See a slideshow of The Casimir Collection

It was sometime before I learned what she already knew: the horse brasses were reproduction (that is fakes)so their attractiveness quickly diminished and I vowed never to be fooled again. Ah well, we can all hope …

In those days, real brass and copper antiques were worth a small fortune by comparison with today. I remember attending a house contents sale in the 1970s where two sisters and their brother could not agree on how the possessions of their late parents should be shared out.

In the event, the brother, who was clearly better off than his sisters, paid huge sums for anything he fancied, while buyers like me could only stand and watch.

I say better off, but as a beneficiary of his parents’ estate, any monies raised from the

auction would be split three ways, so in effect, whatever price he paid for objects, he stood to get a third of it back (that was in the days long before buyers’ premium!).

Thus it was that I watched in awe as a lowly copper kettle was knocked down for what was then the astonishing price of £75.

Oh, how times have changed. At a car boot sale last summer, I watched nervously as someone who was clearly a dealer pour over a pretty little oval Georgian copper kettle with acorn knop.

He must have picked it up and put it down the least three times before finally walking away muttering that the price was too much.

I stepped up to the mark briskly, inquired how much, eagerly handed over my £10 and the kettle was mine. The bargain of the day, nay the snip of the summer.

That’s the problem with brass and copper, you see. Collectors have chucked out so much chintz, pruned their possessions to minimalist proportions and spurned “real” antiques, now it is only the real diehards that are interested.

Even then, who has the time – or inclination – these days to sit for hours keeping it all polished?

There are still a few of us left, though, and

The first “antique” I ever bought was a set of horse brasses attached to a black leather strap which, as a feckless boy, I thought my mother might quite like for her birthday present. Truth be told, of course, I liked them more than she did.

It was sometime before I learned what she already knew: the horse brasses were reproduction (that is fakes)so their attractiveness quickly diminished and I vowed never to be fooled again. Ah well, we can all hope …

In those days, real brass and copper antiques were worth a small fortune by comparison with today. I remember attending a house contents sale in the 1970s where two brothers and a sister could not agree on how the possessions of their late parents should be shared out.

In the event, the brother, who was clearly better off than his sisters, paid huge sums for anything he fancied, while buyers like me could only stand and watch.

I say better off, but as a beneficiary of his parents’ estate, any monies raised from the auction would be split three ways, so in effect, whatever price he paid for objects, he stood to get a third of it back (that was in the days long before buyers’ premium!).

Thus it was that I watched in awe as a lowly copper kettle was knocked down for what was then the astonishing price of £75.

Oh, how times have changed. At a car boot sale last summer, I watched nervously as someone who was clearly a dealer pour over a pretty little oval Georgian copper kettle with acorn knop.

He must have picked it up and put it down the least three times before finally walking away muttering that the price was too much.

I stepped up to the mark briskly, inquired how much, eagerly handed over my £10 and the kettle was mine. The bargain of the day, nay the snip of the summer.

That’s the problem with brass and copper, you see. Collectors have chucked out so much chintz, pruned their possessions to minimalist proportions and spurned “real” antiques, now it is only the real diehards that are interested.

Even then, who has the time – or inclination – these days to sit for hours keeping it all polished?

There are still a few of us left, though, and any of us with any spare cash after the festive excesses will be making a beeline for a sale at Christie’s South Kensington later this month.

On offer are more than 300 lots of brass, copper dating from 1500 to 1900 being marketed as The Casimir Collection.

Visitors to Portobello Road will recognise the name as it is synonymous with the finest antique metal wares to be obtained anywhere.

The Casmir family business dates back three generations and "The Brass Shop" in Notting Hill Gate just prior to Portobello Road on the short walk from the Tube station has been a landmark for many decades.

Its situation meant that for many collectors, dealers, connoisseurs and enthusiasts, the shop was the first port of call on a regular visit to the world famous antiques market. But now, sadly it must close.

Samuel Casimir started dealing in antiques around 1890, and was reputedly the first dealer in London to buy and sell old pewter.

In the early 1900s, he opened a shop in Lambs Conduit Street, Holborn and his four sons Louis, Charles, Harold and Jack all became specialist dealers in their own right.

The youngest of the four, Jack, began on his own in 1933, the year Samuel died. After serving in the Second World War, Jack operated from various premises, eventually moving to the shop in Notting Hill in 1952, where he ran the business with his wife Sally.

They were later joined by their sons Michael in 1956, and Ray in 1972 and then Michael’s son Ian in the early 1980s. Jack died in 1984.

