“That’s because they’re selling old stuff, collectables and that,” said the harassed organiser lady.

Watch a slideshow of glass car mascots

“But a lot of their stuff is brand new, the same kind of things we’re selling,” countered one trader as I eavesdropped on the conflict.

“Well yes, I know, but the new stuff isn’t selling,” was the organiser’s feeble response.

It didn’t go down well!

I wanted to butt in and suggest that the so-called antiques fair, also among the “attractions” in the “huge trade mall” in the centre of the field was another area where trading standards

officers could have had a field day.

Most of the stuff dated from around 1740 – that’s 20 minutes to six, probably the night before.

Instead, I thought better of it and went to check out the automobilia and autojumble for myself. I was looking for car mascots made from glass like the ones illustrated here. It was the same story.

Antiques? Amid the glitz and the glamour and the few genuine pieces for the connoisseur, the only antiques I saw were some of the cars and the folk driving them.

Yes, fake glass mascots have been known to turn up, but they are few and far between, compared to duff metal examples which are legion.

Glass mascots are among the most sought after and expensive of all car bling, the best being those made between 1915-30.

A number of companies produced them, including Marius-Ernest Sabino and Edmund Etling in France and Warren Kessler and Red-Ashay in this country.

The latter company was founded by Herman George Ascher, a Czech émigré who established his business in Manchester in the 1920s.

Coming from an area then known as Bohemia, which was renowned for the production of fancy glass products, Ascher was well placed to commission and import glass mascots, which he sold at motor car exhibitions in London and Edinburgh and from his premises in Chorlton on Medlock.

In all, Ascher built a range of 30 mascots, which he marketed under the name Red-Ashay. However, they were the preserve of only the well-heeled and the well-wheeled.

They retailed for between one to 10 guineas, the best being those which were illuminated by the car’s battery.

Even more novel were examples fitted with cylinders of coloured glass which caused the mascot to glow in shades of white light, red, orange, blue and green.

Some were controlled by hand, while others were driven by a small propeller fitted to the mascot mount.

As the car gathered speed, so the propeller turned faster, causing the coloured cylinder to spin, emitting a different colour as if did so.

Changes in taste and the nationalisation of Czech glass factories after the Second World War saw the decline and eventual death of Red-Ashay, the company closing in 1952, but the Nottingham-based company Crystal Art Glass continues to import and sell some of the mascots, produced by the original moulds used by the factory that made them for Herman Ascher. (So, beware new examples being passed off as antique).

Doyen of all glass mascot makers, however, was the master French glassmaker René Lalique (1860-1945) whose most famous mascot was commissioned by the Citroen (e with two dots over it) car company entitled Cinq Cheveaux (five horses) for the 5CV car first introduced in 1924.

Others include St Christopher, Archer, Coq Nain (cockerel), Perche (fish), Grand Libellule (dragonfly) Tete (first e acute) d’Aigle (eagle’s head), Sanglier (boar’s head), Chrysis (kneeling nude), Longchamps (horse’s head), Tete (first e circumflex) de Paon (peacock’s head) and Victoire (female head).

They were hugely popular. The eagle’s head, for example, which symbolised military might, was chosen by Hitler for his commanders’ Mercedes-Benz staff cars.

Rich British motorists bought them eagerly too, through Lalique’s London agents, the Breves Galleries in Knightsbridge.

Many were sold also as paperweights, but mascots are distinguishable by the heavy brass bases which allowed them to be mounted to car radiator or bonnet.

Lalique trained as a jewellery designer and maker but went on to spread his Art Nouveau and later Art Deco interpretations across most media including perfume bottles, porcelain, chandeliers and clocks.

Glass mascots also served to warn drivers of the temperature of the water in their car radiators which were often prone to boiling over.

These so-called moto-meters or calormeters comprised an illuminated glass tube sandwiched between discs of clear glass in a metal mount attached to the radiator cap.

When the temperature rose, the water level climbed inside the tube, giving the driver an ever-visible indication of engine temperature, even at night.

The glass and dials of these gauges were often engraved with decoration and they quickly sprouted wings and other adornment, although they were intended to be treated more seriously than the adornment of a car bonnet.

As a result, they are less expensive than most others and largely immune from the fakers.

Slideshow pictures show a handsome group of glass mascots sold by Warrington, Cheshire based vintage and veteran motor car auctioneers H&H Sales. The most valuable proved to be a Lalique St Christopher in perfect condition, which sold for £731. An amber version of Lalique’s Coc Nain sold for £315 despite a significant chip to the base, followed by a Red-Ashay style of a woman’s head, modelled after Lalique’s Victoire, which fetched £405. A rare Red-Ashay Pharaoh mascot sold for £191.

“Excuse me,” says I meekly, “but how much are those glass candle stands?” “Oh, you can have those for £6,” says the stallholder. The cash came out of my pocket quicker than wink!

The reason why they were cheap, of course, is because the nightlight shades were missing. But the stands — each one is about eight inches high — are not readily found today. Finding a couple of replacement shades was not going to be a problem, I tried to convince myself.

So, the search was on. It was harder than I anticipated. In the end, though, we found what we were looking for on the ubiquitous eBay: a dealer in New York who was selling new, collectable nightlights made by an American glass company called Fenton.

The one for sale on the eBay web site looked charming. It was made from red glass and was decorated with a picture of a small boy in contrasting white glass. The problem that it was new concerned us less than the fact that there was only one. So we didn’t place a bid.

Instead, we e-mailed the dealer and asked if he had any more. Ideally, we said, we wanted a matching pair and we were prepared to pay a reasonable amount if they were as good is the one we saw an eBay.

