Original subtitles

This storey is about a knocker and a

commode.

You'll find out what a knocker is as

the storey goes along.

But a commode, in the meantime, is an

old English word for a chest of drawers.

Now an absolutely top-quality Chippendale commode is

an immense rarity.

Only three of these beauties have turned up

at auction in this century, and all of

them came out of big English country houses.

They fetched astronomical prices.

And ever since then, it has been the

ambition of every dealer and collector to find

yet another of these great Chippendale commodes.

Now watch the storey.

Good afternoon.

I'll just get him.

Excuse me, sir, a gentleman to see you.

Hello, welcome.

My name's Hawkins.

How can I be of service?

Oh, oh dear.

Wrong house.

Oh, whose house do you want?

I do apologise for disturbing you.

Another time, perhaps.

God bless you.

Come to Evenshawn.

What do you want?

I do apologise for troubling you, especially on

a Sunday.

The Reverend Cyril Winington Boggess, president of a

society for the preservation of rare furniture in

association with the Victoria and Albert Museum.

It's all on the card.

I can see that.

What do you want?

I'm presently on holiday, travelling round as a

labourer of love for the society, compiling an

inventory of the treasures that lie hidden in

the country homes of rural England.

This wouldn't, by any chance, have something to

do with the socialists?

I never do business with socialists.

I bid you good day.

I'm not a socialist, dammit.

I thought you were.

I, madam?

I?

Society, cataloguing treasures, tax, all that sort of

thing.

Thought you were some kind of snooper.

Oh, no, no, madam.

I'm only interested in furniture, the past, dear

lady, our glorious heritage.

But you should mistake me for a socialist.

Oh, dear me.

Wait till I tell that to my sister,

Lady Agatha.

Excellent horsewoman, incidentally.

Rides with the Rutland.

Come in.

I don't know what the hell it is

you want, but come on in.

All right, Mr. Boggess, 350 pounds for the

table and the chair.

I don't know how you do it, Mr.

Boggess.

I really don't.

You do find some lovely stuff.

You know, my guess is you have a

secret source, am I right?

No, no, no, nothing like that.

Just luck.

I keep my eyes open, of course.

350 pounds.

You drive a hard bargain.

Oh, come along, Mr. Stalker.

I think that's a pretty fair price for

someone in the trade like yourself.

You'll do all right when you unload them

on your rich Japanese or your tame sheikh

of Araby, eh?

Well, it's extremely kind of you always to

give me first bite of the cherry.

Oh, I say.

This is right, isn't it?

Yes, Colport 1805.

Made for the D'Alembert family.

Not a complete set, unfortunately.

My word, you do find some wonderful things.

I wish I knew your secret.

No secret.

I always pay a pretty good price for

the stuff myself.

Yes, but your source, Mr. Boggess.

You know, everyone in the trade would like

to know how you come up with all

these rare items and so regularly.

Is that so?

Well, one of these days I'm going to

find something really spectacular.

Such as?

Well, something by Hepplewhite, perhaps, or even some

rare piece from the workshop of old Thomas

Chippendale himself.

Well, I suppose you're entitled to dream.

Well, why not?

Everyone dreams, don't they?

Everyone has dreams that one of these days

they'll find some old envelope with a rare

stamp in the corner of it, or find

some dirty old picture, clean it up, and

find that they've got themselves a Rembrandt or

a Rubens.

And I'll know at a glance.

I'd say that's pure Chippendale of the finest

quality.

Or it's William Kent.

I look at the legs and the crispness

of the carving, and I'll know.

I must be right.

And that'll make a bit of a stir

in the trade, eh?

Oh, not half.

Though I'd be surprised if there were any

undiscovered treasures left like that.

However, if you do find something, I'm one

of the few traders in London who can

lay his hands quickly on a large sum

of money.

In cash.

Cash, Mr. Boggess.

Good morning.

Isn't it a lovely day?

May I ask who is the owner?

What do you want to know for?

I do apologise for troubling you, especially on

a Sunday.

Can't make head or tail of this.

What exactly might you be wanting?

I'm presently on holiday, travelling round in a

labour of love for the society, compiling an

inventory of the treasures that lie hidden in

the country homes of rural England.

What?

I'm making a list of hitherto undiscovered rare

furniture.

We haven't got none of that, nor are

you wasting your time.

No, just one minute, sir.

The last man who said that to me

was an old farmer in Sussex.

And when he finally let me into his

house, do you know what I found?

A dirty-looking old armchair worth 400 pounds.

