HOSPITAL JOB

 

I’m not sure where the term originated from, but I do know what it refers to. Back in the dark ages when I was finding my way in the world of antiques, I would visit a fellow dealer and restorer on Saturday afternoons in his workshop. From David I learnt just what extra ordinary feats could be achieved under the headings of restoration, renovation, reconstitution and total fakery. The secret to all of these was time, and making sure that the time spent was worthwhile. Ever a sucker for a ruin or tragic wreck I was often tempted to rescue a piece of furniture that would entail days of work that could not possibly equate to its eventual value. One such piece was a fine early 17^th century inlaid wainscot chair. It had been converted into a cupboard. You may well asked how on earth one converts a chair into a cupboard. By removing the arms and using the back inlaid panel as a door, then constructing your cupboard using the turned arm supports and the cut of back as your points of attachment. Then re-applying the cresting rail and carved lugs as a final gesture of ridiculous ornamentation. I don’t suppose you’re any the wiser even now, but the result had to be seen to be believed. The only things missing were the arms and the lower section of the back supports, and although the purchase price of £180 would when restored see me a reasonable profit, the time involved in getting it back to its original form was too long. David took one look at it and declared it a hospital job. I spent all afternoon sawing by hand a 17^th century oak beam lengthways and the following two Saturdays shaping and cutting mortis and tenon joints. Once reassembled and faked in the result was stunning and I wondered if I’d charged enough, when I sold it immediately to a BADA dealer.

Today I’m still tempted by the occasional hospital job, and last week that came in the form of a Regency rosewood pedestal workbox. Strangely enough with all the sewing work I do, I still don’t have a sewing box; at least that’s how I justified the purchase to myself. The asking price was already tempting as I realised that forty years ago I would have probably paid at least that, but times change and so do prices. There was no real haggling but the eventual price of £55 seemed very reasonable. Although one of the tripod legs had been repaired I knew I could improve on that, but the undercarriage had been recovered so many times that the entire structure would require replacing. This is where a good stock of old scrap wood comes in useful. It took two days to consolidate the upper section and remake the lower bag structure. Then the decision of whether to reuse the pleated covering material. I looked through my scraps and found four small sections of bell-pull ribbon. These would be ideal on the canted corners, and by reversing the fabric any stains from where the braid had been glued on would be hidden. After a day of hand sewing and finally refitting the pleated fabric in place I was pleased with the result.

I hear workboxes are becoming more sort after since many people have taken up needle craft. Today if I didn’t include the time spent in restoration, my fine Regency piece would probably show me a theoretical profit. However, it would struggle to make half of what I could have sold it for all those years ago, and therefore its restoration must still be classed as a hospital job.