Not a problem, came the swift, electronic reply. The deal was struck and about 10 days later, the postman rang the doorbell.

“Duty to pay on these,” he smiled. Yikes, we’d forgotten all about import tax and what’s worse, we had to pay the Post Office a premium for acting as debt collector for the Revenue.

Ah well, you live and learn. But the second disappointment came when we opened the package. Yes they were red, and yes they matched the one on eBay, and yes they were modern, and yes we said we didn’t mind that, but the two Fenton nightlights — in the so-called Mary Gregory style — were horrible.

Each is decorated with a plump, Shirley Temple look-alike dipping her toe in the waters of a stream (see picture). They look to have been painted with a distemper brush. That’s the problem when a. You buy sight unseen and b. When you buy modern Mary Gregory style glass. So let that be a lesson to you.

There are, it seems, two very distinct classes of Mary Gregory glass: that made from about 1870 to 1939, when manufacture was almost entirely by hand and pieces were blown either freehand or into a mould in glassworks both in this country and in Bohemia, now the Czech Republic, and that made after the Second World War until the present day using mass production methods anywhere where cheap labour is readily available.

But first of all, why is it called Mary Gregory glass? Truth is, no one is really sure. Apparently, there was a woman by that name working at the Boston and Sandwich Glass Company in the 1880s as a decorator.

The phrase Mary Gregory glass was first coined in the 1920s but extensive research has been unable to identify any of the wares she is reputed to have made there. What’s more, she had retired by the time production of the glass attributed to her had begun. Nevertheless, the term has remained a generic one, even among today’s collectors.

What is beyond doubt are the distinguishing features which set the glass apart from the rest. Attractive (some would say sickly sentimental) paintings, usually of children, are applied by hand with white enamel after the object has been made and cooled. The piece is then re-fired, giving the enamel a glass-like finish. In better pieces, further enamel is applied and fired again to produce tonal highlights and texture.

The children who feature on the glass are usually placed in landscapes, chasing butterflies with nets; blowing bubbles; fishing; playing with hoops or just looking demure. Almost invariably the figures are set among trees and foliage that has been applied with such skill that it looks quite realistic.

The glass is also interesting from a social history point of view. The children invariably wear clothes of the high Victorian period, so sailor suits and knickerbockers are the order of the day. The features of the children are also quite well-defined and in the some more scarce examples, faces are picked out in flesh coloured enamel.

Today’s collectors are most interested in acquiring pieces of cranberry-coloured Mary Gregory glass, and as a result, it is the most expensive. Cheaper examples can be found in bottle green glass and cheapest of all are clear glass examples.

The decoration is more correctly called painted cameo glass and probably derives from the much more expensive Bohemian and German cameo glass in which pictures and patterns were achieved by cutting through and exposing different coloured layers of glass.

The fashion for Mary Gregory glass saw something of a revival immediately after the Second World War, particularly in the United States and most of what comes onto the market today should be treated with suspicion. However, once you have seen and handled some old pieces, it is easy to tell the difference between new and old – as we found to our cost.

Interestingly, old glass tends to be thin and delicate. The modern versions are heavy and chunky. Needless to say, the quality decoration is streets ahead in Victorian examples, while modern pieces are crude by comparison. Double firing, where the enamel has been applied on two separate occasions to produce highlights, is rarely if ever seen in the latter.

Look also for wear. A decanter or vase that has been around for 100 years or more is likely to show its age, particularly on its base, which will appear scuffed and dull when compared to the surface elsewhere. Don’t be fooled by scratches, which could have been applied to mislead.

The bases of old Mary Gregory glass present buyers with another clue: almost without exception they have a rough pontil mark where the piece was broken off the glass rod from which it was made. Even this featured is faked, though, so take care.

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

Cranberry-coloured mystery

Just as there is uncertainty over why Mary Gregory glass is called what it is, so too are there different theories about who invented cranberry glass.

According to some, in 1612 an Italian glassmaker by the name of Antonio Neri added gold to molten glass, causing it to turn into “wondrous red glass that shimmered with the natural beauty of rubies”. Others believe the secret was discovered in Bohemia in the 17th century.

Which theory is true is anyone’s guess, but in fact the Romans got there first, producing ruby glass as early as the fourth century by adding gold, so presumably the recipe had been lost. Indeed, Venetian glassmakers had tried to produce red glass unsuccessfully for centuries.

The Victorians loved cranberry glass and pieces were churned out in their millions covering everything from decanters and matching sets of glasses to elaborate epergnes (table centres) and light shades.

It too is still being made today and it too continues to fool the newcomer. Old cranberry glass is thin, delicate and very red. New cranberry glass is thicker, maroon in colour and distorts the vision when one looks through it. Try it for yourself.

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

Pictures show:
Top: These two good Victorian Mary Gregory glass vases are decorated with images of a boy and a girl standing among foliage. Note that they face each other when placed side by side, indicating that they are a pair. Expect to pay £80-100

Above: A good Art Nouveau cranberry glass epergne. It’s worth £80-100

They were made in a glassworks in Perthshire and such is the universal appeal of antiques and collectables, I felt I needed no excuse to stay north of the border with this week’s column.

In the event, telephone buyers from Scotland took three pieces, a Hampshire collector had travelled to the sale to buy two, while the remainder was shared between three local buyers.

The most valuable piece was a circular fruit bowl in purple, shading to green and amber with aventurine flecks, which sold for £280, more than twice the top estimate.

Aventurine is the name given to opaque or semi-translucent glass flecked with small metallic particles, which is a particularly attractive feature to much of the most desirable pieces.

These beautiful and remarkable creations are examples of Monart glass made at the Moncrieff glassworks in Perth between 1924 and 1961 by a Spanish glassworker named Salvador Ysart.