I was able to show him how to

sell it.

And with the money, he was able to

put down a deposit for a new tractor.

What on earth are you talking about, Parson?

There ain't no chair in the world worth

400 pounds.

Excuse me.

You mean all you want to do is

to come inside and stand in the middle

of the room and have a look around?

Exactly.

And if you should have any treasure, I

could write about it for the society's magazine.

And should there be something to which I

took a great fancy, and it wasn't beyond

my modest means, I might even be tempted

to make you a small offer.

But of course, alas, that very rarely happens.

Well, I suppose there's no harm in him

having a look around, if that's all you

want.

That's all I want.

Right.

Follow me.

Thank you.

I'm a farmer's son myself.

Now I come to think of it, we've

got some nice chairs upstairs, sir.

Oh, thank you.

Nothing in here, I think.

This is the only room with any proper

furniture in it.

Except what's upstairs.

Come on, lads.

Let's get them chairs and show the Parson.

All right.

My God!

Thomas!

Parson, you've seen something like that, eh?

My heart.

I can't breathe.

I must sit down.

Come on out.

Put your head between your knees, like.

Come on.

Down you go.

Are you all right, Parson?

It looked as if you'd seen something.

Seen something?

No, no, no.

We thought perhaps you'd seen a treasure or

something like that.

Oh, dear.

I mean, no, no.

It's my heart.

It happens now and again.

It goes away quite quickly, though.

I'll be all right in a moment.

I'm better already, thank you.

Let's see now, the chairs.

Oh, made in the 1900s, I'm afraid.

A nice little oak desk.

Yes, but not old enough to be of

any value, I'm afraid.

That cupboard, not unattractive, but again, not valuable.

This little chest of drawers now might be

worth a few pounds, I dare say, but

no more.

Rather a crude reproduction, I'm afraid.

Probably made in Victorian times.

Did you paint it white?

No, no, young Bert done it.

A very wise move.

It looks far less offensive in white.

That's a good strong bit of furniture, Parson.

It's got some wonderful carving on it.

Ah, yes.

Machine carved.

It's rubbish, I'm afraid.

Absolute rubbish.

You know what?

I've just remembered.

I've been looking for a set of legs,

something like those, for a long time.

Yes, I've got a rather curious table in

my own little home, a low sort of

thing people put in front of a sofa,

a sort of coffee table.

And last Michaelmas when I was moving house,

the foolish removal men damaged the legs in

the most shocking way.

I'm very fond of that table.

I always keep my Bible on it and

all my sermon notes.

Yes, I was just thinking the legs on

that chest of drawers might be quite suitable.

They might indeed.

I could have them taken off and fixed

onto my own table.

What's your sign is you'd like to buy

it?

Oh, well, I'm not sure.

I might, but then again, no one's second

thoughts.

No, really, I think it's all a great

deal too much trouble.

It's not worth it.

I think I'll leave it.

How much was you thinking of offering?

Oh, not very much, I'm afraid.

You see, it isn't even a genuine antique.

It's merely a reproduction and not a very

good one.

Ah, for a minute, I'm not so sure

about that.

That's been up here for 20 years and

before that it was up at the manor

house.

I went to the auction when the old

squire died.

You can't tell me that's new.

No, I never said it was new.

I just said that it couldn't possibly be

more than about 60 years old.

It's more than that.

Bert, where's that bit of paper you found

in one of the drawers underneath them old

rabbit snares, that old bill?

You can't tell me that writing ain't bloody

old.

Edward Montague, that was the squire's family name,

to Thos Chippendale.

Thos, that was the old-fashioned way of

spelling Thomas.

A large miogany commode table of exceeding fine

wood, very rich carved, set upon fluted legs,

two very neat-shaped long drawers in the

middle part and two ditto on each side.

With rich ch-ch-chase-chase brass ornamentry,

the whole finished completely in the most exquisite

taste.

Eighty-seven pounds.

May I see?

Yes, exactly as I thought.

Victorian reproduction.

This is the invoice that the man who

made it gave to his client and made

him believe that it was a genuine antique.

You notice he doesn't say that he made

it himself.

That would have given the game away.

Say what you like, that's an old bit

of paper.

Of course it is, my dear friend.

Victorian, late Victorian, I've seen hundreds of them.

That was the time when masses of cabinetmakers

did nothing else but fake fine furniture of

the previous century.

Look, look here, Parson.

