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Lot 696
Merrythought: 'Edward' Teddy Bear, dark golden mohair, orange and black glass eyes, pronounced clipped muzzle, black stitched nose, mouth and claws, swivel head, jointed limbs with felt pads, squeaker, yellow label 1940's 480mm with photograph of original owner Barbara-Jane riding Muffin on promenade
Lot 505
The uniquely dated ‘Discovery Investigations ‘Polar Medal in bronze awarded to Netman D. Kennedy, late Pilotage Service and afterwards Royal Navy: as a result of the hardships endured by such men - Kennedy spent six seasons in Antarctica - the international whale conservation programme was set in motion Polar Medal 1904, G.VI.R., bronze, 1 clasp, Antarctic 1929-34 (Duncan Kennedy), in its case of issue, extremely fine £2800-3200 Ex J. B. Hayward (Gazette No. 2, July 1974, Item No. 283). Duncan Kennedy, who was born in Greenock, Scotland in January 1888, served in the Pilotage Service in the Great War and was awarded the British War and Mercantile Marine War Medals. Previous to joining the Royal Research Ship Discovery II in 1929, he was a fisherman, so it seems natural that he was rated as a Netman - a Petty Officer responsible for operating the various-sized nets used to collect marine specimens - and having served through six Antarctic seasons aboard the Discovery II, he became one of just two Netman awarded the Polar Medal in bronze - and the only man to receive the clasp dated 1929-34. Kennedy and the Antarctic 1929-34 ‘Discovery Investigations ‘As early as 1917, it was recognized that whales were in danger of being hunted to extinction, as a result of which a British Government inter-departmental committee was set up to review the excesses of the whaling industry which then flourished in the Antarctic. However, it was not until 1923 that a committee with the required finances and authority was established to make ‘a serious attempt to place the whaling industry on a scientific basis’. The depletion of whale stocks could be avoided only by controlling the whaling industry, but effective control could not be planned for a painfully simple reason: not enough was known about the habits of whales, their distribution and migration, or of their main food - the shrimp known as krill. Kennedy thus became part of this historic scientific programme that spanned over a quarter of a century. Initially, Scott's old ship, the Discovery, was purchased by the newly named ‘Discovery Committee ‘. Then, in 1926, the steam vessel William Scoresby was added to the initiative, and was tasked with general oceanographic work, commercial scale trawling and whale marking experiments. However, later still, it was decided to build a new steel ship to carry out the indefinite and ambitious series of ‘Discovery Investigations ‘that beckoned, the Discovery II being the result. And in order to meet unknown conditions, her construction required careful planning and much original thought, in addition to the provision of an array of expensive scientific and other research equipment - given the international financial crisis of the early 1930s, evidence indeed of the vital importance of the project. In December 1929, as Discovery II stood ready at London's St. Katherine's Dock, she received a visit from the King of Norway, who possessed a keen knowledge of everything to do with whaling, while her actual departure for her three-year odyssey was captured by a reporter for the Oxford Mail: ‘Hundreds of People gathered to witness the departure of the vessel and after two hours' skilful manÏuvring she was steered into the Thames, where much larger crowds were watching. As the ship glided from her berth girls crowded to the windows of the factories overlooking the dock and waved good-bye to the crew. One very pretty girl, more daring than the rest, climbed out on to a ledge and shouted "A Merry Christmas next week," and the sailors responded with a cheer.’ At 234 feet long, and displacing 2,100 tons, Discovery II was only a fraction of the size of the 10-12,000 ton whaling factory ships active in Antarctic waters. Yet she was the largest research ship ever to explore the Southern Ocean and both the scientists and crew had to take time to get used to a new ship under conditions of intense cold, storm and pack ice. In addition, working the instruments and winches required constant practice, and the surveys, biological collections and hydrographic work were more comprehensive that ever before attempted in southern waters. Kennedy's nets were used for collecting sea plants and animals and were of several different sizes and mesh. The mouth of one tow net was the size of a dinner