Today, they are highly sought after by a relatively small but well-informed group of collectors who prize anything produced by the factory and pay considerable sums for the privilege of taking a piece home.

This is rightly so, in my opinion, for this is glassware that will never be produced again.

However, to the uninitiated, pieces seen in isolation look like so many examples of Sixties kitsch and not everyone appreciates their gaudy colours and flashy styles.

See a group of the pieces properly lit and displayed and understand more readily the skill involved in making them, and their significance becomes increasingly apparent.

Salvador Ysart was born in Barcelona, the son of a glassmaker, although oddly enough, his first job was in a bakery.

However, it was not work he enjoyed, and he soon quit and followed in his father’s footsteps.

At around the turn of the century, the champion of Art Nouveau design, Emile Gallé, established the School of Nancy in France and Ysart was one of many artist craftsmen who left their native land to join workers in the school in 1909.

He subsequently worked for a number of glassmakers around Paris until 1915, when he was recruited to move to Scotland to help the British war effort making such things as laboratory glass and light bulbs.

He and his wife had four sons: Paul, Augustine, Vincent and Antoine who joined their father as apprentices, working first in Edinburgh and then Glasgow until 1922, when they were recruited by John Moncrieff, proprietor of the glassworks of the same name in Perth.

The company was primarily involved in manufacturing industrial and laboratory glass, but Salvador’s interests lay more in decorative objects that he had been producing for Gallé at Nancy.

Tradition has it that in 1923, he made a vase as a raffle prize for his local church which was seen by Moncrieff’s wife, Isobel, who saw its commercial potential.

Herself a talented artist and well-connected in London, she persuaded her husband to invest in the new product line and Monart glass — combining the first syllable of the company’s name with the last syllable of Salvador’s surname — was born.

Production began the following year but was limited to fulfilling orders from leading department stores including Liberty’s of London, the Ysart family working only in their spare time on the project.

Nevertheless, by the early 1930s Monart pattern books were crammed with all manner of glassware ranging from vases and bowls to ink bottles and table lamps.

The glass proved to be a great success and production continued until 1939 and the outbreak of the Second World War which necessarily halted output to concentrate on the war effort.

What made Monart glass special was not necessarily the shapes but the vibrant colours in which it was made, much of its inspired by Isobel Moncrieff.

The method of manufacture was complex. It involved mixing coloured glass granules or canes, supplied from Germany, with clear glass which was shaped and moulded and then covered with a layer of clear glass.

Adding crushed charcoal to the mix created air bubbles and gold powder, aventurine, metallic foil or mica flakes were added to give pieces a unique sparkle.

Ironically, the local Woolworth’s was one source of the silver in the form of glitter, but only at Christmas time, when it was used as tree decoration!

Salvador and his sons Vincent and Augustine left the company in 1946 and set up their own business, called Ysart Brothers Glass, producing glass under the name “Vasart”.

By 1949, Vasart was enjoying some success, but the death of both Salvador and Augustine left Vincent to carry on alone and production was in decline by 1956.

Paul Ysart, Salvador’s oldest son, became interested in paperweights and went on to become one of the most important manufacturers of the 1930s.

He remained at Moncrieff’s and restarted Monart production in 1945 but on a much reduced scale. Paul left Moncrieff’s in 1961, joining in Caithness Glass two years later.

It is virtually impossible to tell whether Monart glass dates from before or after the war. Somewhat in contrast to what one might expect, colours were much more subdued, probably because of supply difficulties from post-war Germany.

Even identifying a piece is Monart is problematic. The Vasart glass made by Ysart Brothers was made to compete and is therefore very similar, although this is generally etched with the signature Vasart in script on the base.

Generally speaking, Monart glass is not signed but it has a distinctive pontil mark — made at the time the piece was handblown — which is ground down and polished to a smooth disk surrounded by a smooth circle.

The pontil mark on Vasart glass was usually only ground off to remove sharp surfaces.

Before it left the factory, Monart glass was given a sticky paper label applied to the pontil mark although, of course, they were often lost with the passage of time.

Monart has also been faked over the years. The solution is based on experience. Handle pieces which are known to be authentic and compare them with others that are known either to be wrong or made by competing factories. With time, it’ll become obvious.

And one other tip: Monart and similar pieces made from several layers of glass are known to shatter if exposed to strong sunlight which causes the layers to expand and contract to different degrees. So keep it off the window ledge!

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

Pictures show a selection of Monart glass showing the range of colours and styles available. The table light is particularly sough after and has an auction value £300-500. Other pieces in the pictures can be had for £100-300

But there was a time and we couldn’t get enough. Before the advent of refrigeration, pasteurisation and pressure cooking, packing food in salt was the only way to stop it going bad. Apparently, salt destroys the bacteria in meat, fish and vegetables, making its importance as a preservative vital to the community.

However, since this is a column for lovers of fine art and antiques, I’ll stop worrying about what’s for lunch and restrict my remarks to the impact the mineral has made on collecting over the centuries.

We’ve all heard the expression to be placed or be regarded as “below the salt”, but not everyone knows that it originates from the days when where you were seated at a banquet signified your position in the social pecking order. The rich and important sat towards the head of the table, while the also-rans found themselves way down the end, out of reach of the salt — once a scarce and valuable condiment intended for only the most important of guests.

In a further show of wealth, one’s host would serve the salt in a grandly decorated object known a neff. This is the name given to the vessel, usually made of silver and actually shaped like a ship, used in the later Middle Ages to also carry his lordship’s napkin, knife and spoon (no forks in those days).

