No, it’s how he and I both started to get interested in antiques and collecting: down a hole in a Victorian rubbish dump.

For me, it was the discovery that an area of my home town, romantically called Fol Hollow, was actually a derivation of Foul Hollow, because a century or more ago that was where the residents dumped all their waste.

Alerted to the story as a young reporter on the local newspaper, I was amazed to see the clay pipes, pot lids, ginger beer bottles and other collectables being unearthed by the wheelbarrow load.

Until then, I thought all stuff that dated from the 1800s was in museums.

So it was for Mr Collins. In his amusing little coffee table book “Eccentric Contraptions*”, he writes: “It all started down a five-foot trench in an old rubbish dump in Sittingbourne in Kent.

“My son Paul, then aged 12, pulled from the side wall of the ‘dig’ a pointed bottle that had an embossed surface.

“We both looked at this peculiar container, unable to fathom its use. A few minutes later; another embossed bottle emerged, this time with a marble in its neck – and that was the beginning of my interest in everyday, labour-saving and plain weird contraptions from the past.”

Mr Collins did some research, and found that in the early 1800s fizzy drinks manufacturers had a problem stopping gas escaping from their products.

In I814, in a patent application for a bottle-filling machine, William Hamilton sketched a bottle with a pointed bottom that had to lie on its side, ensuring that the cork always remained wet and didn’t shrink, allowing the gas to escape.

This remained the common method of bottling until 1875, when Hiram Codd patented the marble stopper; which had to be hit into a recess in the bottle to allow the contents to be poured or drunk – hence the phrase “a load of codswallop”.

So the mystery of the bottles in the rubbish dump was solved.

He writes: “Thus began a 30-year passion for finding quirky, everyday gadgets used by people in the past; the more eccentric and unusual the better; the more effort for less reward, the more satisfying; the more ingenuity used to solve the simplest problems – often in the hope of making a fortune – the more exciting.”

The result is a collection of more than 400 weird and wonderful objects, many of which are featured in Eccentric Contraptions and Amazing Gadgets, Gizmos and Thingamabobs, published by David & Charles, Brunel House, Newton Abbot, Devon, TQ12 4ZZ, price £9.99.

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

Maurice Collins was awarded the OBE in 2002 for a lifetime of work with the disabled.

In 1969, he and his wife Doreen and another family member founded the charity Kith and Kids, an organisation which provides services to families with children who have disabilities, and he remains a trustee

He lives in Haringey, South London, and is a former chairman of both the local and London branch of Mencap.

A business marketing expert, he runs workshops and seminars across the country in return for donations to disability organisations and all royalties from Eccentric Contraptions will be donated to Kith and Kids.

He said: “I have used the gadgets to great effect helping young entrepreneurs to brainstorm new products and potential business ideas.

“There are probably thousands of weird gadgets still out there. Don’t throw them away – there will be someone just around the corner waiting to see them and put them on show so that everyone can enjoy the ingenuity of the human race in its unceasing search for a problem-free life.”

Pictures show

Michael Collins’ book, the cover of which is decorated with a Victorian teasmade

A Victorian cherry pipper that did speed up a tedious process. Place cherries in the hopper and the twin spikes pierce a pair at a time, which were then pushed off automatically minus their stones

Reynolds of Chicago patented this envelope sealer in the late 19th century. As the lever is cranked, a roller drives an open envelope through a wetting process and a second roller seals it

It was a further 40 years before another American, Whitcomb Judson, patented a similar “Clasp Locker”, but even that was only ever used for fasting shoes, seen from the first time at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893.

The zipper we know it today, based on interlocking teeth, was invented by an employee of Judson’s, Swedish scientist Gideon Sundback in 1913.

The Birmingham company Kynoch produced the “Ready Fastener” in 1919, and the term zipper was first coined by the US company B. F. Goodrich in 1923, although it wasn’t until the 1930s that the zip was used on clothes and even then it couldn’t be used on jackets, because it had to be permanently joined at one end.

So, what’s this to do with antiques, I hear you ask. Actually, not much, apart from explaining why there are still so many buttonhooks in the world. And that means a perfect collecting opportunity for people like me with not much room and even less money.

Fact is, you could spend a lifetime collecting buttonhooks and fit them all in a suitcase. As far as outlay is concerned, true, it’s possible to pay £100 or more for something rare and special, but for the same money, you could take home six or eight of the things.

