Gervase Phinn: Things ancient and modern

I was given what was considered reasonable compensation (which was not half enough) and I decided to buy a dresser in place of the one I had been promised.

As soon as I saw this 18th-century polished oak sideboard in the saleroom, I fell in love with it. It had a wonderful patina, an antique smell and intricate carving. I purchased it and it was given pride of place in the lounge. What bits of porcelain and china we had were displayed to great effect on the delft rack.

Then a friend came around for dinner. He was "something of an expert on antique furniture" to use his own words, and he surveyed the dresser with a somewhat puzzled expression. Then, shaking his head, he informed me that my pride and joy was "a marriage".

"A what?" I asked, mystified.

"A marriage, a combination of various pieces of furniture from different periods," he explained. "Basically, it's been cobbled together from a number of dressers."

Then he proceeded to demonstrate and pointed and poked, showing me where bits had been added on. "Even the interior shelving and brass handles are reproduction," he told me. "The good news is that there's no woodworm."

I predicted what he would say next.

"So, how much did you pay for it?"

I didn't tell him, knowing full well that he would inform me that I had paid well over the odds.

The revelation about my dresser upset me at first but then I thought, I still like it, it looks attractive and old, and unless you are an expert in antique furniture, you would never know it was not original.

It struck me when I was visiting my two sons, who lived abroad, that some cultures seem to be less mindful than others whether an ancient artefact or historical building has remained the same over time.

When I visited my son, Dominic, in China, I was told that many of the beautiful Buddhist temples I so much admired were reproduction, that the Forbidden City had been largely restored and that much of the Great Wall was of modern construction. This didn't take away the splendour of the structures.

In Japan, where Matthew, son number two, lived, the word "replica" does not carry the same stigma of the inauthentic as it does in this country.

The Japanese do not view their historic buildings as we do ours. Osaka Castle, for example, is a most wonderful building, a five-storey green and white pagoda which rises majestically above the trees, the burnished copper roofs and the filigrees of gold shimmering in the bright sunshine. It is one of the most impressive buildings I have seen. Completed in the 16th century by some great warlord, the building is entirely reproduction. Over the years it has been destroyed by explosions, set alight and, in the last war, heavily bombed. It was painstakingly restored to its present magnificence in the 1990s.

So, when I was told at a recent auction by the man who had been bidding against me for the Rockingham plate I had just bought, that the piece of porcelain was probably a reproduction, I was not that bothered. I still like it and all that mattered was that it would look good on my oak dresser.