By the 16th century, the neff had become a must-have ornament, particularly in Germany and Switzerland, by which time they had become accurate and highly detailed models of fully rigged sailing ships, decorated with enamels and silver gilt and populated by little silver figures of sailors climbing the rigging and sailing the ship across the table.

In Venice, mid-16th century craftsmen were making intricate examples in blown glass, while in Paris, the silversmith Henry Auguste made a magnificent silver gilt neff as part of a royal service to be used by Napoleon at a banquet held three days after his coronation in 1804. On the neff were placed the emperor’s cutlery and bread, while locked jars held salt, pepper and spices.

Mention of silver gilt leads me to another point: apart from making silver look like gold, it was found to be essential to gild the metal in order to prevent corrosion by the salt.

Today’s silver collectors will know exactly what I mean, while people like me who can only afford silver plate will rue the day that they ever put away their cruet sets before scrupulously cleaning up any salt left on the surface. The resulting black pockmarks of corrosion have a ruinous effect on value.

Pairs of pretty little shell-shaped silver salts, each with their own tiny spoon that usually come in fitted velvet-lined cases are almost always coated with gilding inside (or once were) for just this reason and care should be taken in their use and subsequent cleaning.

Corrosion is not a problem when it comes to glass salts. Charming pairs of old hand-cut Georgian and Victorian salts remain among the cheapest of all collectables, possibly because their use died out long ago. While it might cost £80 to 120 for something in silver, glass salts can often be purchased for under £25 and sometimes less than that.

Sadly, the same cannot be said for Georgian Irish glass salts, which sell for a premium because of their relative scarcity. Ireland began to emerge as an important glass producer in about 1780 when Britain relaxed the heavy taxes on glass made there while at the same time increasing the taxes imposed on glass made in England.

However, it is not easy to identify Irish glass, which is one of the reasons why it always costs more. Some pieces exhibit an obvious Irish style, and Irish glass tends to be heavier than its English equivalent, but neither can be regarded as a rule of thumb. Better to leave it to the experts or buy from sources where reputation is your guarantee.

The turned-over rim is one particular feature that is common to a great deal of Irish glass and is often also seen on bowls and vases, while a salt with a uniquely Irish design has a large boat shape and stands on a heavy triangular foot.

A good pair of Irish cut glass salts could set you back as much as a reasonable pair of English silver ones.

If all this is too expensive for your pocket, you could have great fun collecting sets of salt and pepper shakers ranging from seaside souvenirs, crude but colourful examples made in Occupied Japan and speciality stuff made from plastic and Bakelite. Prices usually only reach double figures and almost never three.

My own favourite is a pair modelled as auctioneer’s gavels and they take pride of place in my collection of real gavels. They cost me £5!

Picture shows: This superb German silver nef was made by Berthold Muller, the noted Nuremberg silversmith, much of whose output was imported to the UK. Modelled in the style of a 15th century three-masted ocean-going ship with figures in the crow’s nests and on the deck and a full complement of canon, the nef has the typical import marks required by law and the Chester hallmark for 1908. The wheeled base harks back to the days when the nef would be wheeled around the table carrying salt to each of the diners. Now more of a decorative item, this example is expected to sell for £1,000-1,500 in a Dreweatt Neate auction at Donnington Priory, Newbury, Berks on Wednesday July 7

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

Glazed to taste

There’s another way of collecting things connected with salt and one which I personally think is infinitely more interesting.

When I first heard the expression salt-glaze stoneware, never in my wildest imagination did I ever think the term should be taken literally. But it must.

Sometime during the second millennium, probably in China where all sorts are amazing things were happening while we were still living in caves, people were making pottery at temperatures so high that the clay fused together and made the body so hard that it would hold water.

It came to be known as stoneware (because it was stone-hard) and by the 13th century, the secret of its manufacture had reached Germany, where it was used to make bottles for the country’s wine industry.

The bottles were mostly grey or dark red and pretty dull. Whether by luck or design I’m not sure, but someone discovered that throwing handfuls of salt into the kiln at the right moment produced a vitreous vapour coating anything inside that it came into contact with.

Repeating the process sufficient times caused the coating to build into a thick colourless glaze, while at the same time acting with the oxides in the clay to produce pots of different colours and fascinating orange peel textures.

In 1693, John Dwight obtained a patent to produce stoneware at Fulham, while similar wares were being produced at other factories in London as well as in Staffordshire and Nottinghamshire.

Doulton later used salt-glaze stoneware to make drainpipes and sanitaryware and subsequently domestic pieces such as kitchen crockery, blacking pots and ink and ginger beer bottles. Eventually the made so much money they were able to employ studio potters to make decorative wares for the home.

Among the most popular were the so-called ‘Reform Bottles’ of the 1830s portraying William IV, Lord Grey, Brougham, Russell, and many other contemporary celebrities, while a group of salt-glazed vases exhibited at the Great Exhibition of 1851 launched a new fashion.

Artists such as the Barlow sisters, George Tinworth and, independently, the Martin brothers are now names etched on the brains of today’s collectors who pay handsomely for such unique finds and all of it worth its salt as you might say.

Picture shows: The Duke of Wellington captured in brown salt-glazed stoneware. The jug was made in Lambeth in about 1830

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

by Christopher Proudlove©
Daniel Swarovski was a pioneer who invented the first machine to cut crystal glass in 1892 and soon his crystal gems set a fashion trend by enhancing the femail form.

eBay power-seller Berliner Marion von Kuczkowski, 40, has hit on a scheme already dubbed “a gem of a strip show” – to stick a million glittering Swarovski crystals on to the body of curvaceous model Chantal and sell them off at one euro a pop (that’s 68p in old money). As the crystals are sold, so Chantal is revealed in all her glory. Part of the sale will also benefit a charity, as yet unnamed. The money raised from the sale of the last handful of crystals, however many there are, will be delivered by Chantal (presumably clothed) to the buyer wherever he or she might be in the world and their purchase price donated to “an international help organisation”. You can witness the progress at www.millioncrystalbody.com.