plate, while another was believed to be the largest in the world, so big that a man could stand upright inside it. Indeed long hours were dedicated to the raising and lowering of such nets in all variety of weather and seas - hard and frequently painful labour on the part of Kennedy, given the prevailing climate and temperatures. Just such conditions that turned Discovery II into a Christmas tree by a combination of gale and freezing seas that sprayed the ship's deck, bulwarks and upper works, thickly encrusting them with ice. Torches of burning waste and paraffin were sometimes necessary to thaw the blocks and sheaves over which ran the wires used to lower nets and instruments into the sea. Under such difficult conditions, a sense of humour was a valuable asset and greatly appreciated by all, and Kennedy’s ways of speech certainly played their part in keeping his fellow crew amused, or certainly according to the expedition’s official photographer, Alfred Saunders, who noted: ‘He had a persistent but unwitting habit of mispronouncing names. One of his jobs was to look after chemical and other scientific stores in the hold. To him sulphuric acid became 'sulfricated acid', hydrochloric acid became 'hydraulic acid', and formalin became 'formamint'. Once when he met a sailor who had had a violent fall on deck still walking about, he said that he thought he had 'discolated' his leg.’ In the present context it is impossible to do justice to the many achievements and adventures of Discovery II and those who served aboard her, but the drama of one particular incident during the ship's second commission (1931-33) deserves the spotlight, for she became the fourth vessel to circumnavigate Antarctica - and the first to accomplish this feat in winter. In January 1932, Discovery II was on her first voyage deep into the Weddell Sea, the first steel ship to penetrate those waters, when, near the position Shackleton had first met ice back in 1916, she became entrapped, her hull and rudder sustaining damage, including a leak in her starboard fuel tank. At one point, on 26 January, her captain wrote, ‘Scientific staff and all spare hands employed this day poling ice floes clear of rudder and propeller’, and it was only with great difficultly that the ship was extricated from her perilous situation. In spite of such danger, the surroundings never failed to make a marked impression on the senses, one crewman recalling that it was ‘impossible to describe the stillness and the quietness in the Antarctic, not a sound to be heard.’ Another notable chapter in Discovery II’s Antarctic sojourn occurred during her third commission (1933-35), when she was able to lend vital assistance to Admiral Byrd's Second Antarctic Expedition. For, on 5 February 1934, the latter was faced with a severe crisis, his only doctor being taken ill with high blood pressure, a condition that necessitated his return home on the support ship Jacob Ruppert, leaving only a medical student with the expedition. Byrd, who could not even consider keeping 95 men in the Antarctic without a doctor, later wrote, ‘I determined then to get a doctor, or else cancel the expedition.’ The previous month, he had been surprised to hear Discovery II's radio operator tapping out morse messages on the airwaves - not that far from each other, the expeditions exchanged greetings. So he now sent a radiogram to the captain of Discovery II, then at Auckland replenishing her supplies, requesting assistance, as a direct result of which Dr. Louis Potaka, a New Zealander, sailed on the ship to rendezvous with Byrd's Bear of Oa
Lot 1256
Sold by Order of the Recipient A rare and outstanding ‘Special Forces’ Northern Ireland Q.G.M., Falklands M.I.D. group of four awarded to Warrant Officer K. M. James, Royal Marines, a long-served and gallant member of the Special Boat Service, who was decorated for rescuing a wounded comrade in an undercover operation in October 1978 whilst serving with 14 Intelligence Company, and subsequently mentioned in despatches for his leadership of an S.B.S. team landed on enemy occupied East Falkland Island prior to the arrival of the British Task Force in May 1982 Queen’s Gallantry Medal, E.II.R. (Cpl. Kevin M. James, PO25432M, R.M.); General Service 1962, 1 clasp, Northern Ireland (PO25432M K. M. James, Cpl., R.M.); South Atlantic 1982, with M.I.D. oak leaf and rosette (Sgt. K. M. James, PO25432M, R.M.); Royal Navy L.S. & G.C., E.II.R. (Sgt. K. M. James, PO25432M, R.M.), mounted as worn, generally good very fine (4) £25,000-30,000 Q.G.M. London Gazette 27 March 1979: ‘In recognition of service in Northern Ireland during the period 1 August 1978 to 31 October 1978.’ Under the pseudonym ‘Luke ‘, the full story of James’s extraordinary deeds as an undercover operative in Dungannon one night in October 1978 appear in Duncan Falconer’s First into Action (first published by Little, Brown and Company, 1998): ‘When several shots rang out, interrupting the cold stillness that had shrouded Dungannon all that week, no one knew where they had come from. A couple of operators reported it, but they were quickly told to leave the net free in case there was an emergency. A radio then opened up and we could hear the sound of gurgling mixed in with a few inaudible words. The Det commander tried to contact each of the operatives to eliminate them as sources, but whoever was gurgling on the net was holding down the send button preventing all transmission. Luke [James] felt certain the shots had come from the Bear Cage area and decided not to wait until the comms cleared to inform ops. He leapt out of the car and tore up the hill, gun in hand, towards the car park. The rest of us could do nothing until we found out what was going on. Some operatives suspected it might be one of ours parked up by the lake and quickly drove there, but the operative was fine. We were all unaware of Luke tearing through the town alone and in great personal danger from a number of sources. If he had encountered an Army or police patrol they would shoot him without hesitation - a man in civvies running with a gun in his hand was a legitimate target, and they would never expect him to be a British undercover operative. Then there were the gunmen themselves - they could still be around and waiting for such a reaction. Luke felt certain it was Noddy who had been hit, but he had no idea from what direction. He saw the car at the far end of the car park in the shadows and sprinted to it. When he got there he found Noddy lying slumped in his seat. The driver’s window had been shattered by bullets. Blood seeped from holes in Noddy’s face, torso and legs, but he was alive, just. Luke’s only option was to get Noddy to the hospital as soon as possible. He manhandled him over the handbrake and gear lever and into the passenger seat. There was no time to be gentle, he was oozing blood. The threat of gunmen was still at the forefront of Luke’s mind. As he sat in the driver’s seat to start the car, he could feel the pints of warm blood soaking into the arse of his trousers. He screeched out of the car park, passed the pub where O’Dilly had been standing and sped up the road. By now the RUC had sent patrol cars to investigate the shooting and the Scots Guards, the local Army unit, were also heading towards the area. As Luke made a sharp turn out of the car park an RUC patrol car appeared in his rear. They flicked on their flashing lights and pursued him. As if matters could not get any worse the RUC assumed Luke was escaping from the shooting and was, therefore, the gunman. Suddenly Luke heard shots. The RUC were trying to shoot out his tyres. A bullet hit the car. Luke was an excellent driver and although he was scared shitless, as he endlessly reminded us afterwards, he never lost control. He was driving for his friend’s life. He could not stop to surrender and explain the situation because by the time the RUC had got through their arrest procedure, Noddy would probably have been dead. Luke had no choice but to lose them. We all knew the town like the backs of our hands, and perhaps better than the police. The RUC could not compete with his driving skills, nor did they have the incentive, and in less than a minute he gave them the slip. Other police patrol cars were reacting, but they assumed he was trying to make his way out of town and so coordinated themselves on the outskirts to stop him. That was just fine by Luke because he was headed for the hospital in the centre of town. Noddy rolled around in the passenger seat while Luke continuously talked to reassure him. Suddenly, Luke’s car came under fire again, this time from the Scots Guards, and then, a few streets later, from the UDR. This was becoming ridiculous. Luke eventually screeched into the hospital car park and came to a halt outside the main entrance. He dived out of the car, gun in hand, and ran inside. He was literally covered in blood and the few people in the foyer stopped and stared with gaping mouths. A couple of civilian security guards saw him from the other side of the entrance and made their way towards him. He ignored them, grabbed a wheelchair and pushed it outside to the car. He dragged Noddy out of the passenger side and into the chair. Noddy was still alive but slipping in and out of consciousness. Luke charged up the ramp with the wheel