An Oxford-Venice house exchange

The Oxford University Gazette is an official record of all the deliberations of Oxford’s Parliament. That institution generally goes under the name of Congregation, but is called Convocation when the subject is of such importance that all Oxford graduates are invited to vote on it — as, for example, they do for the Professor of Poetry.

In decades past, although I had no interest in official proceedings, I was each spring an avid reader of the Gazette, due to its section on classified advertisements which, from time to time, offered houses or flats to swap. Our family made good use of this opportunity to have an incredibly reasonable holiday virtually every year in one of the sunnier countries in Europe.

In the spring of 1974 I read an advertisement in the Gazette: a family wanted to swap their 200 square metre flat in Venice for a house in Oxford for four weeks in the summer. I immediately offered our house (of about half that size) in exchange. By return of post they said yes. That was all. No lawyers, no estate agents, no intermediates. Everything was done on trust. My wife was perfectly happy with the exchange. “It must all be true what they write”,  said my wife. “With a name like d’Angelo they can definitely be trusted.” I had some reservations. “Just as a precaution let’s put all that silver your mother brought from Hungary up into the loft.” OK, she said:  “But you have to learn not to suspect everybody…”

We left the keys with our next door neighbour and drove to Venice. Oxford to Venice, exactly 1,000 km. The d’Angelos’ apartment turned out to be a penthouse with two luxurious bathrooms.

We had a fantastic time. Every morning we went to the Lido by a vaporetto to have a good swim. Afternoons were reserved for the marvels of Venice: the Basilica, churches, palazzos, bridges. Although under pressure from two daughters, once or twice we swapped the cold beauty of churches for the delights of the sea. The d’Angelos also had a great time in Oxford. Both families were happy with the exchange.

The following year the d’Angelos wanted to come to Oxford again, and equally, we were keen to spend another four weeks in Venice. “Let’s get our silver down from the loft,” said my wife before the day of departure. Surely, you don’t still think they will steal them? ” I agreed, I brought the silver down and she rearranged them in the two downstairs reception rooms.

This second journey to Venice seemed shorter, although we chose the same route. When we arrived we regarded ourselves as old Venetians who came to claim their heritage. The four weeks in 1975 were as good as in the year before. The sea was warm and there was no immediate danger of running out of churches. Did we have too much of Venice? No, certainly not. We might have said that the Tintorettos needed a bit of cleaning but that was all.

Has someone ever remarked “tired of Venice, tired of life”? Not as far as I know. Surely, Venice had as much claim to that epithet as Dr Johnson’s London. Our two daughters, 7 and 13 at the time, were also happy with our schedule. There were only a few cases when they expressed some protests at further church-visiting, but a bribe of a few ice creams proved sufficient to awaken the renaissance woman within them.

When the four weeks were over we collected our car and said good-bye to all to the Serenissima. The journey back was uneventful. However, as we drove along Oxford High Street towards our house we were reminded of the fact that Oxford can give Venice a run for its money when it comes to architecture. Our house was left beautifully clean by Mr and Mrs d’Angelo, just as the year before. It felt different though. We just couldn’t figure out why. It was only the next day that we realised that all the silver had gone.

The facts were clear. We had left all our silver (13 pieces plus a set of silver tableware), partly in the sitting room and partly in my study. They had all gone. Calamitously, we had not insured them. That was the end of all our inheritance. At least we could now claim that everything we owned had been earned by us. Who had taken them? Being a somewhat analytical family, we ran through the possibilities:

Assumption (i): Nicked by the d’Angelos.

Argument against assumption (i): Extremely unlikely. This elderly academic couple were the embodiment of all the civic virtues of a society whose sons had ruled the Mediterranean for centuries. On the other hand, how did Venice build up all its treasures? Surely, plunder must have been one of the most efficient methods. It is well known that the relics of St. Mark were spirited away from Alexandria and the four golden horses in the Basilica were appropriated during the Fourth Crusade from Constantinople’s Hippodrome.

Assumption (ii): We knew that the d’Angelos could not possibly do it themselves, but could they have brought with them a domestic servant with an unknown mafioso background, who could not resist the lure of silver? The argument against this scenario was also very strong. A domestic would not have had the opportunity to take away all those items unnoticed. Anyway, just returning to the facts for a moment, our next door neighbours told us that there was no third person in the house. So much for assumption (ii).

Assumption (iii): There was a burglary on the night of the day we left and before the d’Angelos arrived.

The case against assumption (iii) is that there was no sign of a burglary. Everything was in a pristine order, with just all the silver gone. Nothing else was missing. Nothing else was out of place.

We waited for a day or two hoping that by some miracle our pieces of silver would suddenly reappear and then we went to the local police station to report their disappearance. They took first our particulars and then started asking questions, which we tried to answer to the best of our knowledge.

“Have you taken photographs of all your valuable items?”

”We have not”, we admitted.

“Have you got receipts of the missing items?” was the next question.

“No.”

“Have you got a list of the missing items?”

“Yes, Sir, here is the list.”

“We shall look into the matter,” said the policeman, ending the interview. “We shall keep you informed of our enquiries. It might take some time.”

We thanked the policeman and took our leave.

Next afternoon two policemen appeared at our door, one of them carrying a sealed bag with “POLICE” written all over it. He broke the stamp and took out a piece of silver. “Is that yours?” He asked. As it happened, it was ours. It turned out that the bag contained all our silver pieces, without exceptions, and the tableware too.

“A miracle?” my  wife asked. “For the last three months we have been watching a fence,” the officer replied. “A few weeks ago came a new delivery containing all your pieces. The thief was a man of the world. An expert not only on silver, but also on how to open windows without leaving any marks. The fence was no ordinary man either. He had great administrative ability. Each piece was separately packed with a note telling us the address where it was stolen from.”

Our triumph was great but not complete. The pieces were kept as evidence for a number of months by the police. My wife, always ready to improvise, addressed the better-looking of the two police officers. “You did a great job. As a reward I am offering you the hand of my daughter in marriage. She is 14 years old; can you wait?” “Sorry, Madam,” said the policeman, “I am a married man and the laws of this country do not allow bigamy.”

A Message from TheArticle

We are the only publication that’s committed to covering every angle. We have an important contribution to make, one that’s needed now more than ever, and we need your help to continue publishing throughout these hard economic times. So please, make a donation.