Oxfam

Daphne Du Maurier and Brexit

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“Emma, who lives in Cornwall with her retired grandmother, a famous retired actress, wakes one morning to find that the world has apparently gone mad:

No post, no telephone, no radio, a warship in the bay and American soldiers advancing across the field towards the house.

The time is a few years in the future. England has withdrawn from the Common Market and, on the brink of bankruptcy, has decided that salvation lies in a union – political, military and economic – with the United States.

Theoretically, it is to be an equal partnership; but to some people it soon begins to look like a takeover bid.”

This is on the flyleaf of Rule Britannia, written by Daphne Du Maurier in 1972.

I had never seen this book before – but as you, dear reader, know by now, Oxfam is a Pandora’s box of surprises.

(Yesterday the box opened to reveal an inundation of books – just when Duncan, an Oxfam stalwart if ever there was one, and I thought we had the shop all sorted out – and they were mostly recycling-sack fillers.)

Back to Daphne.  As a (deflated) Bremainer, I am sure that we are living in the phoney war period and the real fall out will come over months and then years.

Yesterday, I was culling the Old and Interesting shelves and although we give them a longer chance than say, gardening, there comes a time when all good things must come to an end, and they have to go.

I picked up a book on the history of the Liberal Party in its early days and was about to throw it onto the reject pile, when I thought again – for the very pragmatic reason that I didn’t have enough alternatives to fill up the shelf.

Now, that book has been there for months but blow me down as they say, half an hour after I had moved it from one shelf to the one lower down, a woman bought it.

I asked her if she was a political historian and she said no but her daughter had done a masters in international politics and was now working in London.

Then she reduced her voice to a whisper and said, ‘ She was so angry about the Brexit vote that she joined the Liberal Party. She would have joined Labour but there isn’t really a Labour Party at the moment.’

(Whilst social and mainstream media is full of stories about vile threats and angry denunciations of Remainers and Brexiteers alike, in Petersfield it seems, we reduce our voices to a whisper when talking politics.)

And that young , likely-to-be-on-the-receiving-end-of-the-bad-news-about-Brexit  womanis right, there isn’t really a Labour Party at the moment and not likely to be one, or for that matter much in the way of a vigorous opposition party, for the foreseeable future.

So, with Trump dangerously likely to end up in the White House and the fallout of our referendum still to come, I am off to read what Daphne Du Maurier prophesied.

Frederick Cecil Banes Walker

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When I am sorting through the thousands of books donated to the village festivities, there are always some I hoick out because I think they might be worth something.

We sell all the paperbacks for 50p and the hardbacks for £2 – whatever the subject or size of the book.

Well, some books are just worth more than that and I am not going to let them go for next to nothing.

(Which reminds me, we have a woman and her mother who come every year to the bookstall and they, every year, complain that we charge too much. ‘Give over and don’t come next year’ are the polite end of what I want to say to her.)

As you will know if you have read the previous blog, donations of books come in thick and fast and we don’t keep track of who donated what so we take it as it comes.

Anyway, I had a pile of books which needed checking and indeed the rather rare Heath Robinson book is worth about £60 and my ever-so-slightly eagle eye for the niche books which are only printed in small quantities and are therefore valuable, paid off when I discovered that ‘Four Centuries of Liege Gunmaking’ is worth about £75.

A rare early guide book to Palma was also worth a bit and ‘The Mechanical World Pocket Diary and Year Book 1914’ is also worth a darn sight more than £2.

But it was the  book called ‘The Roll of Honour 1916’ that this story is about. Everyone killed in the war that year was listed with their photograph and a small biography (and there was one such book  produced for eery year of WWI.)

WWI memorabilia is very popular and it being the 100th year, I thought I would easily sell it on eBay and split the proceeds between the village festivities and Oxfam.

So, I listed it and I have to admit that I listed it wrongly, so instead of starting the bidding at £10 and hoping to make £30 or £40, I mistakenly listed it as ‘buy it now’. Indeed, someone did – within about 10 minutes.

But, dear patient reader, this is just the preamble to the real story here – so please bear with me.

Whilst I was flicking through the Roll of Honour book to check it was intact, no internal markings or pages ripped out, some paperwork fell out.

As usual I was cooking supper, making a list of things to do, checking emails etc etc and so I handed the bits of paper to my best beloved and asked him to check what they were.

He said, one was the commission for a soldier as a 2nd lieutenant. When I looked later, the next was a letter from the War Office saying where he was buried. The third was a postcard with a sketch on the front of the cemetery, and a description of the grave and its surroundings on the back.