A particularly fascinating part of the Casimir collection relates to the little-known and often misunderstood so-called paktong silver, which in fact is not silver at all.

Paktong originated in China and is an alloy of copper ores with nickel and zinc. The metal was used by the Chinese for small table and decorative accessories for the domestic market.

Once called “Tutenag” or “Chinese white copper” it is now believed that English and European makers were experimenting with the alloy as early as the opening decades of the 18th century.

The imported alloy was used by silversmiths and by Birmingham brass manufacturers in imitation of silverware.

English makers, such as Matthew Boulton, saw the potential for making candlesticks and other goods from paktong as the metal could be cast, took a high polish and was slow to tarnish.

A page from one of Boulton’s books from the Soho factory in 1769 lists 22 “subjects into which it (paktong) may be manufactured”.

Most surviving paktong dates from the 1760-1780 period. Candlesticks are often found in paktong but other items were also created from the metal.

Robert Adam designed paktong firegrates for Syon House and a 1782 inventory of Osterly Park House records the firegrate, fender and fire irons as paktong.

Paktong died out as a product for high fashion candlesticks and other objects in the late 18th century because makers found it cheaper to concentrate on Sheffield plate.

In the 19th century, scientists eventually found how to make the alloy as a nickel silver alloy or “German silver” but this was rarely used to make cast candlesticks or high-fashion objects.

• CLICK THE IMAGE FOR A SLIDESHOW OF LOTS IN THE CASIMIR COLLECTION SALE AT CHRISTIE’S SOUTH KENSINGTON

Perhaps it’s a sign of the times, but by consigning a large part of their stock to Christie’s, the trio are consolidating the business and plan to continue on a smaller scale with their own private client base.

Undoubtedly the best collection of its type to come to the market in recent times, the sale offers a remarkable opportunity for collectors seeking the rare and unusual and who remain bullish about Brasso.

Whether there will be any bargains remains to be seen, but Christie’s are taking no chances: there is no shortage of copper kettles in the lavishly illustrated sale catalogue.

But like the rows of brass candlesticks standing soldier-like to attention, they are being sold in multiples of twos, threes and fours with estimates valuing them at a somewhat optimistic £100 apiece.

A veritable batterie of copper jelly moulds will tempt bigger money, with individuals estimated at £800-1,200, while anyone seeking fireplace furniture for a grand Georgian townhouse or country seat has a large choice of fenders, fire irons, trivets and grates.

There is also a handful of novelty pieces such as a Victorian nickel plated dog collar which is inscribed with the name of the South Cheshire market town of Sandbach and that of the owner W. Cox.

Being sold with a pair of brass nutcrackers and the brass tool, the purpose of which is unclear (at least to me), the collar is estimated at just £50-80.

Interestingly, the collection also includes a small group of brass tableware that originally would have been silver-plated.

The catalogue notes that it is evident from the inventories of palaces and stately homes such as Blenheim, Castle Howard, Houghton and Chatsworth that the production of silver-plated brass “silverform” wares flourished in the early Georgian period.

Obviously it was cheaper to produce larger objects such as tea tables, kettle stands and cisterns in plated brass rather than solid silver, but it is apparently a misconception that this was the only reason.

The craftsmanship of such pieces is invariably of an extremely high standard, and the use of hallmark-like stamps would suggest the likely involvement of silversmiths in their manufacture.

The working of the medium and the process of plating was not straightforward, and it is likely that brass was used rather than silver in many cases for its durability.

Such examples are two rare George II flagons dating from the second quarter of the 18th century, each with a hinged lid operated by a scrolled thumbpiece.

Illustrated here, and they are likely to be the most valuable pieces in the sale, each expected to fetch between£10,000-18,000.

Regrettably, finances demand that I stick to car boot sale copper kettles.

No, the metal detecting that interests me is the type that keeps grown men (and women) occupied for hours at the beach, on old rubbish dumps and forgotten pathways with little trowels and big hopes of finding something valuable that might otherwise be lost and gone forever.

Personally speaking, I’ve only ever used a metal detector once. I borrowed one from a neighbour and spent an unpleasant — and ultimately unrewarding — hour combing through the rubbish strewn across the back yard of my sister-in-law’s semi.

She had lost her engagement ring and having turned the house upside down, she was at her wit’s end. The only glimmer of hope was that the ring might have been swept into the dustbin. So we carried it into the yard and tipped it out. Sadly, the only bleeps we got from the metal detector were from tin cans and bits of silver paper.