Buttonhooks are probably as old as buttons themselves but certainly from the mid-Victorian era until just after the First World War, no home was without a selection of buttonhooks and most people — men and women — carried one with them.

The reason was simple: with a pair of ladies’ or men’s boots having more than 50 buttons apiece, the little hooked gadget was essential if the boot wearer was to keep his or her sanity.

And it wasn’t just boots. Jackets, waistcoats, gloves, spats, even corsets were held together with buttons, lines of the things, all of them small, fiddly and almost impossible to fasten with one’s fingers.

As a gadget, it was simplicity itself. Basically a steel prong of varying length with a little hook on one end and a handle on the other, the buttonhook did just that.

In use, the prong was inserted through the buttonhole and the hook positioned around the shank of the button. A swift tug and a deft twist of the wrist and the button was pulled easily into place to do its duty.

Of course, the Victorians and their Edwardian relatives couldn’t stop themselves from tinkering with the basic design. As a result, buttonhooks come in all shapes and sizes and make for a fascinating collection that reflects both by the demands of fashion and the wit of the inventor.

Generally speaking, large, sturdy buttonhooks were intended for doing up the buttons on boots, while the smaller, more dainty examples were for gloves

Buttonhooks of a foot or more in length, sometimes unkindly called ” fat lady hooks”, allowed the user to fasten his or her boots without bending over (often not easy when a person was wearing tight-laced corsets) while tiny examples no longer than your little finger were meant to be carried in a purse or waistcoat pocket on the off chance that it might come in handy.

Since buttonhooks were in common use across every class in society, they are found in all manner of materials, from wood to gold on ranging through brass, bone, ivory, tortoiseshell, mother-of-pearl, and latterly rubber and celluloid.

A nanny or head servant invariably carried a buttonhook with her and usually this was found attached to a chatelaine, the name given to the belt worn at the waist from which were suspended all the “tools” required to carry out her duties. These included scissors, notebook, pencil, watch, and so on, often made in silver, rarely gold.

Doubtless it was usual to buy buttonhooks individually and for specific purposes. As people became more affluent, and travelled more frequently, retailers made it common practice to include a buttonhook in such things as cased dressing table and travelling sets, and the kits for manicure and shaving.

While I don’t personally collect buttonhooks, I do have two favourite types: those carrying advertising slogans and those made by soldiers in the First World War as so-called trench art.

It was no doubt the Americans who first realised the potential of buttonhooks as a means of promoting goods or services and a great many found in today’s collectors’ fairs have come from that country. Even so, they can still be picked up for between £5 and £15.

There’s no shortage of homegrown examples for the same money and these are much more interesting because they often relate to companies that are local or still in existence today.

Generally speaking, advertising buttonhooks are among the most simple found and were massproduced, being turned out by the hundreds of thousands which could then be ordered by a manufacturer or retailer and over stamped with his name or product. Thus a buttonhook from New York will be identical to one from New Brighton save for the name embossed on it.

Trench art buttonhooks are both charming and thought-provoking. The most common were made from .303 bullets — decommissioned of course — and drilled through from base to tip to accommodate the hooked prong.

Tradition has it that these were made by bored Tommies with nothing better to do with their time whilst at the Front. I don’t dispute the theory, but I suspect a great many others were made in small backstreet workshops for soldiers to purchase and send home to their wives and sweethearts. Examples can be had today for £15 to 25.

Because of their relationship with shoes, many buttonhooks have shoehorn-shaped handles, the purpose of which is obvious.

Another variation was the folding buttonhook, made in both steel and silver and in varying sizes — some look big enough to take stones out of horses’ hooves, others, usually in silver, tiny and delicate enough for the most minute of button — which are more expensive.

Expect to pay £25 and up for a silver example, more if the hallmark says it’s early, by an important maker or was assayed in Chester (the office closed in 1962) and perhaps £50 and up for one embossed elaborately with floral or foliate patterns.

Needless to say, novelty buttonhooks and other rarities can be expensive. I watched an auction the other day in which a job lot of about a dozen held up in a plastic bag sold for a staggering £350.

Everyone was surprised, not least the auctioneer, by the explanation was simple: one of the buttonhooks was decorated with an enamelled portrait of the Duke of Wellington and two collectors just had to have it!

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

Pictures show:
A selection of Victorian buttonhooks ranging from elaborate silver to cheap and cheerful pressed steel. Notice particularly the example which is part of a penknife

Buttonhooks decorated with polished agates

Advertising buttonhooks including ones for Draper, Southport, Nestle milk and Boots the Chemist