It really makes you stop and think when you find something like that and I was wondering who it was who had made their way to the cemetery where ‘ The big grave under the apple tree is Captain Taylor, Scots Guards & is the only marble cross at present in the cemetery and is a good guide. ‘

The X on the drawing ‘Is his grave directly inside the little gate. The three near trees are all apple trees.’

I then looked at the commission which is a large and formal document which says,’ You are therefore carefully and diligently to discharge your Duty as such in the Rank of 2nd Lieutentant or in such higher Rank as We may from time to time hereafter be pleased to promote or appoint you to, of which notification will be made in the London Gazette and you are at all times to exercise and well discipline in Arms the inferior Officers and Men serving under you and use your best endeavours to keep them in good Order and Discipline. And We do hereby Command them to Obey you as their superior Officer and you to observe and follow such Orders and Directions as from time to time you shall receive from Us or any superior Officer according to the Rules and Discipline of War in pursuance of the Trust hereby reposed in you.’

It is dated October 3rd 1914.

He died on May 9th 1915

On November 20th 1916, his father was sent a letter saying he was buried at ‘ Le Trou, about two miles south of Fluerbaix. The grave has been registered in this office, and is marked by a durable wooden cross bearing full particulars.’

This 2nd lieutenant played test cricket for Somerset. Also, he played rugby and hockey. The has a Wikkipedia page. He had no links with Sussex and lived in Somerset all his life.

His name was Frederick Cecil Banes Walker.

Not a common name.

My neighbour is called Banes Walker.

So, of course, I went round with the commission, and my neighbour said Frederick Cecil Banes Walker was his uncle.

I have no idea who donated the book with these pieces of paper tucked inside.

No idea why they were here in Sussex.

 

 

 

HartFest

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The Harting Festivities or HartFest as we on the committee have started to call it, being rather daringly modern, are over.

This, if you are not a resident of Deepest Sussex, is the day in the year when the village main street is blocked off and we have a village fayre ( as you can tell we are not all that daringly modern.)

I for my sins as they say, am in charge of the bookstall – and I want that name changed as well.

For, dear reader, this is not just a couple of trestle tables pushed together covered in dog-eared copies of Jeffrey Archers and endless variations of Aga sagas (this being Sussex), oh no this is much, much, more.

I won’t bore you with the full explanations of what you need to do to effectively run a HartFest ‘bookstall’ but suffice it to say you need to fill the event hall of the Legion Club with books – all in their topic categories, paperback novels in alphabetical groups so that yes, we can tell the small, frail customer where to search for her Nora James.

Filling, in this context meant about 110 banana boxes of books and if you are just about to think, ‘Well, OK, that is quite a few but let’s not go overboard on the numbers here,’ I would like to say to you, ‘ a) you try lifting that many books from where they are sorted to where they have to be – yes round the corner but still…and b) because, yes indeed, they are sorted that means we also took 10 car loads of rejects to the tip and that is hard work too.

Before I wallow in too much halo-polishing, I would like to say of course I don’t do this alone.

I don’t do it alone because I am rubbish at doing anything on my own and always want a group of people to be involved in anything I am, but also to do it alone would  take months and render me unable to do anything else all year.

So, a marvellous group of people helped sort, moved the books and ran the bookstall on the day and lest this turn into a badly written piece for the parish magazine thanking everyone all over the place, I will leave it at that.

But, I do think we need to call it something bigger than a bookstall.

Pop-Up Bookshop, maybe. HartFest’s Mini-Hay, maybe. Any bright ideas are welcome.

So, all this hard work pays off – this year we made £962 and half goes to village charities and half to Oxfam ( who, between you and I ‘donate’ quite a lot of good quality books.)

I am not a competitive person but snapping at my heels is the necklace stall.

The idea came from a great woman in the village who thrown herself into village life with gusto (and thank the lord, relative youth.)

The idea is that most women have necklaces they have bought, don’t wear and don’t want – but some other woman will.

We, on the HartFest Committee were asked to see what we could raise in terms of necklaces through friends etc etc.

I showed myself to be the archetypal Sussex housewife by approaching my Pilates teacher to see if I could put a notice in her studio, my hairdresser for a notice in her salon, my book group and a group of friends who regularly lunch to salute one of our brilliant friends who has died.

Well, dear reader, sneery though I may be of my housewife credentials, they did good and we got lots and lots and lots of jewellery.

