of walking through wet grass in a cold wind, we were not eager to be disappointed once more.

Nevertheless, we decided to take a chance.

We arrived at the address Simon had given us. The Victorian brick house was unremarkable, and there was no shop sign visible outside. The only evidence of a showroom was a small barn behind the house. We approached its door cautiously and rang the bell.

After several minutes a woman appeared at the door. We introduced ourselves, and she told us that Simon was her husband. She then led us into the shop, where we were encouraged to see quite a large assortment of antique furniture -- mostly not as old as what we buy, but antique nonetheless.

As she extolled her husband's antiquarian credentials ("fifth-generation dealer -- buys regularly from estates and at sales -- very knowledgeable") we noticed a small, beautifully-proportioned 17th-century stretcher-base table, on top of which was an early eighteenth-century oak bible box.

We approached the table and examined the tag that hung from the drawer, anticipating a price that we couldn't afford, and were shocked to see that we could. We searched in vain for faults that would explain the reasonable price and found only two old and quite insignificant repairs. Likewise, the bible box was in "as found" condition.

We purchased both, and both have already sold.

Had we not gone to the pub, or had we been a few minutes later, or had the barman not remembered us, or had Simon not initiated a conversation with us, we would have left England last month without one of the finest tables we've ever owned.

Click the picture to return to this month's newsletter.