Explore an antique Gillows Davenport desk
Fine English furniture specialist David Harvey looks at a rare antique Davenport desk, by the sought-after maker Gillows, that ticks all his client’s boxes
Gillows Davenport Desk
A few months ago I was asked to find a burr walnut Davenport desk for a client who also stipulated the piece should be both made by Gillows of Lancaster and stamped by the illustrious makers.

As if by magic, just before Christmas I was offered the piece shown above which is, as requested, stamped by Gillows. Adding to its charm is the fact it is veneered not in walnut but pollard oak (below) which is much rarer. Pollarded oaks, a technique used in Europe since medieval times, encourages “burrs”, which, when cut, produce a fantastic grain with a very complex figure which is highly sought after by furniture makers.

Gillows signed desk
I forwarded pictures of the desk to my client who immediately e-mailed me back asking if the Gillows’ cabinetmaker had signed the piece in pencil as he had seen on a similar example.
Grabbing a torch I searched high and low for such a maker’s mark and, only when I removed the largest drawer and turned it over, could I see the clear pencil signature Noar (below).
I straightaway ran to consult my copy of Susan Stuart’s two-volume book Gillows of Lancaster and London 1730-1840. According to the author, ‘Noar’ or ‘E Noar’ referred to Edmund Noar who appears in the Gillows’ records in the first half of the 19th century.
He was apprenticed to William Blackburne Jr. in 1796 who, with his father, worked with Gillows. When the younger Blackburne died in 1803, Noar took over their role with the legendary maker.

Not only does the desk have the maker’s signature, the top edge of the same drawer bears the stamp for Gillows, as does the front edge of the sliding top under the lid. What a find – to have a stamped Gillows’ desk with the maker’s name signed on it.
Origin of the Davenport desk
Of course, the Davenport has a long history with Gillows. It has even been suggested by furniture historian Ralph Edwards that the company invented the design in the late 18th century, citing a commission for a desk for a certain Captain Davenport who asked for “a small writing table with a sloping-top desk above a case of drawers.”
The extensive Gillows’ records, housed at the Westminster Archives, contain the earliest drawing of a Davenport, dated March 1816, executed for John Burton Phillips. The desk remained a clear favourite of the firm, and no fewer than 27 drawings of Davenports appear between 1816 and 1850. A more popular example was that ordered by Ferguson & Co. in 1830 and made by Thomas Myers at Gillows.
Great likeness
Gillows would have described this example as a “good solid mahogany Davenport desk” and I was struck by the similarities of the sketch and the spindle gallery which terminates in scrolls (above) which is a typical Gillows’ feature.
You can clearly see further similarities, such as the hinged pen drawer on the right-hand side and the pullout slide which is repeated on the left side. The three graduated drawers are copied on the left side by three false drawers, complete with matching, turned ebony knobs. There is one slight deviation – the bun feet on my example are gadrooned, rather than the plain ones shown in the illustration.
But, all in all, to find such a terrific example that ticked all my client’s boxes was a wonderful start to the year.
Top notch lock
Susan Stuart, author of Gillows of Lancaster and London 1730-1840, has written at some length about the Bramah Patent locks which Gillows used and which are clearly visible on this piece.
This lock is stamped with a crown above the name J Bramah and the address 124 Piccadilly.

It was created by Joseph Bramah in 1784 and employed the first known, high-security design which received a patent in the same year.
Locks produced by Bramah were famed for their resistance to picking and tampering, so much so that the company famously had a “challenge” lock displayed in the window of its London shop, off ering 200 guineas for anyone who could pick it.
The challenge stood for more than 67 years until the Great Exhibition of 1851, when the American locksmith Alfred Charles Hobbs foiled the design and, following arguments over the method he used, was awarded the prize. Hobbs’ attempt required some 51 hours, spread over an incredible 16 days.