The sign I made for my hairdresser said:
Do you have any necklaces you don’t wear – of course you do!
So, if you could have a clear out of those beads you bought in the Accessorize sale and have ever worn since… Please think of us.
And we will take bracelets too – infact any old sparklies.

Rosie, my hairdresser reported that one of her clients had said to her,’ Oh I’d love to help, I have loads of necklaces I don’t wear but I don’t think any of them came from the Accessorize sale…’

Perhaps it was her who donated the sapphire and diamond ring. This is Deepest Sussex as I keep reminding you.

Anyway, I had nothing to do with the stall except for collecting carrier bags full of necklaces from my ‘sources’ but those who did, made a fantastic display of colour co-ordinated necklaces, silver ones polished to glint in the sunshine ( it was nearly sunny), an old birdcage draped with lovely sparklies – lovely all round.

And this, their first year, they made more than £500. And I have to say, a little disgruntedly, I am a woman who loves jewellery, and necklaces are a shed load easier to store and move than books.

Dear reader, I am in the wrong HartFest job.

Colour Co-ordinated Books

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I am never quite a woman of the zeitgeist so it took me a while to catch up on the idea that books organised by colour are becoming popular.

(My partner would be shocked and appalled at the thought that there should be anything other than alphabetical and topic organisation in our bookshelves – but I have to say I quite like the idea.)

Anyway, a few weeks ago we had a donation which included some of those old blue Pelican books – much too ropey and brown to put on the shelves and so they are usually sacked forthwith.

The shelves ‘out the back’ where the donations are put, are an interesting place to find all sorts.

On this day there was a broken laptop support ( who on earth would think we could sell that?), several 1500 piece jigsaws ( also not a great seller – anything over 500 pieces and you can forget it as a sales item), a diary from 2011 used for scrap-paper, leftover christmas cards, a book on Arabic cookery from 1982 – and usefully in this case, a ball of string.

I tied up the blue pelicans into bundles of 10 and they sold.

Then, on another day, a man came into the shop and said to the volunteer at the till, ‘I’d like to buy that shelf please.’ ‘What?’, she said. ‘That shelf of books, all of them.’

He was an interior designer….

On a quiet Monday afternoon – we get a good few of those – I re-arranged the ‘old and interesting’ shelves into colours. Blue, green, brown, mixed (for the leftovers) and those with proper leather bindings.

Now, I cannot be sure that this boosted sales but by the following Monday some books which had become old friends over the months (and months) had found new homes.

Sometimes we put all red books in the window, or I do a table display with books which have images of faces on the front, or I do all the front-facing books ( those on stands facing you with their front, rather than their spines) in a colour.

I am no expert on merchandising but it amuses me now and then and whiles away the time.

And last time I checked, our shop was one of the few, if not the only, shop in our area to be in the blue rather than the red against all our Oxfam targets – we like blue.

Labels and Bras

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The other day I went to Winchester and saw a photo of myself on a price label in the Oxfam clothes shop there.

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(There was a saga about being asked to go to an Oxfam photo shoot and being told I was going to feature in the front of a group of volunteers on a poster and then getting a sight of it to see not only wasn’t I in the front, but not there at all.

Should you, dear reader, be an insomniac, you can read about it on the blog archive somewhere – but for the rest of us, we can move on.)

It was a bit startling, but I was hardly being pressed for autographs and even the volunteer on the till at the Winchester shop didn’t recognise me, looking bemused as my friend insisted on taking a photo of the real me and the label.

(While I am mentioning previous blogs – and really, I don’t expect you to read them all – I did do one about mutton dressing as lamb and the phrase the Germans have about someone looking young from behind and old from the front.

Anyway, a lovely German friend told the me right phrase – Lyceum from the back and Museum front – isn’t that brilliant!)

My amazing friend who I was wandering around the shops with, has a plan to create a festival of kindness.

We were talking about how to do that and make it feisty not saccharine, make it interesting, who would you get involved, what would you do, how would you take over London’s South Bank or do a ‘real’ festival, how would you get those young people involved?

Then it started raining heavily so we went into Marks and Spencers.

Only this amazing friend could talk about a kindness festival whilst collecting a tub of mascarpone for that night’s dessert and mooching ( diligently) round the bras.

If anyone can make a brilliant festival of kindness, she can – and she knows her bras.

Kites,Crows,Owls and Oxfam

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Well if it isn’t lambs it is birds as they might say in Deepest Sussex – if we knew anyone who was actually originated from Deepest Sussex.

