A Perthshire family’s discovery of the find of a lifetime in “a box of tat” will no doubt have many readers rummaging through their possessions in search of hidden treasures.
Some of us might be lucky and follow their lead in unearthing valuable finds – with the help of auctioneer Nick Burns they discovered Cartier and other jewellery worth £20,000 – but for most of us, the chances of that elusive windfall are slim.
Nevertheless tales of success feed optimism and life changing discoveries, while rare, are not unknown.
Charity shops have proved fertile hunting grounds in the past. Take the grimy, damaged bamboo pot handed into a Bristol hospice charity shop, which eventually sold for £360,000 at auction.
More remarkable still, a bargain-hunter unearthed one of the original copies of the US Declaration of Independence in a charity shop in North Carolina, turning his $2 purchase into £330,000 in the process.
The Antiques Roadshow’s entire popularity is based around the gasps from a delighted (some might say envious) crowd when the expert pronounces the astronomic value of some previously unloved object.
This is usually followed by “but I would never part with it because it belonged to my mother/uncle/friend”— a sentiment which presumably lasts until they realise the holidays they could enjoy.
The really optimistic should even invest in a metal detector to seek their fortune and may be fortunate enough to discover some lost items of value among the discarded washers and ring pulls.
The nearest I got to finding anything of unexpected value was in a bag of broken golf tees and ancient golf balls, which belonged to my late father and was destined for the bin.
On closer inspection, tucked at the bottom were half a dozen Open Golf programmes dating from the 1940s to the 1970s which I sold for £800.
Hardly Cartier I know, but better than nothing I suppose. Unfortunately I never did find where my father had hidden those gold Kruggerands that I know he had.
Perhaps I had better have another look through my own “boxes of tat”.