The Business Manager (Mrs P) came home from the hairdresser the other day with a tale with an altogether happier ending. The coiffeuse’s husband had been digging holes for a new garden fence, and in the course of his labours, he had unearthed a tiny blackened silver disc, which he assumed was a coin.

About the size of an old sixpence but so thin that you could bend it between thumb and forefinger, it was just about possible to discern some markings, lettering and possibly even a portrait head.

Intrigued to know whether indeed the disc was a coin, and more importantly, whether he should book his round the world cruise, the experts were called in. Thanks to today’s digital technology, an image of it was sent to London specialist auctioneer Morton & Eden, who quickly responded. Sadly, the cruise would have to wait.

However, it was still a fascinating find. Principal James Morton said the coin was an English silver penny. It was difficult to date precisely because of the worn condition, so it was almost impossible to make out the distinguishing marks.

Nevertheless James Morton responded: “I think it is Edward I, which dates it to 1280-1300, and it was struck at the Durham Mint. I can tell this from the legend on the reverse which I think reads CIVI – {TAS} – DVN{E – {LME}.”

The amazing thing was that according to James Morton, nice, clear examples of the coin are worth £40 or £50. The bad news was that because of it’s condition, the value of this particular example was, maybe, a tenner.

James Morton added: “Chances are that it was a ‘casual loss’ and depending on the nature of your friend’s garden, it might have been in ‘imported topsoil’. However, it just might be a stray coin from a larger hoard buried nearby, so it might be worth having a go with a metal detector for an hour or two – you never know!”

Interestingly enough, another Morton & Eden client had had a similar experience, although his reward is likely to be far greater.

A detective constable in the police force, he had used his metal detecting skills to locate a gold coin dating from the 5th century AD which next month is expected to sell for £5,000 or more.

Morton & Eden Roman coin specialist Tom Eden identified the coin as a gold solidus of the Emperor Jovinus (AD 411-413). About the size of a modern 10 pence piece, the coin would probably have been dropped from the pocket of a wealthy Roman.

This is the first time a Jovinus solidus has been found in Britain, making the find both exciting and significant.

The coin dates from the period when the empire was in turmoil and the Romans were leaving Britain. Rome had been sacked, Spain and Britain had seceded under their own rulers and the Vandals were overrunning Northern Africa.

Jovinus was of noble Gallic decent and was proclaimed emperor by a barbarian coalition who seized Gaul (now France and Germany) during the reign of Honorius.

Jovinus was helped in part by Athaulf, king of the Visigoths but when Jovinus promoted his brother Sebastian to the rank of Augustus, Athaulf turned against him and decimated his forces.

The severed heads of Jovinus, Sebastian and a third brother, Sallust, were delivered to Honorius in Ravenna, Italy, on August 30, AD 413.

The police officer found the coin at a secret location in Kent. It was just four or five inches below the surface on a farm track that had been identified from ancient records he had studied in the reference section at his local library.

Being an upholder of the law, the officer had handled his find by the book: it was registered at Maidstone County Hall and with Kent Museums Service and the British Museum (which already has an example of the coin) were also alerted.

And just to close the circle and keep everyone happy, the proceeds of the sale will be divided between the finder and the landowner.

Truth is, metal detecting is a hobby not to be taken up lightly. There are rules – both written and unwritten – and etiquette matters.

Being a single find, the Jovinus solidus is not subject to the laws of Treasure, leaving the finder free to sell it.

But what is the definition of treasure?

According to the Treasure Act of 1996, all finds of coins (two or more) from the same find spot, count as treasure, provided they are at least 300 years old when found.

If they contain less than 10 per cent gold or silver, there must be at least 10 of them to be regarded as treasure.

Where objects are concerned, all prehistoric base-metal objects from the same find (where there are two or more) count as treasure, as do all finds, even single finds, if they are at least 300 years old and contain 10 per cent or more gold or silver.

The same goes for so-called associated finds – that is any object, whatever it is made of, found in the same place as, or had previously been together with, another object that is treasure.

So what should you do if you strike lucky and find something that may be regarded as treasure?

According to statute, you must report all finds of treasure to a coroner for the district in which they are found, either within 14 days after the day on which you made the discovery or within 14 days after the day on which you realised the find might be treasure.

If the coroner’s inquest rules that the find is indeed treasure, the coroner arranges for a valuation to be made by a committee of experts and the find is offered to the national museum or local museums at the agreed valuation.