We have a pair of kites living round here – no longer as rare as they were – but still a delight to watch soaring and sweeping around the back field.

They are not, in case you are not familiar with kites, small birds. Indeed the dog can look quite anxious and prey-like in certain lights.

But it is interesting to watch the corvids/crows/ravens mob them.

I should be more accurate on what type of corvids they are being a big fan of the book by Mark Cocker called ‘Crow Country.’

Amongst other fascinating stuff about corvids, It tells of the difference between crows and other corvids and explains that saying ‘if your see some ravens they are crows and if you see one crow it is a raven’ – or perhaps it is the other way round …..no, actually crows are sociable.

Anyway, these big kites are circling around looking for prey and out of the woods come the corvids and mob them – swooping around and chasing them off so the ‘poor’ kites heads off for the Downs.

The corvids are half the size of the kites but are quite determined and the kites seem either to be saying, ‘Bloody hell, is it harassment or what?’ or ‘Darling, shall we swoop up to the Downs and circle lazily round there and leave these rather plebeian types to their own thing?’

Whilst on the subject of predators, there is, what I think, is an owl box on one of our trees.

When I say ‘our’, I just mean trees we think of as ours in that they are on our horizon and are the two trees on the top of this blog – of course in fact, they are our landowner’s.

I am sure he knows what he is doing, and maybe the owls like a clear view of the catchment as it were – certainly it is not disguised or protected in any way and, as we say when one of us is washing up, ‘ don’t you think darling, it spoils the look of the tree?’

Remind me to tell you one day of the expensive bird box we put up which had been assiduously ignored by our birds who have then built their nests – insultingly – in the foliage alongside it.

Anyway, the Oxfam bookshop was open on Good Friday only from 10 till 3 so it was short shifts all round -and Joan was on the till in the morning, and I was on in the afternoon.

I had found a lovely book dating from 1941 which was sketches of children and although it was only worth about £3, I thought it was lovely enough to try it at £9.99.

Now Joan and I have a habit of me setting her a book-selling challenge on her shift. A big old bible ( but we had sold those before Easter), a Complete History of Fishing etc etc.

Essentially books I can’t find a place for anywhere else – I leave them on the counter and challenge Joan to sell them.

She looked at the book and although not usually a bibliophile, she was enchanted. That made me up the price to £12.99, and set her the challenge to sell it whilst I was out doing some errands.

In our cabinet – for expensive books (and vinyl as we now call records), was a set of three books called The Birds of Sussex.

(Should there ever be an avid reader of this blog with a good memory, they might recall than I found two of the the three volumes, which of course means they are worth a lot less, and then discovered the third volume under a pile of other stuff.)

Anyway, these books with gorgeous illustrations and I do mean gorgeous, had been in the cabinet for months and months. I was occasionally thinking of culling them and buying them to take home as they are so gorgeous – did I mention before how lovely they were ?

Anyway, (again) I got back from my errands, to find Joan in a high humour.

She had sold the book of children’s sketches – and sold The Birds of Sussex for a princely £100.

Because we were having a short day, I suggested we did not need to cash up once at lunchtime and then again at the end of the day as we usually do, but instead we could carry on through.

‘Oh not on your life,’ said Joan. ‘I am going to get the reading for this shift. You, Lucy, can eat my dust.’

And indeed I did.

I had a nice short shift with good weather and a holiday mood making customers smiley and generous, but no Sussex Birds for me.

The Night Manger and the Cold War

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I would like to suggest that we spend all day on productive, useful, creative activities and then have something for supper made from some organic veg box – and across the dinner table we discuss Bentham’s principle of the greatest happiness of the greatest number, or the finer passages of the Iliad.

But actually, we have supper in front of the telly more times than not – and that can be re-runs of Lewis if one of us has had a particularly hard day, or recordings of what is making the ‘culture’ news.( And we don’t have an organic veg box delivered.)

And recently, like everyone else ( or at least everyone else like us,) it has been Happy Valley and The Night Manager.

We are of an age to have read John Le Carre avidly as ‘young people ‘ and to still enjoy a ‘Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy ‘ DVD with Alec Guinness as George Smiley.

I was raised in the Cold War and those stories seemed all too believable. I still like them. In our recent cull of some of our books (we still have many, many, left) all the John Le Carre were protected as they will be re-read.

(Now, I could do a list of books that I will always want to lay my hands on when a current book is finished/boring, I have a stinking cold and need to be tucked up with a good book or things are bad and I need to be sure my book will be escapism of the best order – but that is for another time.)