I'm not saying you may not know quite

a good deal about this furniture business, but

what I am saying is how can you

be so mighty sure that's a genuine fake

when you haven't had a chance to look

at it underneath all that white paint?

Come over here for a moment and I'll

show you.

There, do you see that?

What's wrong with it?

Well, it's processed.

Anyone can see that.

I can't.

If you'll excuse me, sir, you haven't got

my experience.

And my experience tells me without the slightest

possible doubt that this wood has been processed

with lime.

Lime?

Yes, that's what they use to make mahogany,

that dark aged colour.

For oak, they use potash salts.

And for walnut, nitric acid.

Time and trouble some mortals will go to

to deceive the innocent.

It's disgusting.

You ought to be punished.

Here, just feel it.

Put your fingers on it.

How does it feel to your touch?

Warm or cold?

A bit cold, sir.

Ah, you see, exactly.

It's a well-known fact that fake mahogany

always feels cold to the touch.

Well, my dear friends, it's been so good

of you to allow me to peep into

your little home, so kind.

I only hope I haven't been the most

terrible old boy.

Excuse me, Parson, you didn't say yet what

you was prepared to offer.

Oh, that's quite right.

I didn't, did I?

Well, you know, on second thoughts, to tell

you the honest truth, I don't think it's

really worth the trouble.

I think I'll leave it.

How much would you give?

What was you willing to offer, sir?

You mean you really wish to part with

it?

No, I didn't say I wanted to part

with it, sir.

I said what was you willing to offer?

Well, shall we say ten pounds?

Ten pounds?

Oh, that's ridiculous, Parson.

Ten pounds?

It's worth more than that in firewood, Parson.

Here, look at this bill.

That's what it originally cost.

Look, eighty-seven pounds.

Well, it must be worth twice that now,

sir.

If you'll forgive me, sir, no, it is

not.

This eighty-seven pounds is the bill for

a fake more than sixty years ago.

It's now worth practically nothing.

I'm so sorry.

Oh, I tell you what.

I'm feeling rather reckless, but I can't help

it.

I might go up to fifteen pounds.

How's that?

Make it fifty, sir.

My dear ma'am, I'm only interested in

the legs.

I might possibly find a use for the

jaws later on, but the rest of it,

the carcass, as your friends so rightly put

it, that's merely firewood, nothing else.

Thirty-five.

No, I couldn't.

I really couldn't.

It's not worth it.

I tell you what.

I'll make you one final offer, and then

I really must be going.

Twenty pounds.

It's a deal.

It's yours.

Oh, there I go again.

I should never have got into this in

the first place.

A deal's a deal.

You can't back out now, Parson.

That's quite right.

A deal's a deal.

Here, Parson, how are you going to take

her?

Well, I'll just drive my car up into

the yard, and perhaps your kind friends would

be good enough to help me load it.

You're chomping on my neck in a jiffy.

Here, twenty pounds.

You did well, Mr. Rummy, getting a price

up like that, you did.

Do you think you'll pay?

We won't put it in his cart, we

do.

Right.

Praise my soul, the King of Heaven, to

his feet our tribute bring.

Well, a thing like that is going to

go inside a motor car, beats me.

Anyhow, let's get it out in the yard,

lads.

Right.

Bert, get out in there.

Up we hop.

Praise him, praise him, praise him, praise the

Lord our God.

Oh, oh, oh, oh...

He's never going to get this into his

cart.

You're right, Todd, he's going to need a

van.

Parsons don't have vans.

They usually have them little Morris's.

Oh, Mr. Stalker, you can't believe how beautiful

it is.

Yes, when I first clapped eyes on it,

it was like...

like choirs of angels singing in my head.

Yes.

Yes, executed by the one and only Thomas

himself, made with his own hand at the

most exalted period of his career.

Yes, and

there's even the original bill of sale to

prove it.

What?

What?

How much?

Oh, that's telling.

But I can only say I didn't get

it cheap.

Yes, yes, of course you can.

It's going to be known as the bogus

commode after the finder.

Thank you, thank you.

See you later.

Ah, the bogus commode.

Oh, don't

damn lie.

I'll tell you one thing.

He was a bloody good carpenter putting this

thing together.

I don't care what the farmer says.

Whoa.

Oh, Jesus.

Oh, Jesus.

It's been requested by the London and Provincial

Antique Dealers Association to make it clear to

viewers that the use of their symbol shown

in the window of the fictional antique dealer

in this programme was in no way intended

to imply that the association condoned certain dishonest

practises of the antique dealer which were portrayed

in this fictional storey.