However, there are many more ways in which to buy Swarovski creations, most if not all of them more rewarding. They are the ever-present stock in trade of countless high street gift shops and they make perfect presents, particularly for the new, younger generation of collectors. Admittedly, they’re not everyone’s cup of tea but to give them their due, they are very clever and clearly carefully constructed. More importantly, the story behind them is fascinating.

Young Daniel Swarovski was born in 1862 in Bohemia in what was then the Austro-Hungarian Empire, one of the most important glass manufacturing centres in Europe. His father owned a small glass-making factory which gave the family a good living and so it was a foregone conclusion that Daniel should be an apprentice there.

At that time crystal glass was cut entirely by hand, the skilled engraver working one piece at a time, incising the surfaces by holding them against high-speed rotating cutting wheels. The process was arduous and hugely labour-intensive. A complex piece could take hours to produce and wastage was high, a simple, single mistake rendering an otherwise perfect product completely useless. Examine an old piece of cut-glass closely and it is quite possible to see the slight variations in patterns which are inevitable with hand-cutting.

Daniel learned the business the hard way, mastering the technique of hand-cutting both in his father’s factory as well as at several others in the region. But he was of a new generation of industrialists and was eager to introduce change. At the age of 21, he visited the first Elektrische Ausstellung (electrical exhibition) in Vienna, where he saw the innovations being introduced by such inventors as Thomas Edison (1847-1931) and Werner von Siemens (1816-1892). The exhibition was the inspiration for Daniel’s idea of inventing a machine for the precision cutting of crystal glass.

It took nine years of painstaking trial and error before the machine was perfected and ready to patent but in 1892, Daniel’s creation was poised to revolutionise the production of cut crystal glass. His machine was faster, more precise, error-free and could do the work of several men without the need for a lengthy apprenticeship and training period.

In 1895 Daniel, his brother-in-law Franz Weis and their friend Armand Kosmann founded the Swarovski company which continues today, in Wattens, near Innsbruck in the Austrian Tyrol, Austria, where a newly-built hydroelectricity plant was producing cheap plentiful power for the energy-intensive grinding machines he had invented.

In 1908 and with his sons Wilhelm, Friedrich and Alfred working for him, Daniel’s thoughts turned to making his own glass rather than using that imported from the factories around him. Experimenting in a workshop specially built next to the family’s villa in Wattens, he spent the next three years designing and building a melting oven, followed by more time experimenting with recipes to produce flawless crystal. The breakthrough came in 1913, allowing mass production to take off.

By 1917 Swarovski had introduced grinding tools which were used to produce jewell-sized crystal stones and in 1919 they were registered under the brand name Tyrolit. Swarovski’s brilliant-cut “gems” were the toast of Europe, championed in particular by the Parisian fashion houses and jewellers who incorporated them into their designs. As a result, Swarovski concentrated on Tyrolit production and even went so far as to invent a crystal-set fabric which could be sewn directly or on to clothes and other accessories. The glittering flapper dresses so loved during the Roaring Twenties owe their existence to Swarovski, who patented the invention in 1931.

Today, the range of products is vast from the highest quality scientific instruments and telescopic rifle scopes; sunglasses; jewellery, fashion and home accessories; and for the collector, miniature figurines like the ones illustrated here. Love them or loathe them, they cannot be ignored and they have a huge following around the world. The Swarovski Crystal Society, formed in 1987, unites those who share the passion and has more than 400,000 members in more than 30 countries.

It would be hard to imagine a better way to introduce a young antiques collector to a hobby that could last a lifetime than to start him or her off with the gift of a crystal figurine which, purchased second-hand, could be had for pocket money. However, hard-bitten collectors spend small fortunes on limited edition Swarovski collectables which can fetch serious money. Auction houses tend to sell the less expensive figures in groups of three to six with bids usually coming in at around the £40 to 60 mark. A rarity such as the 1989 limited edition of Turtle doves sells for around £350, while Lovebirds, dating from 1987 is dearer at around £500. Look for the swan trademark as proof of authenticity.

Picture shows: The Swarovski Crystal Society (SCS) produces a boxed collectors’ edition of figures with certificate each year. This example dates from the 1999 and is called ‘Masquerade – Pierrot’, designed by Adi Stocker

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by Christopher Proudlove©
The paperweight sitting on my desk is something of an excuse for one. It’s a cheap Victorian novelty job with a picture of an elephant stuck on the bottom, the distinctly odd-looking creature with its trunk wrapped around a zoo keeper. But its appeal lies in its oddness. Clearly the man who drew the elephant had never been to a zoo in his life.

Quality 19th century glass paperweights, on the other hand, usually sell for around £300, but the one illustrated here is something entirely different. It sold for a staggering £10,000, underlining the fervour with which collectors chase the rarities by the three French leading makers: La Compagnie de Cristalleries Baccarat, at Baccarat and the Cristallerie de St. Louis, at Louis-les-Bitche, both in the Lorraine area of France and makers of the weight illustrated – the Cristalleries de Clichy, just outside Paris.

Key to their success lay in the term millefiori, literally “a thousand flowers” and the adaptation of the process by one Pietro Bigaglia. A member of an old Venetian family of glass artists, he is generally credited with the manufacture of the first glass paperweight in 1845.