The lucky finder is rewarded with the full valuation, although this might be shared with the landowner, depending on circumstances.

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

Be a good metal detectorist

Metal detectorists are expected to follow a strict code of ethics, as follows:

* Respect private and public property and all historical and archaeological sites and do no metal detecting on these lands without proper permission.
* Keep informed on and obey all laws, regulations and rules governing public and private land.
* Aid law enforcement officials whenever possible.
* Cause no wilful damage to property of any kind, including fence, signs and buildings and always fill holes.
* Leave no litter.
* Using good outdoor manners and add to the good public image of all people engaged in the field of metal detection.

Pictures show from top:
A group of English medieval silver coins of a type that have been found in excavations in the UK

Heads
The Edward I silver penny dug up in a Cheshire garden. With a little imagination, you can just about make up the outline of a crowned head
Tails
The lettering is decipherable enough for an expert to deduce the silver penny came from the Durham mint

The gold Juvinus solidus – found just below the surface of an ancient farm track and expected to sell for more than £5,000 next month

My personal favourites are postal scales, which came into use at the birth of the present postal system in 1840 with the passing of the Uniform Postal Act.

A somewhat overlooked element in the history of weighing is the law relating to weights and measures.

Below, left to right: A larger and more elaborate set of postal scales by Mordan, these used for weighing parcels up to 10 lbs

Mordan postal scales, the pan engraved with the current letter rates. A full complement of brass weights always adds value

Trench art – vases made from artillery shells

By Christopher Proudlove©

French prisoners of the Napoleonic Wars incarcerated in the hulks of English prison ships made pictures from the straw of their bedding.

Using the mutton bones and scavenged from the kitchens, they made sets of miniature dominoes or in rarer cases fine models of the ships on which they served. Rarer still, and in somewhat macabre taste, are the intricate and elaborate working models of Madam Guillotine made in the same fashion.

English sailors, meanwhile, embroidered pictures of ships on discarded pieces of sailcloth or, if you believe the folklore, they made elaborate valentines for their sweethearts from exotic seashells, which they collected on voyages in tropical waters.

Those serving on whaling ships, which meant months at sea with very little to do, carved naive pictures on to whales’ teeth or other pieces of marine ivory, known collectively today as scrimshaw.

In most cases, but not necessarily all, such knickknacks and novelties were made to sell to raise money to supplement income or purchase food to eke out meagre rations.

The exceptions were probably intended as love tokens, such as the sailors’ shell valentines or the lace bobbins and stay busks carved from wood and animal bone and decorated with pretty patterns and the names of the girls for whom they were intended.

And then there are the objects illustrated here. Love tokens they are most certainly not.

This week marks the anniversary of the start of the battle of Verdun, the longest and one of the bloodiest engagements of the First World War. Two million men were engaged in this single conflict which alone cost in excess of 650,000 lives. A British offensive on the Somme relieved the pressure on Verdun in July, 1916, and by December the French had recovered most of the ground lost.

Collecting objects relating to the so-called war to end all wars brings mixed emotions, but somehow the charming vases, ashtrays, money boxes, and paper knives fashioned with skill and ingenuity from the tools of war — the shell cases and bullets that brought death and destruction — are somewhat more palatable given their often amazing transformation.

The typical example of this so-called trench art is the single or pair of massive brass shell cases — hammered, chased, cut and engraved and then polished to a gleaming shine to be turned into vases or umbrella holders.

The romantic idea that they were made by bored Tommies up to their knees in mud in the trenches is as amusing as it is unlikely. However, they have one thing in common: all were made by men with time on their hands.

How much of it was made in the trenches is open to debate, but the likelihood of the necessary tools and equipment being available to cut, hammer and solder the brass detritus of war whilst waiting to go over the top is unlikely.

More possible is the idea that most of it was made in workshops behind the front lines by trained engineers, using machinery capable of producing such remarkable results but probably at times when they would otherwise be idle.

Trench art falls into the following categories: souvenirs made by soldiers from what they found lying around and taken home for their own use; souvenirs made by soldiers or prisoners of war sold to other soldiers or exchanged for food, cigarettes or money; souvenirs made by convalescent soldiers possibly as manipulative therapy and souvenirs made by commercial businesses for sale either to soldiers going home or to tourists visiting battlefields.

The difficulty is distinguishing one from the others, but the interesting thing is that in most cases it is possible to be certain of authenticity. Shell cases are almost always stamped with dates and bear War Department official markings that to my knowledge have never been faked.