Some young person came in the Oxfam shop the other day and asked for any John Le Carre as she had seen The Night Manager and wanted more. Sadly, we didn’t have any, but I explained (in great detail) which she should read and why. She backed out of the shop, nervously…

My favourite is still The Little Drummer Girl which is about a young woman who is ‘recruited’ both by Mossad and the Palestinians and is pulled in one direction and then the other.

Surely, it would make for an excellent follow up to The Night Manager but international political sensitivities, or put it another way, the Israeli sensitivities, might put paid to that.

But, it was the Cold War spy stuff which resonated from my youth when I visited Berlin.

What I expected were steamy cafe windows with unshaven men looking unhappy or furtive and passing slips of paper or a few words between them, and eating hurriedly.

Sadly, I didn’t make it there until after the wall was well and truly down – and so what I found was more or less a city like any other European capital.

My friend, who is German, and I visited the Jewish memorial at dusk and found it eerie and impressive – lots of narrow tunnels between blocks which look like raised graves and it is a brilliant, thought-provoking place to be.

But of steamy cafes, there were none.

She was too young, too German ( as in, not raised on British spy novels) and too pleased to see a united Berlin, to understand my disappointment.

Since then, I have been back and now can see signs of the old left in the new. Berlin is a really big city with no real historic centre and lots of areas in which you can see signs of whether they were east or west, American, Russian or British – just about.

And the flea market in Berlin had lots of shadows of the older Berlin. (I bought a very welcome sheepskin coat which was very welcome when I was walking the very long distances between a and b which you find out about in Berlin.)

But back to the time when John Le Carre was writing the first stuff and I was young, and it was the Cold War.

We had a very real feeing that nuclear war could break out at any time.

I am too young to remember the Bay of Pigs and the brinkmanship around that, but I do remember growing up with the feeling that this issue was live and it only took someone nervous or mad to spark off a nuclear holocaust.

I clearly remember going on holiday to Cornwall and before we left there was some issue – I forget what – between the USSR and the Americans.

This was in the day, of course, of no mobile phones and, indeed, in that place there was no phone, tv or radio – we were cut off from news.

I was walking on the coastal path and thinking – as we did in those days – do you want to try and survive a nuclear fallout or do you want to to be killed by the first bomb. I always came to the decision, the first bomb.

There was a television series at that time about survivors of the nuclear holocaust and part of it was filmed where I grew up in Malvern – I remember the station being a location.

And for people of our age, if you are lucky, you can still catch The Day of the Triffids on Radio 4 Extra. Now, I know that is not a nuclear war story as such but the aftermath story is very similar.

But we, like John Le Carre, have moved on to issues which now face us and the next generation after us have no points of reference to the Cold War.

The Night Manager could start me on a riff about BAE systems ( but that is for another day.)

 

 

 

 

Drought and Uncertainty

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Usually I am complaining in a rather martyred way about the amount of books I am clearing every shift at Oxfam, making it quite clear that there is a never ending flood of books that only I am holding back from swamping the shop.

Well, dear reader, it is course not just me by a long chalk – and what is more, at this moment, the flood has turned into a drought.

So, out the back of the shop where we pile the sacks for recycling it is usually just this side of chaos – this week was clear, blank, empty – even, hoovered!

I am not sure what to do with myself if truth be told. Usually whilst sorting books I am complaining ( in a rather martyred way) that I could get on with all sorts of other things to make our shop even more successful if only I didn’t have to empty another ten boxes of books.

But, I have sold the latest collection of erotica to the second-hand bookshop – Oxfam frowns on the idea of selling sex in the shops.

I have put the hobbies and crafts into order – now embroidery books are next to knitting, well away from DIY in a retro/pre-feminist move – and all the books you would ever, ever need to learn how to paint or draw are sitting with each other.

Religion has been sorted into world religions ( in groups, starting with Buddhism and moving alphabetically onwards) with all and sundry other stuff about crystals and angels and spaceship visitations attached on the end of the shelf.

(One day someone is going to buy the massive tome on Dreams and Their Interpretations. I think it may have been around in the shop, one way or another, longer than I have.

Occasionally, I find someone has moved it to the Academic section and, although it protests, I insist on moving it back to Esoteric.)

I have re-ordered the Old & Interesting into blocks of colour – all the blue books, the green books etc etc.

And every time you change the shelves – update, juggle, fiddle, change the front-facing books, you always get more interest in them.