The Venetians had been making millefiori glass since the 15th century. Briefly, and in its simplest form, this involved fusing together rods of different coloured glass which were then reheated and stretched. The resulting long, thin stick was then chopped into dozens of short sticks or canes, numerous colour combinations of which were possible.

To make a paperweight, Pietro placed a selection of the canes in a mould in the desired pattern and fused them within a globule of clear molten glass held by a steel rod called a pontil. The dome was formed by shaping the molten glass to cover the exposed canes, the magnification effect being enhanced by the shaping and subsequent polishing achieved by rolling the dome over a wet, wooden block. Once cut from the pontil rod, the area around it was similarly smoothed and polished to form the flat base of the weight.

It sounds simple but, in truth, it was a highly skilled and time-consuming process. Recognition came when a quick-thinking representative of the then ailing French glass industry saw Pietro’s efforts at a Viennese exhibition. Here was a product to put some commercial sparkle back into the business. The St Louis glassworks was the first to adopt the idea, although Clichy and Baccarat were quick to follow. Soon, French genius and artistry had overtaken the comparatively simple Bigaglia weights.

Numerous strikingly beautiful patterns were devised with complicated and highly colourful canes being employed to produce many expensive weights. Some rare examples even include dates and initials, often hidden in the intricate designs. Earliest dated weight was made in 1846, while one I’ve was dated 1853.

Baccarat weights sometimes include a letter B, while Clichy used a particular rose-shaped cane as a trademark, occasionally set with the letters C L. St Louis weights can be found bearing the initials S L. Bear in mind, however, that dated and marked weights are rarities. The authenticity of those in which such features appear to be too good to be true should be questioned with an expert before hard-earned cash is exchanged for one.

The expert would also be best able to point out the distinct characteristics of colouring and design employed by the three glass companies. St Louis, for example, specialised in a coloured overlay technique that covered the clear glass weight with blue, pink or green glass. The layer was then cut with windows, or “printies” to give them their technical term, through which the pattern or glass flowers in the centre of the weight could be seen.

Crossed garlands of millefiore and canes arranged in a way that look like mushrooms were other hallmarks of St Louis weights, while tightly packed canes covering the base, known as “close millefiore” was popular with Baccarat, as were butterflies. Clichy, on the other hand, excelled at flowers, particularly their rose trademark, attractive swirl designs and an easily identifiable moss green ground often studded with canes arranged in concentric circles.

Arguably the finest makers, Clichy were the only French glasshouse to be invited to exhibit their paperweights at the Great Exposition at the Crystal Palace in London in 1851, and again, at the New York Crystal Palace in 1853. As a result, a great many were purchased as souvenirs by Victorian tourists and they continue to turn up in the salerooms. The key to success is being able to recognise them.

Another rarity you might care to search out features a green snake with red markings coiled around the weight. The creature sits on canes arranged to represent rocks or latticino, a lace-like cane arrangement either in a corkscrew swirl or as broken pieces known as “upset muslin.” Even rarer versions have not a snake but a salamander.

If early French paperweights are out of your reach, versions produced in Bohemia, America and this country can come cheaper. Talented Englishman William T Gillander founded the New England Glass Co in America in 1853 and Frederick Carder founded the Steuben Glassworks at Corning, New York, in 1903. Both made paperweights in the UK and US but don’t expect the same quality as the French. Failing that, you could buy new ones – one day they’ll be collectors’ items just like their great-grandfathers.

Pictures show, top: A fine Clichy paperweight sold recently for £10,000

Below: Six of the best: left to right, top: a St Louis weight, the bouquet centred by an African violet with a background of white latticino; a miniature Clichy weight decorated with stylised flowers.

Middle: a pretty St Louis bouquet weight, the flowers encircled by an unusual border of pink and white spiral twist latticino; a St Louis weight with a tiny bouquet in the centre which is magnified when viewed through any of the six facetted windows.
Bottom: a stylish Baccarat weight with star-cut base, the dome decorated with a Marguerite in bloom flanked by two buds; a Baccarat Clematis weight, also with a star-cut base

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The UK drinks industry is going through tough times and corporate collections of fine art and antiques are suffering as a result. First, Allied Domecq, makers of Harveys Bristol Cream sherry, auctioned off the contents of its renowned museum in Bristol city centre and now word reaches me that the makers of Drambuie are about to do the same.

This is not necessarily all bad news. When any collection is dispersed, it means collectors get the chance to bid for and buy objects that might otherwise have never come on to the market.

The downside is that those same collectors, researchers and simply people who are interested in the subject are denied the opportunity to see groups of objects together in one place that tell a story or shed more light on a particular facet of our lives.

Wisely, or perhaps fortunately, the suits behind the Drambuie sale have realised that part of their corporate collection is sacrosanct and should never be split up, namely objects directly related to Drambuie’s historic links with the 1745 Jacobite Rebellion.

Tradition has it that when Prince Charles Edward Stuart, better known as Bonnie Prince Charlie, was defeated in his bid to regain the British throne from the Hanoverians, he was saved by the MacKinnon family.

The grateful Prince rewarded them with the only thing in his possession: a secret recipe for the drink we now know as Drambuie.

As a result, over the years the company has collected an important group of Jacobite art and memorabilia which hopefully will end up in a Scottish museum.

In the meantime, an exhibition of the pick of the Jacobite collection has just completed a tour of the US.

The same exhibition has opened in London, the only place it will be seen in Britain, at the Fleming Collection in Berkeley Street. It runs until December 17.

Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Royal House of Stuart, 1688-1788, consists of more than 100 works, including portraits, miniatures, ceramics, silver and gold medals and, appropriately, engraved drinking glasses. It is the glasses that are most fascinating.