This is not surprising. Trench art has been somewhat overlooked by collectors and perhaps the current lack of interest in collecting brass — presumably people don’t want the hassle of polishing the stuff — means prices remain affordable.

We visited the collectors’ fair at Port Sunlight last Sunday and picked up the two letter openers illustrated here. The one marked Arras, in memory of the offensive there which ran from April 9 to May 15 1917, cost us the princely sum of a fiver, while the simpler anonymous example was a quid.

Shell cases are more expensive and the more elaborate the decoration, the more costly they become. Expect to pay up to £25 for a single large First World War shell cases and perhaps three times that for a pair with punched battle name or inscription and/or cut and shaped design.

Soldiers’ passion for smoking is underlined by the large quantity of trench art devoted to the habit. The most intriguing cigarette lighters were made from bullets, the hollow detachable end being removable to disclose the wick and flint wheel.

Ashtrays were made by simply hacking off the rimmed foot of the shell to which was soldered shaped bullet casings to hold the burning cigarette.

More elaborate examples double as lidded cigarette cases, the lid being fashioned from another shell base which having been removed, served as an ashtray.

Looking like a giant sugar coaster, one of the most interesting uses of a shell case was to serve as a wine bottle holder, possibly intended for the officers’ mess. An example is pictured here, decorated with tunic badges and standing on .303 bullets as feet.

The most sought after and arguably expensive examples of trench art relate to the Flying Corps. Biplanes made from scrap brass, usually with propellers that spin and standing on a brass base as if the plane is in mid-flight are the most valuable, particularly if the model is named and dated.

Not all trench art was made from brass, though. Rifle butts, broken ends of wooden propellers and even the crates used to pack ammunition were turned into cribbage boards, inkstands, wall plaques and other decorative mementoes and by amateur carvers with time on their hands.

Caring for your brassware

Trench art shells and objects made from them – like many other types of decorative brass household objects including horse brasses and candlesticks – have had a lifetime of assiduous polishing which over the years has almost completely obliterated the original designs. This not only reduces the artistic merit of a piece, but also drastically reduces values.

Old brass objects build up a beautiful patina over the years through the natural oxidation of the copper content and this needs to be preserved by careful handling and polishing.

Modern polishes can contain harmful chemicals, so be sure to read and follow the manufacturer’s instructions. Apply the polish with a soft cloth or soft brush and keep a separate cloth for polishing.

Use a gentle circular movement and do not exert pressure on thin or heavily pierced and decorated areas. Light burnishing is all that should be required.

Reputable brands of long-term brass polish are generally best old pieces — and they cut down on the number of times an object need to be polished, which is good both for the object and its owner!

Pictures show, left to right:

This inkwell is a model of a First World War tank inscribed “Souvenir 1917 1916 Lens Gambrai 1918”. Made from battlefield scrap brass, it’s worth £150-200.

A trio of First World War trench art vases showing the elaborate and intricate designs capable of being made from shell cases. The vase in the centre is inscribed in relief “Arras”.

For the officers’ mess, perhaps, this wine bottle holder is decorated with regimental badges and stands on .303 bullets as feet.

by Christopher Proudlove©

It all started during the Bronze Age, 1,000 years BC. Since then, among other things, we’ve been spending it, fighting with it, cooking in it and decorating our homes with it. Coins, canon and cooking pots are just three of a myriad of uses that bronze has been put to over the centuries.

The collector, though, will be most interested in the wonderful sculpture made from it and a better medium with which to decorate our homes, both inside and outside, would be hard to find.

An alloy of copper and tin, its properties make it ideally suited to casting: as it solidifies, it expands to fill every last intricate detail of a mould. Then, on cooling, it contracts slightly, making removal of the mould a simple process.

As you might expect, many famous sculptors have been attracted to such a perfect medium over the years … Matisse, Degas, Picasso, Braque, to name but four whose work most of us can only dream about owning.

But for every one piece by a name that’s revered, there’s a hundred, nay a thousand, that collectors of modest means can acquire and enjoy.

What to collect is down to personal choice. I offer my own preference merely for your consideration: take a closer look at the work of animal sculptors of the 19th century – the French Animaliers, as they are affectionately known.

The golden years of the Animalier School were between 1830 and 1890. Its exponents were predominantly French and the creatures chosen to be immortalised ranged from the humble to the mighty.