There were two books – dating from the 1960s – about hunting in junk shops.

They have been out on the shelves for months and I was just about the cull them – short as we are of books, standards need to be maintained, or at least upheld more or less  and anyway, they didn’t find my colour-coding plan – when a customer fell upon them with delight. At £1 each she had a bargain and another two books were rescued from the recycling fate.

Someone came in looking for an ‘interesting’ golf book for her son. (Now to my mind there are very few interesting golf books – and all of those were written by P G Wodehouse.)

But such is the drought, that we had none – we who are usually knee deep in golf and cricket books – had none.

After a bit of thought, I persuaded her that a much better idea was the lovely (and it was lovely) hip-flask with St Andrew’s etched on it. Luckily, that was £7.99 of hip flask rather than the usual £2.49 of ‘how to improve your swing’ book.

Upstairs, my stock of book collections is also looking thin.

We still have the box on heraldry and chivalry – based on a generous donation of heraldry books supplemented with anything I can find with a knight on the front.

But we need a centrepiece for the window to go with it, and no one I asked had a suit of armour within their reach….

We have a plan to do a window on the birds and the bees ( no, not a way to sneak in sex) using a few of the lovely bee palaces my fellow volunteer sells. (www.beepalace.com)

But we are short on bee books. Bird books, even lovely ones, are two a penny but there is a shortage, not just of bees, but bee books.

We might have to broaden it out to pollinators and include butterfly books, bat books -hummingbird books at a pinch. But birds and pollinators does not have the same ring to it.

Our manager reckons it is uncertainty about the EU referendum which is causing this drought of donations.

I’m sure in the corridors of power, they are talking about the influence of uncertainty in the referendum, but I bet they are not taking the Oxfam bookshop in Petersfield into account.

A Couple of Curiosities

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There was the usual in-flow of books today.

Thursday, as I may have said before, is the day when a surprising number of people decide to have a clear out and then bring in boxes and bags, and more boxes of books.

I have no idea why Thursday is the day – and of course there are other donations on other days, but Thursday is never without a lot of book sorting.

So despite the fact, always the optimist, I had a list of interesting other things planned, I spent the afternoon sorting.

Among the boxes – did I mention there were a lot of them? – I found a few little treasures.

None of them worth anything much in case you were getting excited at the prospect of a great find.

One had the marvellous title of ‘From the Romans to B&Q – a history of Wyberton’ I take my hat off to the local historians who came up with that. (They do live in Lincolnshire….)

And then there was the lovely art nouveau cover of a travel/photography book on the Norfolk Broads.

And finally, I found a diary from 1946 in which someone had almost filled with his (I am guessing from the handwriting it was a he, but I could be wrong,) translation of words from Beowulf into modern English.

And there was a notebook with more words translated.

These have no monetary value whatsoever but it was very nice handling them and knowing that someone had spent hours and hours working through Beowulf.

Perhaps,he was a Beowulf scholar and came up with a great modern English version.

I will never know, but I couldn’t bring myself to put them in the re-cycling sack.

So, just as someone must have been clearing out their parent’s home and decided to get rid of these old notebooks, no doubt someone will find them when they clear out my stuff – so one day they will end up in a sack but not tonight.

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Medals II

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For anyone who read the previous piece about the cap badge, here is a quick update.

I wrote up the badge’s regimental history and also some blurb to go with the rifle medal and the WRVS medal and decided to put them at the centre of a display of military history books. (Always a good seller in our shop  –  I may have mentioned we are knee deep in retired naval officers.)

I happened to be on the till that afternoon and so could see that the medals in the window had lots of people stopping to look and read. So, I gave myself a small pat on the back and tried not to look too delighted.

Then a woman came in and bought a card and, as she left she stopped to look at the medals, and then came back in.

It turned out her uncle had been in the Rifles regiment but only at the end of WWI. He had been in the Salvation Army so, though not a full conscientious objector, had been a cook behind the lines – and driven an ambulance I think.

But as the war drew to a close and every man was said to be needed at the front, he was given a gun, no training and sent out.

He was killed a week before the armistice.

This woman’s daughter had researched a whole lot of stuff about him and the war and had collected some memorabilia, but had never had a cap badge – now she has.

PS. The rifle medal sold too but I have no idea who to, and why anyone would want it.

It left the military history display lacking a certain something, so yesterday we changed it to a table full of crafts and hobbies books – who would have thought one shop needed four books on origami?