First, a quick history lesson. James, the Roman Catholic son of Charles I, was crowned James II in 1685 but his Catholic policies were opposed by the Protestants,

After three years of unrest, they forced him to flee for his life to France, replacing him with the Protestants William III of Orange and his wife, Mary, James II’s daughter who became joint monarchs.

The belief that James was the legitimate ruler became known as Jacobitism (from Jacobus or Iacobus, Latin for “James”) a real stronghold of which was the Scottish Highlands and Islands.

James II spent the remainder of his life under the protection of King Louis XIV of France, but his son James Francis Edward Stuart and grandson Charles Edward Stuart (Bonnie Prince Charlie) attempted to restore the Jacobite line.

In 1745, Bonnie Prince Charlie raised the Jacobite standard at Glenfinnan in a last desperate bid to overthrow the reigning Hanoverian family but was defeated by the Duke of Cumberland at the Battle of Culloden in 1746.

Having fled with a few loyal supporters to the Isle of Skye, he was sheltered by Captain John MacKinnon of Strathaird, a loyal Jacobite who clearly saved his life.

Before leaving for France, the prince rewarded MacKinnon with his secret recipe for his personal liqueur which the MacKinnon family continued to brew for their own consumption throughout the 19th century.

The treasured recipe was handed down over the generations until 1893 when the brew went on sale at the Broadford Inn on Skye with the name Drambuie or in the Gaelic “An Dram Buidheach” meaning “the drink that satisfies”.

The rest is history, as they say, and the liqueur – marketed with the slogan “Gift of the Prince” – became the required after-dinner tipple with coffee and cigars.

By their nature, Jacobite societies were officially outlawed and meetings had to be held in secret with discovery resulting in imprisonment and ultimately execution for treason.

Despite this, supporters met often, the meeting always ending with a toast over a bowl of water, signifying the “King o’er the sea,” or James III, as James Edward Stuart styled himself.

As a result of the need for absolute secrecy, the Jacobites signalled their support with objects that were either small and easy to conceal, or decorated with intentionally obscure symbolic designs and allusive inscriptions.

Robin Nicholson, curator of the Drambuie collection, said: “These works demonstrate how the Jacobites, in creating an abiding tartan-clad iconography, invented a myth so large that it came to eclipse the reality of their adored leader, ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’ while he was still alive”.

The most common symbol of Jacobite support is the rose, shown in full bloom to represent the English throne, and often with two buds on the stem representing the two Stuart sons of James III – Prince Charles Edward and Prince Henry, the Cardinal Duke of York.

These devices are most often found on Jacobite glasses which are sometimes also engraved with the word “Fiat” (meaning “let it be”) or “Redeat”, “Redi”, or “Revirescit” (suggesting hope that the Prince will return).

The bowls of some Jacobite glasses are engraved with a likeness of Bonnie Prince Charlie, but the rarest and most important are those known as “Amen” glasses, so called because they are engraved with two to four verses of the Jacobite hymn ending with the word Amen.

Fewer than 40 such glasses are known to exist, some examples have been dismissed as copies over the years as knowledge of the subject has increased.

The forgeries surfaced as prices for Jacobite glasses spiralled to heady heights. They were principally executed on genuine Georgian glasses and were so convincing that doubt has been cast on the authenticity of a number of genuine examples.

The tour-de-force among a group of 58 engraved drinking glasses in the London exhibition is the Spottiswoode “Amen” Glass, c. 1745, (pictured) an unequalled example of free-hand engraving, drawn trumpet bowl and spiral air twist stem.

The glass takes its name from having spent most of the 19th-century stored in a special box in a cupboard under the stairs of Spottiswoode House in Melrose.

Not surprisingly, the Protestant supporters of William and Mary marked their allegiance with engraved glasses and other objects of their own.

The glasses show William riding a horse, and when George I became king in 1714, glasses decorated with a Hanoverian white horse and a white heraldic rose became popular.

The London exhibition, which is free, is open Tuesday to Saturday from 10am-5.30pm.

The Drambuie Collection of Scottish Art will be sold in January 2006 in Edinburgh by city auctioneers Lyon & Turnbull.

Both are something of a must-see for ardent collectors.

Pictures show, top:
The ‘Spottiswoode’ Amen glass, bearing the words of the Jacobite anthem, the motto ‘Amen’ and the crown and cipher of King James III c.1745

Below: A Group of Jacobite Glasses c. 1750; a miniature portrait of Prince Charles Edward Stuart 1734 by Antonio David and an engraved Jacobite ‘Loving Cup’ for communal toasts c.1750. All pictures courtesy The Drambuie Collection

By Christopher Proudlove©
There was a time when the antiques trade with the United States was one-way: everything from valuable fine art and antiques to container loads of junk that was unwanted here at home were exiting our shores on a daily basis.

To some extent that remains true today. As the supply of works of art of the highest calibre continues to dwindle and eventually run out, it is only the very rich who can afford the very best. On the whole, those people tend to be in America, and to a lesser but growing extent, the Far East and Asia.

But at our level of collecting — the kind of stuff you and I can afford to buy — something very interesting is happening. It may be the strength of the pound against the dollar. It may be, simply, that more and more people are travelling to the States for holidays and when they get there, like us, they cannot resist bringing back a collectable souvenir of the visit.
Of course, the ubiquitous internet-based auction sales have also played a part. Now it’s easy to buy a collectable from a fellow collectable on the other side of the world — all available at the click of a computer mouse.

Whatever the reason, it has not escaped our notice that collectors’ fairs and car boot sales these days each have their share of American hometown kitsch that is increasingly finding its way into true blue British collections.

