THE BRITISH ANTIQUES ROAD SHOW HELD IN OTTAWA

I was looking up my old blogs, and came across this one which I actually read with interest, having forgotten a great deal about it (which goes to prove we should all keep journals – haha). I actually sold this article to The Ottawa Citizen Newspaper after the event and made some moulah out of this experience, which is just about all that could’ve been said for it.

THE ANTIQUES SHOW HELD IN OTTAWA
C 2000 Joanna Woodhouse

My husband and I have always been great fans of the English Antiques Show. Ever since it was aired in Canada, we have watched it faithfully every week. For years I’d had dreams (of the pipe variety) of going on a vacation to England and attending one of their tapings. When I heard that they were coming to Ottawa, my joy knew no bounds – I was absolutely determined to win tickets.

As most of us know, this could only be done by being one of the first thirty five callers to ‘phone in during an airing of their show. So for three times a week, I ‘phoned their number incessantly. My daughter did so on my behalf on her ‘phone, and my husband joined in the effort by using his cell ‘phone. The line was either constantly busy, or a recorded message said “Sorry, you aren’t one of the first 35 callers. Try again at a future Antiques Roadshow program.” Three weeks later, I finally managed to get through! I thought I’d died and gone to heaven! For the three remaining weeks until show time, I could think of nothing else.

The recorded message advised that someone from CBC would be phoning me. Sure enough, a woman called about a week later. She told me that my tickets would be mailed to me by mid-September. I asked her how many items I could bring. “Bring as much as you can carry,” she said blithely.

Due to a bad back condition, I knew there’d be some standing around which for me would be untenable, so I rented a walker with a built in seat and basket. I also purchased a collapsible shopping cart in which to carry our treasures.

The tickets arrived along with a set of instructions. The doors of the National Art Gallery would be open at 8.00 a.m. and appraisals would be carried out until 11.00 p.m. There was absolutely no mention that some people would have tickets for the morning, while others for the afternoon. Admittedly, it was printed on the actual ticket in very small lettering in one corner. We didn’t see it.

On the Big Day, we got up at the crack of dawn, loaded up the station wagon, ate a hurried breakfast and set off. I was so excited that I was literally trembling.

When we arrived at the National Art Gallery, there was a small crowd assembled outside the closed doors, which we joined. Henry Sandon (a wonderful, roly poly man and one of the world’s best china and porcelain experts) made an appearance and was instantly mobbed by autograph seekers, myself included. A CBC employee was also there. “Oh aren’t you adorable?” she repeatedly shrilled to Henry. Turning to us she carried on her litany. “Don’t you think he’s utterly adorable?” We all agreed that Henry was indeed adorable. He stood there looking embarrassed and flattered at the same time! Who wouldn’t be flattered? If anyone kept telling me I was utterly adorable I’d be thrilled!

By talking to people standing near us in line, we learned that while they had tickets for the morning, ours were for 1.00 p.m. to 4.30 p.m. We decided to go home and return later.

We got back there at 12.45. We couldn’t believe the size of the queue. It twisted and turned all around the vast area in front of the Gallery, and meandered up Sussex Drive. We also couldn’t believe the amount of stuff people brought. Suitcases crammed full, pieces of furniture with boxes piled up on them, dollies were loaded with paintings and sundry articles, huge boxes and containers abounded, all of which were dragged along as the queue slowly inched forward. Our little shopping cart was extremely modest by comparison.

There was a man standing behind us who’d flown all the way from Calgary to have a painting appraised. He was accompanied by his wife and baby boy. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for someone for anyone to talk incessantly for hour … after hour … after hour, but he did. We heard all about his Cornish ancestors dating back several centuries, we heard every detail of his many travels abroad, we heard about everything he had experienced in his entire life. His voice had a shrill quality to it which grated on the ear – not to mention the nerves.

And so we waited, slowly moving forward – very slowly. Every so often, a CBC person would come down the line imparting information. “It’s going to be at least another three hours,” she’d intone.

Later she wandered by again. “People who’ve gone through and had their items appraised are apparently giving their tickets to others outside. The tickets are punched, so if you have a punched ticket, you won’t get in.”

It took FIVE HOURS – JUST TO GET INTO THE BUILDING following which we had to stand in line up the long upward ramp leading to the inner sanctum, where the experts were located. Two hours later, we were approximately three quarters of the way up, at which time we came to a dead halt. The line simply didn’t move again. At this point, the BBC English staff came down the line. “Please confine yourselves to getting just three or four items appraised,” we were told. “Don’t worry, all of you here will get seen.” He wandered off.

An hour later he was back. “The camera people are packing up and leaving now, but don’t worry, you’ll still have your three or four items appraised.”

And so we waited. He came again for the third and final time. “We want to close up the area up there because it’s costing us money – a great deal of money to rent it, but don’t worry, the experts will be coming down the line and appraising your items here where you stand. However, if any of you would like to go up and have a look at the area, by all means do, providing you go one at a time and don’t hang around too long.” I decided to take him up on it. When getting to the area concerned, I found it to be very small, with tables dotted around attended by experts, crammed up with line-ups of people, waiting to consult them. Being mindful that I mustn’t “hang around too long,” I returned to our spot in the line.

And so we waited. A few experts did in fact come along the line. “Anyone have any native articles for appraisal?” one of them shouted. No one stepped forward, and so he went on down the line making his plaintive call.

A book appraiser came along and he actually managed to carry out a couple of appraisals. But that was it – no other expert loomed in sight.

I noticed that those ahead had gone up to the appraisal area (or maybe given up and left), so we decided to do the same.

After over seven hours in line, I managed to get a few minor articles appraised, but not the ones I’d really wanted. I had a Gordon Pfeiffer painting I wanted appraised. Pfeiffer was a famous Canadian painter – his wife Dorothy was legally blind, and was my Bridge partner for many years – I always drove her to the games and back home again. Gordon personally gave me the painting as thanks. I couldn’t get it appraised because the Canadian painting experts had all pushed off (“They had planes to catch,”) and a couple of old decorative matching china plates I haven’t been able to find in any of the books (the line up for china was huge).

Who was responsible for this massive disaster? Certainly not the BBC, and even less so, the Antiques Roadshow experts who were desperately trying to do the impossible, and appraise everyone’s treasures. I was very impressed by them. By that time, they’d put in a 12 hour day but were still smiling, doing the best they could under the extreme circumstances in which they’d found themselves, signing autographs and being charming and nice to everyone. Had it been me, I would’ve been pulling my hair out by the roots!

No, the responsibility rests entirely with CBC Newsworld who organized it. Organized it? That’s a laugh! By not restricting the number of items each person could bring, they single-handedly brought about this disaster.

To those Canadians who were bitterly disappointed that they weren’t able to get tickets, let me say this – not only didn’t you miss a thing but you saved yourselves frustration, a huge amount of aggravation and an enormous ordeal!