Clockwork toys that never lose their charm

Press, 26 January 1988, Page 10

Clockwork toys that never lose their charm

Collecting with Myrtle Duff

Certainly something of the child remains with us all throughout the years, especially in collectors who can rarely claim that their hobby is for purely practical purposes. The joy derived from acquiring new pieces and gloating over collections is probably similar to that experienced by children playing with new toys, especially for those fortunate enough to own examples from the category known as “automata” — usually originating in the eighteenth century, or early in the nineteenth.

Sometimes described as "an adult form of clockwork toy” these fascinating and often beautiful things seem to have evolved from the clock and watch industry in Europe in the eighteenth century, and have never lost their charm.

Techniques perfected for the manufacture of fine clocks were applied to mechanical figures made to perform antics, dance, or play musical instruments. Birds and animals were similarly animated.

As one might have expected these clock-work treasures were first created in Switzerland. The Jaquet-Droz family were the most prolific producers from the mideighteenth century. Similar pieces were also widely manufactured in Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, and in Eng-

land where James Cox was the most famous maker.

These mechanical works of art were so highly prized that many were specially made by James Cox for the great East India Company to be used as presentations to potentates to assist in ensuring their goodwill and support in trading activities.

They proved so popular that Cox opened a special emporium in Canton where his products were bought and distributed to many parts of the world. Perhaps the best known of the automata today are the little singing birds in cages. The leading French manufacturer of automata, Lazare Duvaux, specialised in these while another Frenchman, A. J. Vaucanson, was noted for his creation of pictures with moving parts. It is perhaps not surprising that these toys for grown-ups reached the height of their popularity in the period immediately preceding the revolution in France. They were not cheap, and were certainly the prerogative of the aristocracy and other wealthy citizens. However, the mid-nine-teenth century saw the industry revived in France. Charles Bontemps began producing such elaborate creations as clocks incorporating birds which hopped from branch to branch.

As the rage for auto-

“These mechanical works of art were so highly prized that many were used as presents to potentates”

mata grew creations became even more extravagantly complicated. Some featured a whole orchestra, others a monkey band.

Such works began to be .regarded as the equivalent of highly prized works of art such as porcelain groups modelled by Meissen. They are still today among the most valued examples of the automata of that period. Such things are not easy to find in Christchurch. I know of one fortunate collector who owns three singing birds in their cages, and have heard of another who has an automated doll but examples rarely appear in shops or auction rooms.

One should not despair. The best examples of early clock-work tin plate toys are now included in the “automata” category, and it is possible sometimes to find these. Listed in the “Miller’s Guide” among recent sales in

Britain are such things as a Lehmann stubborn donkey with clockwork mechanism causing the beast to buck and spin the cart and its clown driver to rise and fall, and a novelty car by the same manufacturer whose outsize driver holds a trumpet to mouth and steers an erratic course while blowing the horn. Each of these sold for approximately SNZ6OO, but a fur-covered rabbit in a lettuce who emerges and waves his ears to the sound of music brought around $l2OO. He was of French origin. A tambourine player with brown eyes and a mohair wig, standing on a box and holding the instrument aloft, sold for approximately $BOOO, but a delightful pussy cat tea party with two seated kit- 1 tens sipping tea under the supervision of their mother who moves from side to side, was bought for a mere $lOOO. This piece was hand. operated by turning a handle. Although automata always remained expensive, in the nineteenth century “penny-in-the-slot” versions brought them within the range of most people. These were often bought by shop keepers and placed on the counter to attract custom. The caged bird illustrated is one of these. Made in France in about 1880 the little prisoner in her gilded cage flutters her wings and opens her

\ beak widely to sing when the spring has been wound and a penny inserted in the slot. Also illustrated is the original notice advising the would-be listener to

put a penny in the slot, the rather large handle for winding up the mechanism, and some later New Zealand pennies which seem to work just as well as those of last

century. I feel sure there are other interesting examples about somewhere in Christchurch, but this one, at Village By-Gones in Merivale, is the only one I have found.