against three walls, one set in front of a sash window which had been painted out. The other wall, still hung with faded floral paper peeling gently from the top, had a chimney breast and a small fireplace with an iron grate. Howard looked around and found the old-fashioned light switch; a bare bulb illuminated the room.
One of the sets of shelves was almost empty, although the pattern of dust showed where objects had been removed. Howard guessed it was where the gramophones and radiograms had been stored. The other two sets were neatly stacked: there were small cardboard boxes of the type once used to hold screws, a wooden crate full of batteries and coils of wire, a cardboard box full of components and perhaps two dozen old radios, a couple still in their original, flyblown boxes. Already Howard could see a post-war Little Maestro, a blue Dansette Gem and a couple of early-sixties transistors; they were no good to him, but if he could pick them up at a decent price he could probably sell or trade them. And on the next shelf up was the familiar rounded back of what was surely a Philco People’s Set. He got his pocket camera out, switched on the flash and began photographing the shelves. It was important to have a record before he started moving everything around.
He came downstairs an hour later to find Gary watching TV on a laptop in the shop’s kitchen. He closed the lid down when Howard came in.
‘Want to wash up?’
‘Please.’ Howard smiled and made for the sink with its two tin taps and sliver of cracked soap. The water was icy cold.
He dried his hands on his handkerchief and got out his notebook.
‘Well, I told you it was worth the trip, eh?’ said Gary, nodding eagerly at him. Howard consulted his notes more thoroughly than was strictly required. He’d sorted the wirelesses into two groups and made a third pile of parts and other bits and pieces that he could make use of. Most of the sets were so obscure that only a collector would know their market value; three, though, were well known enough that Gary could have an idea of what they were worth. Trying to stiff him on them could be a mistake; he might as well give him a good price and hope to get away with the rest.
‘There are three really good sets up there, as you know,’ he said – this was flattery, plain and simple – ‘the Hastings, the Bush and the Philco. The Hastings isn’t really my period – it’s post-war, of course, but it’s a nice example, so I’ll make an exception. I’ll give you forty for it. The Bush – you see them a fair bit, but the Bakelite’s in good nick so again, I’ll give you forty. The Philco, well, I’m sure you’ve done your homework. I’ll give you a hundred for it.’
Gary looked briefly surprised. ‘So that’s . . . let’s say two hundred, shall we? Now, what about the rest?’
Howard raised an eyebrow, but conceded. ‘The rest, well, not so good. A lot of them are what I call “car boot” wirelesses; you might get a quid or two each for them at a boot sale. And a lot of them are fifties and sixties, which isn’t my period. I was hoping for some solder, but I suppose that’s gone.’
‘Your mate took that,’ said Gary. ‘What about all the parts and the equipment?’
‘I can probably put you on to someone.’
Gary considered for a moment. Work on the shop was clearly moving on apace, something Howard had taken very much into consideration. ‘So you only want the three?’
‘You should take the rest to a boot sale. On a good day, with a following wind, you might get rid of them that way.’
‘Tell you what. Give me three hundred and you can take the lot.’
‘Like I say, Gary, the post-war stuff isn’t really my thing.’
‘Two fifty.’
‘Got a couple of cardboard boxes?’
Driving back Howard could barely believe what he’d pulled off. In the boot of the Audi were eight pre-war wirelesses – all models he’d be happy to have in his collection – plus two
One of the sets of shelves was almost empty, although the pattern of dust showed where objects had been removed. Howard guessed it was where the gramophones and radiograms had been stored. The other two sets were neatly stacked: there were small cardboard boxes of the type once used to hold screws, a wooden crate full of batteries and coils of wire, a cardboard box full of components and perhaps two dozen old radios, a couple still in their original, flyblown boxes. Already Howard could see a post-war Little Maestro, a blue Dansette Gem and a couple of early-sixties transistors; they were no good to him, but if he could pick them up at a decent price he could probably sell or trade them. And on the next shelf up was the familiar rounded back of what was surely a Philco People’s Set. He got his pocket camera out, switched on the flash and began photographing the shelves. It was important to have a record before he started moving everything around.
He came downstairs an hour later to find Gary watching TV on a laptop in the shop’s kitchen. He closed the lid down when Howard came in.
‘Want to wash up?’
‘Please.’ Howard smiled and made for the sink with its two tin taps and sliver of cracked soap. The water was icy cold.
He dried his hands on his handkerchief and got out his notebook.
‘Well, I told you it was worth the trip, eh?’ said Gary, nodding eagerly at him. Howard consulted his notes more thoroughly than was strictly required. He’d sorted the wirelesses into two groups and made a third pile of parts and other bits and pieces that he could make use of. Most of the sets were so obscure that only a collector would know their market value; three, though, were well known enough that Gary could have an idea of what they were worth. Trying to stiff him on them could be a mistake; he might as well give him a good price and hope to get away with the rest.
‘There are three really good sets up there, as you know,’ he said – this was flattery, plain and simple – ‘the Hastings, the Bush and the Philco. The Hastings isn’t really my period – it’s post-war, of course, but it’s a nice example, so I’ll make an exception. I’ll give you forty for it. The Bush – you see them a fair bit, but the Bakelite’s in good nick so again, I’ll give you forty. The Philco, well, I’m sure you’ve done your homework. I’ll give you a hundred for it.’
Gary looked briefly surprised. ‘So that’s . . . let’s say two hundred, shall we? Now, what about the rest?’
Howard raised an eyebrow, but conceded. ‘The rest, well, not so good. A lot of them are what I call “car boot” wirelesses; you might get a quid or two each for them at a boot sale. And a lot of them are fifties and sixties, which isn’t my period. I was hoping for some solder, but I suppose that’s gone.’
‘Your mate took that,’ said Gary. ‘What about all the parts and the equipment?’
‘I can probably put you on to someone.’
Gary considered for a moment. Work on the shop was clearly moving on apace, something Howard had taken very much into consideration. ‘So you only want the three?’
‘You should take the rest to a boot sale. On a good day, with a following wind, you might get rid of them that way.’
‘Tell you what. Give me three hundred and you can take the lot.’
‘Like I say, Gary, the post-war stuff isn’t really my thing.’
‘Two fifty.’
‘Got a couple of cardboard boxes?’
Driving back Howard could barely believe what he’d pulled off. In the boot of the Audi were eight pre-war wirelesses – all models he’d be happy to have in his collection – plus two
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