chair and burst in through the entrance doors once again. He was just in time, because now the Scots Guards and UDR were surrounding the hospital and moving in, convinced he was a terrorist. He levelled his gun at the security guards in the foyer, who immediately backed off - they were unarmed. Luke was filled with adrenaline and shaking. The hospital was not safe ground. The majority of the staff and patients were catholics and not to be trusted. ‘Where’s a doctor? ‘Luke shouted. A couple of nurses stepped into the foyer, but froze in horror along with everyone else at the sight of these two men covered in blood, one pushing a wheelchair, wild-eyed and pointing a gun. Luke didn’t wait for an answer and charged on, pushing Noddy through swing doors and along the corridor as blood dripped from the wheelchair, leaving a trail. He paused outside every door to kick it open, gun levelled, in search of a doctor. He scared the hell out of patients and nurses as he made his way through the hospital. He finally burst into a room where two doctors were tending to a patient. Luke could not care less about anyone else. His buddy was dying. He pointed his shaking gun at them and yelled, ‘Fix him. Fix him or I’ll fucking kill you! ‘A security guard burst in and Luke aimed at him like lightning. ‘Move and I’lll fucking kill you too. ‘The guard froze in his tracks and threw his arms up. ‘I’ll kill all of you! ‘Luke left Noddy and grabbed one of the doctors and pulled him over to the chair. ‘If he dies, you die! I fucking swear it! ‘The doctors were initially frozen with fear themselves, but they pulled themselves together, their professionalism kicked in and they set to work on Noddy. The doors suddenly burst open once again and a tough-looking matron stepped in. Luke levelled the gun at her as she stood beside the security guard with his arms in the air. But this woman seemed fearless. She looked at Luke and said, ‘Put the gun down, please. ‘ ‘I’m a British soldier! ‘Luke shouted. ‘And this is a hospital. Put the gun down. ‘There was something about her calm, assertive manner that Luke latched on to. But he kept his gun aimed as she passed him
Lot 235
A RARE SPANISH INFANTRY BREASTPLATE, CIRCA 1500 formed in one piece with a strong medial ridge and bold angular outward turns at its neck and arm-openings, its shoulders in each case fitted with a later buckle, the right struck with the "crow's-foot" mark, the inside of the right arm-opening and the inside of the waist in each case painted in red with the collection-number 297, and the inside of its outward-flanged lower edge struck with a series of linear construction-marks (the lower corners of the breastplate cropped, the flange patched and cracked) 39cm; 15 1/4in high It has been suggested that the "crow's-foot" mark struck is that of the Aragonese town of Calayatud, known from contemporary documents to have been an important centre for the manufacture of armour. Many pieces from the former armouries of the Dukes of Ossuna and Medinaceli bear this mark. See J. G. Mann 1933, (2003 ed.) pp. 66-7 & 69.
Lot 720
A George III gold and enamel memorial ring for Vice-Admiral Horatio Nelson by John Slater of the Strand London, dated 21st October 1805, one of approximately 58, the square head with the letter N beneath a viscount's coronetand B for Bronte beneath a ducal coronet above the word Trafalgar with polychrome enamel detailing, on a tapered hoop shank, bearing the motto Palman Qui Meruit Ferat (let him bear the palm of victory who has won it), the underside engraved 'lost to his Country 21 Oct 1805 aged 49', finger size N, losses to the gold work and enamelling on the head the shank split at the base.Approximately 58 of these memorial rings were made by John Slater of the Strand following the death of Nelson at Trafalgar in 1805. The executors of Nelson's will gave the rings to Nelson's relatives. close friends and pall bearers, and a manuscript in the British Museum details all these recipients. Three of these rings are known to have been offered for sale, the first being at Sotheby's in 1926, and the last was sold in 1968 for £190. The ring offered here, although in a poor state of repair, does offer the possibility to the buyer the chance of returning this important and historic jewel to its original state
Lot 1562
A small Copenhagen porcelain model of a polar bear with three cubs, underglaze blue wave mark to base with green painted numerals '4780', together with seven other Copenhagen porcelain animals, comprising two horses, a squirrel, a hare, a kitten (faults) a mouse (faults) and a white cat (ears restored).
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