Sleepout by writer Paul Carter MD
by writer Paul Carter MD
Recently writing in a blog about the painting which Gilly and I brought back as a souvenir from our holiday in Italy reminded me something I found a couple of years ago when clearing up the farm in readiness for putting it on the market. I had decided to sort through all the stuff which was piled from floor to ceiling in the old sleepout behind the shearing shed, where the shearers had once stayed over in days gone by. Over the years I had used the place as a dumping ground, but I wasn’t the first. The sleepout had housed an impressive collection of other people’s leftovers even before I came on the scene. By mid-morning I was making good progress and had made a huge pile of stuff on the grass outside. Then, to my surprise, under a bunk at the back of the sleepout, and covered by a very dusty sheet, I came across an old violin in a case and an oil painting of a pond with a bridge over it.
I had never seen either of them in my life before and guessed that they must have already been here when I first arrived. Glad of the interruption, I dusted them off and went in search of Gilly to show her my finds.
Gilly was just as impressed with my discoveries as I was, and also every bit as intrigued as to where they might have come from.
‘We should get someone who knows about these things to have a look at them,’ she said over a cup of tea, and I agreed with her.
It just so happened that we were going down to Melbourne the following week to catch up with some friends for dinner, and we decided to take the opportunity of taking our sleepout finds down to town with us as well. I phoned a well-known antique place in the city who do appraisals and valuations and asked if they might be interested. They said that they would be very happy to help us out, so on our way to our friends we went via their showrooms and dropped the items off.
We didn’t hear anything back for nearly a month and, in the rush and swirl of work and tidying up the farm, I had pretty much forgotten the matter when I received a telephone call saying that the appraisal had been completed and would we like to call in.
When we were ushered into the office of the chief valuer, a few days later, the violin and the painting were already on his desk.
‘So what have you got for us?’ we smiled at him in anticipation.
‘What you have here,’ he smiled back at us, ‘are a Stradivarius and a Monet.’
Gilly and I clutched at one another in our excitement. We had hoped for something exciting, but this was way beyond even our wildest dreams.
‘That’s fantastic,’ we said in an awed whisper and we stood up, intending to do a celebratory dance around the room.
‘But before you get too carried away,’ the valuer said, as he held up a hand and stopped us in our tracks, ‘there is just one small problem.’
“Which is?’ we asked.
‘That Stradivarius wasn’t a very good painter and Monet made rotten violins.’
Recently writing in a blog about the painting which Gilly and I brought back as a souvenir from our holiday in Italy reminded me something I found a couple of years ago when clearing up the farm in readiness for putting it on the market. I had decided to sort through all the stuff which was piled from floor to ceiling in the old sleepout behind the shearing shed, where the shearers had once stayed over in days gone by.
Over the years I had used the place as a dumping ground, but I wasn’t the first. The sleepout had housed an impressive collection of other people’s leftovers even before I came on the scene. By mid-morning, I was making good progress and had made a huge pile of stuff on the grass outside.
Then, to my surprise, under a bunk at the back of the sleepout, and covered by a very dusty sheet, I came across an old violin in a case and an oil painting of a pond with a bridge over it.
I had never seen either of them in my life before and guessed that they must have already been here when I first arrived. Glad of the interruption, I dusted them off and went in search of Gilly to show her my finds.
Gilly was just as impressed with my discoveries as I was, and also every bit as intrigued as to where they might have come from.
‘We should get someone who knows about these things to have a look at them,’ she said over a cup of tea, and I agreed with her.
It just so happened that we were going down to Melbourne the following week to catch up with some friends for dinner, and we decided to take the opportunity of taking our sleepout finds down to town with us as well. I phoned a well-known antique place in the city who do appraisals and valuations and asked if they might be interested. They said that they would be very happy to help us out, so on our way to our friends we went via their showrooms and dropped the items off.
We didn’t hear anything back for nearly a month and, in the rush and swirl of work and tidying up the farm, I had pretty much forgotten the matter when I received a telephone call saying that the appraisal had been completed and would we like to call in.
When we were ushered into the office of the chief valuer, a few days later, the violin and the painting were already on his desk.
‘So what have you got for us?’ we smiled at him in anticipation.
‘What you have here,’ he smiled back at us, ‘are a Stradivarius and a Monet.’
Gilly and I clutched at one another in our excitement. We had hoped for something exciting, but this was way beyond even our wildest dreams.
‘That’s fantastic,’ we said in an awed whisper and we stood up, intending to do a celebratory dance around the room.
‘But before you get too carried away,’ the valuer said, as he held up a hand and stopped us in our tracks, ‘there is just one small problem.’
“Which is?’ we asked.
‘That Stradivarius wasn’t a very good painter and Monet made rotten violins.’
