Last time out, I told you how I got started in the antique dealing business. I started dabbling on eBay, before renting cabinets at antique centres. Two years on and I found the confidence to run stalls at antique fairs. I started gently at the village halls I was already familiar with as a customer, moving up to medium-sized fairs in sports halls, a stately home, and a castle. Here I’ll outline a few of the contrasting fairs I’ve stood at over the summer. The first one came in the wake of a fantastic two-day event at Lamport Hall in Northamptonshire. Lamport Hall was a stately home. It was very different from what came next.
D’ye Ken John Peel?
In June 2026 I took a gamble on a small Saturday fair in the Midlands. It was ninety miles away. To swerve any embarrassment, I’ll name the venue Twattingham Hall (yes, in the county of Twattinghamshire). I didn’t go into it deeply enough before booking, but I had the grandeur of Lamport Hall in my mind. I rather got carried away with the thought of stalling out at a grand stately home. I imagined a squire in tweeds greeting the dealers with a bawdy joke, a slap on the back and a tot from his flask. There’d be dogs, horses, gamekeepers; and the lady of the house would surely be pruning roses in green wellies. I imagined the organisers and top dealers being invited up to the Big House for a luncheon of roast swan carved at the table. Sadly, it wasn’t like that. I booked the fair just a few days beforehand and I didn’t look close enough at the wee picture of the venue on the Antique Atlas website. No, it was Twattingham Hall as in Twattingham village hall.
Early impressions were encouraging, as the village of Twattingham is as posh as it comes. However, once I saw the hall, and the old folk setting up their stalls, I knew I’d made a mistake. There were about fifteen stallholders setting up. I was probably the youngest, at 64, and I was the only one with a cabinet full of antique silver. It was drizzling outside, and there was already a feeling of defeat.
It was a typical village fair for dog walkers and bargain hunters. As a smattering of people entered the hall and disappeared like ghosts, I counted off the hours before I could call it lunchtime and spend £3 on a bacon sandwich. From 9am onwards I knew this could be the day when I left having sold nothing. Few people were interested in my silver and I sold none. Forty-five minutes before the end, a bloke in black rock music gear bought my silver eyeball ring for £30. It was scant consolation. I made £9 on that ring, but that didn’t even cover my £20 petrol money, let alone the table rental. Others said it was unusually quiet, so at least I knew it wasn’t just me. I’m prepared to believe that some people do well there, but I don’t feel it suited my offerings. I could do it regularly and try to build up a customer base, but it’s too far out to take that risk.
Big Fair
I read there’d be 700 at Kempton Park. I’d heard it was a good fair to buy and sell at, but I put off going for a while as it started at 6.30. To get from Bedfordshire to Surrey in time to get my stall prepared I’d need to set the alarm for 3am. I’d never been up that early before, but I felt I had to try it.
I arrived at 4.55 before the doors opened. Five minutes later, a crowd of people stormed in like commuters rushing for a rush hour train. From the outset dealers were trading amongst themselves, and getting in the way as others carried in items for their stalls. It was huge and manic. There were some brash characters, and it was as far removed from a village hall as it could be. It reminded me of a cab drivers’ café, and I know because I’ve been to a few.
In some fairs you feel at home, in others you feel a bit out of it. It was on a Tuesday. I’d never done a midweek fair before, so I was already disorientated. Footfall was good, though others told me it was lighter than usual. I was tripping over dogs and being run over by dealers with trolleys (dealers use trolleys at the bigger fairs to transport purchases – indeed, it was a good fair for buying). I wondered why all these people weren’t at work on a Tuesday morning, before realising we were all at work. Interestingly, there were a few stallholders who I knew. I didn’t expect that in Surrey, but it’s testimony to the fair’s status as a top trade fair.
Silver values had tumbled badly again, so I knew my flagship pieces wouldn’t sell. Few people seemed interested any anything I had. This was a difficult away game, with a partisan crowd. Few people caught my eye and smiled Hello. I had the awful feeing that I was going to leave with nothing. I had some interest later. People asked for prices and tried on bangles, but I only sold an antique magnifier for £30.
The fair officially finished at 2pm, but the folk opposite started clearing down at noon. Others followed. The feeling around was that it was unusually quiet. My car was loaded at 1.55 and I was one of the last to leave. There was plenty of traffic on the drive back to Bedfordshire, even at that time. I said to myself the sort of thing my parents used to say: “where’s everybody going at this time of day?”
