still a toddler, he’d bought his first vintage wireless – more by accident than design. He was passing an antiques shop on Essex Road on the way to a pub, and outside on the pavement was a hatstand hung with gas masks, a mannequin in a 1940s dress and, on a chair, an Ekco SH25 with its iconic fretwork grille showing the silhouette of a tree on a riverbank. Incongruously, it was playing ‘Sunshine of Your Love’, and he’d been stopped in his tracks by the contrast between the wartime set and the sixties anthem coming out of it, and the vast gulf – far more than twenty-five years, it seemed – that separated them. He’d paid way over the odds for the radio, he knew now, but it hadn’t seemed like much at the time for a fully functioning slice of history.
When he got it home he’d taken it apart straight away to have a look at how it was wired. It was so simple, so intelligible. He went back to the shop the next day and asked the owner where she had got it. She put him in touch with a restorer in Kentish Town, and not long afterwards he went to his first swap meet. It was a small world, but that just helped make it navigable. He had seen immediately that it was something he could belong to.
Howard made good time, beating the satnav’s estimation by nearly twenty minutes. When he got out of the car jackdaws jinked and quacked above the narrow streets, and the Welsh air, washed by showers, smelled sweet.
He found the old electrical shop with some difficulty; he hadn’t realised that the premises had already been sold, its signage and facade replaced with a new plate-glass window framed in red. Howard wondered what it was going to be: a pizza place? a mobile phone shop? There was no way to tell. Kitty often talked about how towns all looked the same these days, the same shops everywhere. But you couldn’t hold back progress, and anyway, it was what people wanted.
Tinny music filtered out though the door, which had been propped open. The floor had been taken back to bare screed and a man in overalls was replastering one of the walls. Howard knocked on the glass frontage and stepped inside.
Grubby marks on the walls spoke of shelves packed closely together, and without the new plate-glass front it had probably been very dim. Without acknowledging him, the workman yelled ‘Gary! Gaaaaary! ’ towards the back of the empty shop. Howard glanced again at his sheet of notepaper before folding it up and returning it to his pocket.
A big man bustled in through a doorway from which the door had been removed and left leaning against a wall. ‘Mr Williams?’ said Howard, taking the initiative and holding out his hand. ‘I’m Howard Talling. I’ve come to take a look at your old radios.’
The man shook his hand warmly. ‘Call me Gary,’ he said. ‘Oh, we’ve got a treat for you here. Follow me.’
Howard rather doubted it, and in any case it didn’t do to look too keen. ‘Let’s hope so,’ he said, following him towards the back of the shop. ‘I don’t want to get your hopes up, though. Many of these old sets are quite common.’
‘Oh yes, well, you take a look and tell me what you think.’
Howard had expected a dim stockroom somewhere behind the counter, so when they had gone through the door at the back of the shop he was surprised to be directed upstairs. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ Gary said. ‘I’ll be down here, in the kitchen. I’ve got a brew on if you want.’
‘Oh – very kind, but I won’t,’ said Howard, starting up the wooden stairs. ‘It’s all . . . safe up here, I suppose?’
‘Oh yes, quite safe. You’ll be fine.’
The stairs were narrow and dusty and marked here and there with paint. Each tread had a tidemark of old varnish worn away by feet to leave a rough half-moon. At the top was a landing of bare boards with a small lavatory leading off it, and three doors with iron doorknobs. He chose one at random.
The room had free-standing wooden shelves
When he got it home he’d taken it apart straight away to have a look at how it was wired. It was so simple, so intelligible. He went back to the shop the next day and asked the owner where she had got it. She put him in touch with a restorer in Kentish Town, and not long afterwards he went to his first swap meet. It was a small world, but that just helped make it navigable. He had seen immediately that it was something he could belong to.
Howard made good time, beating the satnav’s estimation by nearly twenty minutes. When he got out of the car jackdaws jinked and quacked above the narrow streets, and the Welsh air, washed by showers, smelled sweet.
He found the old electrical shop with some difficulty; he hadn’t realised that the premises had already been sold, its signage and facade replaced with a new plate-glass window framed in red. Howard wondered what it was going to be: a pizza place? a mobile phone shop? There was no way to tell. Kitty often talked about how towns all looked the same these days, the same shops everywhere. But you couldn’t hold back progress, and anyway, it was what people wanted.
Tinny music filtered out though the door, which had been propped open. The floor had been taken back to bare screed and a man in overalls was replastering one of the walls. Howard knocked on the glass frontage and stepped inside.
Grubby marks on the walls spoke of shelves packed closely together, and without the new plate-glass front it had probably been very dim. Without acknowledging him, the workman yelled ‘Gary! Gaaaaary! ’ towards the back of the empty shop. Howard glanced again at his sheet of notepaper before folding it up and returning it to his pocket.
A big man bustled in through a doorway from which the door had been removed and left leaning against a wall. ‘Mr Williams?’ said Howard, taking the initiative and holding out his hand. ‘I’m Howard Talling. I’ve come to take a look at your old radios.’
The man shook his hand warmly. ‘Call me Gary,’ he said. ‘Oh, we’ve got a treat for you here. Follow me.’
Howard rather doubted it, and in any case it didn’t do to look too keen. ‘Let’s hope so,’ he said, following him towards the back of the shop. ‘I don’t want to get your hopes up, though. Many of these old sets are quite common.’
‘Oh yes, well, you take a look and tell me what you think.’
Howard had expected a dim stockroom somewhere behind the counter, so when they had gone through the door at the back of the shop he was surprised to be directed upstairs. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ Gary said. ‘I’ll be down here, in the kitchen. I’ve got a brew on if you want.’
‘Oh – very kind, but I won’t,’ said Howard, starting up the wooden stairs. ‘It’s all . . . safe up here, I suppose?’
‘Oh yes, quite safe. You’ll be fine.’
The stairs were narrow and dusty and marked here and there with paint. Each tread had a tidemark of old varnish worn away by feet to leave a rough half-moon. At the top was a landing of bare boards with a small lavatory leading off it, and three doors with iron doorknobs. He chose one at random.
The room had free-standing wooden shelves
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