Roy
Aldington's account of the finding and journey of a modest, nay,
humble, Tudor button through the intricacies of the Treasure Act,
Portable Antiquities Scheme and Coroner's Jurisdiction, to its new,
permanent home in the Chester Grosvenor Museum.
Is
it just me or have you too noticed an unprecedented surge in interest
in our own “beautiful game” - metal detecting? It seems to me
that in recent times the most unlikely characters have taken a keen
interest and embraced all things remotely rural; the stunning
unfamiliar vistas, breathtaking unfamiliar exercise and retching
unfamiliar farmyard smells. As if demonstrating a firm commitment to
their new-found hobby many have invested heavily in state-of-the-art
machines that they have yet to fathom and without having given a
single thought as to where they will swing them.
I
suppose it's not that surprising really, what with pots of gold and
Viking silver being unearthed all over the place with increasing
regularity, often in unheard-of places; likely by novice of
remarkably little experience but who seems to be miraculously gifted
in the art of standing in the right place, with their investment
uncannily and precisely tuned-in.
There
have, of course, been other influences leading to this sudden
interest in all things buried. BBC Four's recent television series
'Detectorists' starring Mackenzie Crook and Toby Jones will
have sparked an interest in many casual viewers, especially the
scenes of the goings-on at club meetings, the powerful bonding
camaraderie and, well, sheer lust.
Strewth.
It's almost unbelievable but even as I write there is news of the
finding of yet another magnificent hoard, this time in a farmer's
field near Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire; “An amateur treasure
hunter, Paul Coleman,
could
be in line to receive part of a £1 million pound windfall after
unearthing a hoard of rare Anglo Saxon coins in a Christmas dig”
(The
Telegraph)....Oh,
Happy Dayz!
This
newly kindled interest can be simply put down to the dream, inherent
in most of us I suppose, of one-day stumbling across a buried hoard,
striking it rich, winning the jackpot and eventually being on the
receiving end of a big fat cheque. But steady-on now, where there are
cheques there has to be balances; well, to balance things-up, as it
were. So what about more modest finds, those artefacts that any one
of us might unearth, maybe something of significant local historical
interest, yet of little commercial value but still coming within the
stipulations of the Treasure Act, 1996?.
In
its short existence our small team, dubbed 'Finders–Sharers',
has had the good fortune to find a small number of modest precious
metal artefacts that have been subject to the Act and have followed
“due process”. This then, is the story of one such object, a
small post-Medieval silver button. Plain but stunningly attractive,
beautifully crafted, intact and worth, well – not very much
actually.
It
was May-Day, the sun was shining brightly and we had been let-loose
in the charming garden of the old farmhouse that had its roots in the
Middle-Ages and owned by the family of one of our farmer-partners. We
had been relegated to the garden area because most of the fields were
in crop and in the warm, humid conditions you could fairly 'hear' the
plants growing.
It's
true, we had real expectations for this location surrounding the
ancient farm buildings, situated at what was once the busy crossroads
of civilization in those darker-ages. Reality eventually set-in
though when all that was forthcoming was the familiar small coinage
of Victoria, Edward and the Georges; the usual domestic kitchen
bric-a-brac of spoons, ladle handles and brass fittings; a few
military bits and pieces from both world wars, including the best
part of a Cheshire Regiment shoulder flash, minus its crest....and a
well played with 'Matchbox' car of the Morris-Cowley variety.
And
then, quite unexpectedly, from close to the base of the hawthorn
boundary hedgerow, out popped the tiny silver button soon to be
destined to the custody of our Finds Liaison Officer (FLO) for
Cheshire, Merseyside and Manchester and the jurisdiction of the West
Cheshire Coroner.
The
Portable Antiquities Scheme FLO, Vanessa Oakden, immediately
recognised that the button must be dealt with in accordance with the
stipulations of the Treasure Act, 1996, so diligently recorded the
find: Portable Antiquities Scheme Treasure case 2014 T302
(LVPL-1EC484), notified the Cheshire Coroner and delivered the item
to the relevant curator at the British Museum in London for
assessment. Of course, a detailed written receipt containing full
details of the find was provided.
In
her report to the Coroner, Vanessa was careful to protect the exact
location of the find-site. Due to the nature of the find and the
potential conservation risk (such as illicit metal detecting) she
advised that publication of the find-spot should be limited in all
subsequent dealings and correspondence. The Coroner,
Mr
Nicholas Rheinberg, opened an Inquest to deal with circumstances of
the find and adjourned it to a later date.
Meanwhile
our humble find was assessed by the Museum's experts and Vanessa
Oakden's academically stylized report for HM Coroner reads:
"A
silver composite button. The object is hemispherical with a domed top
which has been soldered onto a convex back-plate. On the back-plate
there are two blow-holes, one on either side of a centrally placed
attachment loop. Inserted into the centre of the back-plate and
secured by solder is a silver strip, bent to form an attachment loop.
The strip is D-shaped in cross-section. Above the attachment loop the
object has been stamped with the maker's mark PP
within a rectangular border.”
