Scrounging…

I always loved The Mudlark, the old 1950s British movie that relates the true story of a poor orphan boy of 19^th century London who, reduced to picking through the Thames mudflats for lost items to pawn, finds a tin lolly box incised with a portrait of Queen Victoria.

The youngster sets off to meet the old girl in person, newfound memento stuffed in his breast pocket, and ends up sneaking into Windsor Castle where he is apprehended in Her Majesty’s very own dining room.

It’s not so much the teary romance of the story - for the good old Queen, she of generous heart and plenty of money, orders the boy cleaned up and pays to send him off to school - but to me, the lure of those mudflats, with their hidden treasures, that is compelling.

I guess I’m just a mudlark at heart, and so is Francesco.

 

It would be indelicate to call us garbage pickers but in some ways the art of scrounging, at which we both seem to excel, is just that; as the old adage goes, ‘one man’s trash is another man’s treasure’.

Thus our idea of a jolly good time is haunting flea markets, garage sales, and junk yards with the intent on finding this or that castoff item, something that maybe – just maybe – has some artistic merit or intrinsic value.

‘Today perhaps we’ll find a Fabergé egg hidden in a grab-bag box for fifty cents,’ I joke as we enter the fray, ‘and keep an eye out for the Lost Crown of Hungary, will you?’ But usually we are satisfied with lesser, ignoble finds: another slightly chipped but still lovely blue & white Staffordshire plate, battered silver flatware, a small framed portrait, an old Imari bowl or Chinese celadon vase, yet more antique books.

The serendipity of our discoveries is part of the fun, yet we each forage around with a wish list in mind; items we need at the moment for our renovation project in Dordogne. The priorities include now old doors to replace ugly modern ones throughout the house, any spare bits and pieces of paneling to create the effect of traditional French boiserie, lighting equipment like wall sconces and chandeliers. (Fortunately for us, Francesco has a knack for rewiring, and some of our best efforts in our past projects have been turning broken and bedraggled old fixtures into sparkling, even majestic, lighting pieces.)

With scrounging in mind, we’ve just returned from a pleasant week further south in France where we know the picking is good, where flea markets abound, and the prices are lower than here in Perigord. Truly, the triangle between Uzès, Avignon, and Nîmes – where the three departments of Gard, Vaucluse, and Bouches du Rhône hug the lower reaches of the great river – are a mudlark’s dream.

What with sorties to early morning sales at Carpentras, Villeneuve, and Beaucaire, and visits to week-long antique fairs at Barjac and Îsle sur la Sorgue, we came slowly trundling home, the car laden like a pack mule, and faces swelled with great self-satisfied grins.