I recall that an American wrote a book detailing his findings derived from study of the discarded items (excluding spouses) of Hollywood celebrities. In similar fashion this reminded me that, when a General Practitioner, I once looked into a patient's bin to see how many bottles or tins were therein in order to question his claim that he was a virtual teetotaller.
Many years later, whilst street walking – let me rephrase that – whilst walking in urban areas during the partial lockdown, I observed the contents of various recycling bins. The contents manifestly mirrored the relative affluence of areas through which I walked. On walks through middle-class areas – between Barnton and Cramond – the glass bin contents varied with wines of various qualities predominating, but none reached the apogee of predominantly champagne or the nadir of beer bottles and tins.
These observations prompted thought that contents of charity shops might also reveal the class structure of the surrounding population or do the surrounding areas define the class of the charity shops? Do donations reflect the interests of local population or the opposite, reflecting rejected items from local populations?
Finding unusual books, often from foreign lands, is a joy. A preparation book for GCSE Latin presumably will never need a revised version. There were books and CD rarities that would not be found in standard shops or online. Worthy attempts were made to categorise books and attempted differentiation between books dealing with fact and fiction obviously proving problematical. For example, historical fiction could be entered in either fact or fiction sections. Paperback books were either well-worn or pristine, the latter suggesting recent donations that had either not been read or only read once. Jeremy Clarkson and Jeffrey Archer paperback books were plentiful. To avoid tautology, there is no attempt to differentiate between politics and hypocrisy, the sectional label of politics sufficing for both. One author, N Fairweather, has written a book called
Cycling around Scotland – a case of nominative optimism?
My favourite charity shop is self-described as a boutique charity shop (in Davidson's Mains in Edinburgh). Female clothing therein was exciting, well to me exciting, with pristine purple sequined dresses that I have never seen before. Similarly, the height of high-heeled ladies' shoes reassured me that the physical, if not necessarily mental, balance of the donors had been tested and not found wanting. Male apparel was conservative with casual sportwear featuring prominently. Male shoes on offer appeared to be hardly worn – were these dead men's shoes?
On one occasion, a top hat was in need of a home. But who, apart from Jacob Rees-Mogg, wears top hats these days? Ben Wa balls were on sale on one visit and I had to inform the lady volunteer, who did not know what they were, that she ought to look it up on Wikipedia. When I visited three days later, they had been snapped up and presumably had found a good home.
Some of my unusual purchases have been made in charity shops. Testing a clarinet for my granddaughter using the opening glissando of Gershwin's
Rhapsody in Blue did not, for reasons undisclosed, result in a discount. A zither recalled my first love, Shirley Abicair, who used to accompany her singing
Little Boy Fishing off a Wooden Pier with her zither. It was released in 1956. That dates me. An unused car jack prompted the thought that charity shops are obviously the modern equivalent of up-market car boot sales. Do Rolls Royces come complete with jacks and puncture repair kits?
On one occasion, a riding hat and horse whip was on sale but would horse riders visit charity shops to buy these? Another Stockbridge charity shop specialises in bridle wear (it was fact bridal wear but I could not resist the juxtaposition). A Cat's Defence League charity shop in Corstorphine has recently been demolished (presumably it will be able to survive a repetition eight times?). A charity shop in Edinburgh's Nicholson Street is currently selling fashion items at £20 per kilogram, presumably mostly catering for the less fastidious male market.
I have yet to see a charity shop advertising a sale. Unlike mainstream shops, I suspect charity shops prices reflect the value of the goods rather than the more elevated prices that the non-charity shop market will bear.
Philip D Welsby
If you would like to contribute to the Cafe, please email your comments to islay@scottishreview.net