So it was that we discovered Fenton Art Glass — not too difficult considering both new and old examples are on sale virtually everywhere. We were on holiday in California and found our first purchase, a pretty yellow glass nightlight, in antiques fair we happened upon. The light, which produces a lovely warm glow when lit, still sits in our bedroom.

It was a start of not only a love of old nightlights, but also an appreciation of the products of the largest handmade coloured glass manufacturer in United States. This week Fenton celebrated its centennial, which in US terms makes the company positively venerable!

The Fenton Art Glass Company was founded in 1905 by Frank L. Fenton and his brother John W. Fenton in an old glass factory building in Martins Ferry, Ohio.

They began by painting decorations on glass blanks made by other glass manufacturers, but soon, being unable to get the glass of the type and quality they needed, they decided to produce their own. The first glass from the new Fenton factory in Williamstown, West Virginia, was produced on January 2, 1907.

Frank Fenton’s desire to develop new and unusual colours helped to keep the business in the forefront of the handmade art glass industry. During the years from 1905 to the 1920s, the factory’s designs were heavily influenced by the artists at Tiffany and Steuben.

In late 1907, Fenton introduced “iridescent” glass, which they called Iridill because it had an iridised metallic finish. This was produced by adding various metallic salts which were burnt on to the glass during firing. Now it is known as “Carnival” glass, which remains a popular collectable today.

The effect was a rainbow-like finish which copied the Favrile glass made by Louis Comfort Tiffany in his New York works in the 1880s. Tiffany glass was hand-blown and expensive, but Fenton’s copies were machine-made and mass-produced.

The most common iridescent orange colour was achieved by spraying clear glass with selenium while it was still hot. Slightly less common pieces are found in dark purple, bluey green, white and the rare red, all of which were obtained from the same spray on glass of varying colours. In all Fenton alone produced more than 125 patterns.

During the 1930s and 40s, the twin setbacks of the Depression and Second World War shortages, saw Fenton weathering the storm by producing practical items, such as tableware, mixing bowls for Dormeyer to go with electric mixers and hobnail perfume bottles for Wrisley, two major contracts which saved the company from failing when many others went bankrupt.

However, Fenton continued working on developing a wide array of new colours and in spite of other glass companies closing at a rapid rate, and the death of the top three members of the Fenton management team, new blood in the shape of Frank M. and Wilmer C. “Bill” Fenton led the factory through significant growth for the next 30 years as President and Vice President respectively.

The years following the war were good for Fenton. Little European glass was imported into the US and demand for quality, hand made glass was high. Fenton’s responded by producing opaque coloured pieces in Victorian styles, which are now popular and sought after among today’s collectors.

Another innovative product was the so-called Milk glass, introduced in1952 and subsequently becoming the company’s top-seller. As it sounds, the glass is pure white and resembles porcelain but at a fraction of the cost and millions of pieces were snapped up eagerly.

Interestingly, it is milk glass which caught our imagination on a subsequent visit to Florida. We own a huge moulded jug which we bought for $25 (£13) despite the risk of pushing our baggage allowance over the limit in the process!

Leadership of the company passed on to a third generation in 1986, with Frank M’s son, George W, taking over as President and today nine Fenton family members work together with more than 500 employees to create handmade glass that is loved by collectors across America and increasingly around the world.

The joy of Fenton is the beautiful colours and patterns used in production and the more you see, the more you want to own. Each piece is an artistic creation by skilled glassworkers and decorators, many of whom sign their work for new generations of collectors to seek out and covet.

Among personal favourites are the pieces made in cream-coloured opaque glass shading to light pink. A copy of the earlier so-called Burmese glass produced by Thomas Webb, said to have been christened by Queen Victoria who likened the colours to a Burmese sunset, Fenton introduced the line in the 1970s to great acclaim.

If you’re planning a summer holiday to America, it might be worth including Williamstown, West Virginia, in your itinerary to join Fenton’s five-day grand centennial celebration. It runs from Friday, July 29 to Tuesday, August 2 and thousands of visitors and collectors are expected.

• They will be entertained to a range of special events including:
• Fenton family members giving tours and signing Fenton pieces.
• Join a glassmaking class and learn how it’s done (advance reservations suggested).
• Arts and crafts fair featuring the best artists from West Virginia.
• Free seminars from Fenton master craftsmen showing how the most difficult Fenton creations are made.
• Free seminars about Fenton history with Associate Historian, Jim Measell and new products with Director of Design, Nancy Fenton.
• Free eBay University seminars hosted by members of the eBay team from California on Saturday and Sunday
• And on the Sunday night, July 31one of the greatest Fenton collector auctions ever held.

Just make sure you have a generous baggage allowance!

Pictures show, top: Made by Fenton for Avon Product’s Gallery Originals Collection, this Azure Blue Satin 9″ vase has applied cameo-style decoration, 1984.

Below, left to right: Blue Carnival glass No. 1016 (Banded Drape) pitcher hand-painted floral designed by Frank L. Fenton, circa 1910.

Dancing Ladies Vase: Mandarin Red No. 901 9″ fan vase, circa 1933-34 (mould designed by Frank L. Fenton after a similar Northwood motif).

Burmese Shell Vase: Connoisseur Collection (8808 SB) 7-1/2″ vase with handpainted motif designed by Dianna Barbour, 1985, limited to 950.

Connoisseur Collection 10-1/2″ Favrene vase with hand-painted golden fruit motif and 22k gold bands and accents designed by Martha Reynolds, 1991, limited to 850.

Cranberry 9-1/2″ basket with hand-painted Mary Gregory-style “First Rain” decoration designed by Martha Reynolds, 2000, limited to 2,350.