Growing up with a Mad Antique Dad
My childhood in the leafy suburbs of North West London was, looking back on it now, full of magic and wonder. I didn’t realize it then, of course, as Joni Mitchell sings “Don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone,” but much of the wonder in my life was down to my mad antique Dad, as I called him. Lots of kids in my class had dads who were accountants, lawyers, actuaries, doctors, but I was the only kid who had a genuine Notting Hill Billy antique dealer father.
Animals & Black Forest
My Dad is an animal lover, and of course, we had in residence in our house three cats (all rescues) and a mongrel dog, Snoopy, of such dubious lineage that it was almost impossible to identify any distinct breed in him. My Dad would take Snoopy with him everywhere—his shop in Notting Hill, auctions, antique markets, and coffee shops. In fact, he once had a huge argument at Christie’s St James when they wouldn’t let Snoopy in but allowed the wife of a Russian oligarch to bring her chihuahua pooch in with her. My father made such a fuss that in the end, he was allowed access with Snoopy…he called it Snoopy’s Rosa Parkes moment but we digress.
Our home was a glorified warehouse. My long-suffering mother had to put up with an ever-changing landscape as strange and glorious, hideous and beautiful objects came in, stayed for a while, and went out again. My father, in particular, adored the genre of Black Forest. He told me as a young dealer that he loved the French Animalier bronze sculptors such as Pierre Jules Mene, Antoine-Louis Barye, and Georges Gardet, but he just couldn’t afford to buy them. So instead, he started to buy Black Forest Bears, Rabbits, Dogs, Stags, and other animals. These were somewhat looked down upon by the trade in those days. But the carving and the realism of these pieces were truly remarkable.
Notting Hill Shop
My father’s shop in Notting Hill was a treasure trove of curiosities. It was a place where time seemed to stand still, and every corner held a story waiting to be discovered. The shop was filled with an eclectic mix of items—from Victorian furniture to Art Deco lamps, from ancient artefacts to quirky knick-knacks. Each piece had its own history, and my Dad had a knack for uncovering the tales behind them. He would regale me with stories of how he acquired each item, often involving colourful characters and thrilling adventures.
Olympia Antique Fair
One of my favourite memories is of the annual summer Antique Fair at Olympia run by a fearsomely organised lady who my Dad nicknamed” Borwick the Battleaxe”. It was a grand event, attracting dealers and collectors from all over the country. My Dad would set up his stall with meticulous care, arranging his wares in an enticing display. The fair was a bustling hive of activity, with people haggling over prices and sharing their passion for antiques. I loved holding my Dad’s hand, wandering through the stalls, marvelling at the array of treasures and soaking in the vibrant atmosphere.
Our Charming upbringing
Despite the chaos and unpredictability of our lives, there was a certain charm to it all. Our home, though cluttered and ever-changing, was a place of warmth and love. My Dad’s passion for antiques and animals infused our lives (me and my 2 older brothers) with a sense of adventure and wonder. His eccentricity and zest for life were infectious, and they shaped my childhood in ways I am only now beginning to fully appreciate.
Because of the way my Dad told his stories, I often thought of myself as a secret Disney Princess coming home to a woodland forest. The Black Forest animals he adored became my loyal companions, and our cluttered home transformed into an enchanted castle. Each day was a new adventure, filled with the magic and mystery that only a child’s imagination can conjure.