The
report goes on to say that the item is not uncommon but is over 300
years old and composed of more than 10% precious metal and therefore
should be considered Treasure under the terms of the Treasure Act
1996. Whoo-Hoo!
So
it was that, respectfully attired, on a magnificent Autumnal October
morning I attended as summoned, the Coroner's Court to be held in the
West Annexe of the magnificent Warrington Town Hall, to give evidence
before Mr Rheinberg, Her Majesty's Coroner for Cheshire, at the
Inquest into the finding of our “little treasure”.
HM
Coroner's Inquests are always formal affairs but in cases like this
mostly relaxed, matter-of-fact and low-key. The circumstances of the
find were simply outlined, the expert assessment noted and the
outcome considered. The Coroner pronounced that the button will be
deemed treasure under terms of the Treasure Act 1996 and recorded the
Inquest verdict accordingly.
With
business concluded, Mr Rheinberg noted that the local press were
absent and this might be a good opportunity to have an informal chat
about metal detecting in general and notable finds in particular, of
which he is 'clued-up' and keenly interested. If, of course, I
could spare the time!.
I
looked across at my wife, who sat there, still in astonished
disbelief about how such incredible fuss could be made about an old
lost button; given that she had previously endured endless hours of
my 'riveting' metal detecting reminiscences. She smiled. The
preplanned follow-on trip to Ikea and the likely-hood of Swedish
style meat balls was slowly beginning to fade!.
So
we had an 'off-the-record' chat and I had listed a few 'treasure'
items that my buddy and me had found, when I proffered that it wasn't
always valuable things that turned out to be the most interesting. I
mentioned that I had recently found a couple of unusual bullet heads
and subsequent research had revealed that they were specifically made
for a pistol used in British Colonial escapades, the Boer War, Zulu
Wars and the War of American independence. “The Tranter”, Mr
Reinberg said unhesitatingly, “The Tranter, ah, the Rolls-Royce of
all pistols ever made”, and he went on to display a remarkable
in-depth knowledge about these things! I digress.
Throughout
the treasure process the FLO and British Museum staff naturally
demonstrated a high standard of administrative skills, meticulously
documenting the processes and ensuring that both finder and
landowner were kept up to date regarding the progress of their
assessment and passage through the intricacies of the Treasure Act.
From an early stage in the process they were quick to point out that
the finder and landowner were at liberty to waive claim to any reward
and 'gift' the find to the museum; a course of action we were
reminded of at regular intervals.
The
landowners are modern enlightened farmers who share our interest in
the preservation of local history. When we disclosed the find to them
they unhesitatingly agreed with us that the button would be donated
free of charge to the Chester Grosvenor Museum. So we were well
pleased to learn later that the museum wished to acquire the button
at a 'fair market value'.
With
this and other finds we have always found it a bit strange that the
museum seeks title of the find, sometimes even before the thing has
been properly assessed, identified, and given a realistic value.
Still, it is understandable that the public purse should be protected
and that gifts in the museum's favour should be established at the
earliest opportunity, to avoid unnecessary waste of time and
resources. Not that it mattered in this particular case because our
decision had already been made.
Following
the Inquest finding the Independent Treasure Valuation Committee
commissioned an independent valuer who declared the worth of the
button to be just twenty-pounds; a figure that we collectively
considered significantly under par and which he, the valuer himself,
hoped, “may not come as too much of a disappointment to the
finder”.
No
matter, because the Valuation Committee were scheduled to convene
just before Christmas and our newly declared 'treasure-item' was on
their list of seventy-five or so items for their expert
consideration. As the 'Grosvenor' had declared an interest in
acquiring the button for their display at the Chester museum, the
conclave would recommend a value for purchase by the Secretary of
State. They duly met, considered and, not surprisingly, agreed with
the lowly valuation of twenty-quid. For our part, we magnanimously
honoured our agreement to the Grosvenor Museum.
The
finder of “Treasure” and equally the owner of land on which it
was found, can ensure by waiving any share of reward, that such true
public spirited gesture will be recognised by the Department for
Minister for Culture, Media and Sport, with a signed certificate as a
token of the Nation's gratitude. This sort of award definitely looks
cool on the finder's and landowner's credentials but more importantly
perhaps, the Treasury's meagre budget provision is spared for the
public good.
So
there you have it. That is how our little 'gem' of a find was
transparently and properly dealt with under due process and
stipulations of the Treasure Act. Our certificates, proclaiming the
fact that we have 'generously waived our claim to a reward', signed
by Ed Vaizey MP, Minister for Culture and the Digital Economy, have
been delivered and mine is framed and proudly displayed above the
mantle-piece (no, I'm kidding, we don't have a mantle-piece).
At
last, our little bit of local history is safely out of the ground,
where it had lain undisturbed for more than four centuries, properly
recorded for posterity and now rightly on display in its new home,
Chester Grosvenor Museum, where future generations can enjoy the
simple beauty of the Post-Medieval artisan’s work. By the way, can
anyone out there identify the Maker's Mark PP
and resolve the final
conundrum?