The hunter might chose to have modelled his favourite gun dog with its quarry, while the racehorse owner might celebrate a victory by commissioning a study of the victor.

When not working to specific commissions, sculptors produced export items from the entire animal kingdom, much of it finding its way to Britain.

Interestingly, commission or not, the quality of most of what was produced was excellent. Take the time to examine closely pieces that are still quite common today and you’ll discover a source of much pleasure. Fortunately they remain relatively inexpensive examples of the art.

Their hallmark is the realistic way in which they were executed. Cat, dog, tiger or elephant, whatever the subject, it was portrayed just as it would be seen in the flesh, which was not always the case where animals and the over-sentimental Victorians were concerned.

Arguably the first and perhaps highest regarded member of the Animalier school was Antoine Louis Barye (1796-1875).

He was born in Paris and worked almost exclusively on studies of wild animals, his masterpieces including Tiger devouring a Gavial (crocodilian) of the Ganges, now in the Louvre, and Lion and Serpent, for the Gardens of the Tuileries royal residence.

Many royal commissions followed but because of an obsession with perfection, Barye was not financially successful.

He was declared bankrupt in 1848 and his moulds and models sold to pay his debts. Undaunted, Barye continued to work and was appointed Professor of Drawings at the Museum of Natural History at the Jardin de Plantes in 1854, a post he held until his death.

Ironically, as a young man it was at the menagerie there that he had studied the animals in his sculptures.

By 1857, Barye was rid of his debts and he began casting works again to great acclaim. He was awarded the Grand Medal at the Exposition Universelle in Paris in 1867 and was named the first president of the Central Union of Beaux Arts.

Today, most of Barye’s plasters and models are the property of the Louvre, while his bronzes are preserve of the wealthiest collectors.



A more accessible member of the Animalier School is Pierre Jules Mêne (1810-1877) a contemporary of Barye whose bronze groups are still regularly found in fine art auctions. They can be picked up at prices starting at £600-1,000.

Mêne was born in Paris, the son of a metal worker who was no doubt responsible for much of his son’s technical grounding in the art of bronze casting. But as a sculptor, Mêne was largely self-taught.

His career was studded with honours and accolades. By 1838, he had opened his own foundry, and in the same year he exhibited for the first time at the Paris Salon.

He went on to win a number of medals there, culminating in him being awarded the Legion d’Honeur in 1861.

Mêne’s work was greeted in this country with as much enthusiasm as his native France and he exhibited at the Great Exhibitions of 1851 and 1862.

Among a number of bronzes made specifically for the British market was his Derby Winner which he exhibited at the Salon in 1863.

Such was Mêne’s success in Britain that the Coalbrookdale Company made copies of his work, signing them ‘Coalbrookdale Bronze’, while Staffordshire potters such as Copeland’s cast copies in unglazed, white porcelain intended to resemble marble and known as Parian.

Sadly, in about 1900, less reputable companies also produced pirate recasts which have deceived the unwary.

However, the fakes were made from the models themselves and not the original plaster moulds. They are, therefore, of slightly smaller dimensions than the real thing.

Which is perhaps one clue as to why some animalier style bronzes remain undervalued. Few can be reliably attributed to one particular sculptor but are merely modelled ‘in the style of’ so and so.

Also, models from which casts were taken could remain current for a number of years, with the result that the collector can only guess at the rarity or otherwise of any bronze he or she might be offered.

Think on this, though: prices will begin to spiral once demand starts to exceed supply.

If you care at all for bronze, don’t ever polish it!

Bronze is highly susceptible to corrosion – it turns dark brown or greenish brown when exposed to the atmosphere- but this is considered one of the metal’s wonderful attributes.

The surface colour – or patina as it is called – should be protected at all costs. To do otherwise can have a seriously adverse affect on the value of a bronze object and will spoil its appeal for years to come.

So, under no circumstances should any metal polish be used and it’s also best kept away from water.

Instead, a light dusting is all that is required and perhaps careful rubbing with a clean cloth. Avoid rubbing hard, particularly on raised parts where the patina could be worn away.

Dust in crevices can be removed with a cotton bud moistened with saliva.

Dull patination can be revived with the sparing application of a microcrystalline wax.

Pictures show:

A model of a Retriever by Pierre Jules Mêne worth £1,200-1,500



An Italian greyhound and a King Charles spaniel modelled by Pierre Jules Mêne. The model is worth £700-900



A superb brown patinated bronze figure of a racehorse with jockey up. It dates from circa 1900 and is worth £1,500-2,000