Bukes, Bukes, and more bleddy bukes
January 6th, 2009I have a problem, well several problems, but in this case my problem is I buy books, lots of books. I do not get around to reading each and every one, but I sure like to buy the little bastards. Nothing fills me with more sweaty palmed, dry mouthed glee then finding a bookshop full of treasures unmolested by my rampant book lust.
The South of England is just such a place. The South coast is a second hand bookshop addicts dream, and I’ll tell you why for nothing. It’s the old people. The South coast is where the English come to die and they bring their books with them. Great grey droves of them pepper the beaches and downs, tottering about in their little electric go karts, on and on they go for years, voting Conservative, reading the Telegraph and eating scones. But when they die, their books are set free. Free to fly onto the shelves of every quaint little second hand bookstore in every tiny little village town with names like Dorking, Pease Pottage, Burpham and Cowfold. Here they fetch up, the collected book buying proclivities of a generation. Everything possible can be found here, from the madly esoteric and the mundanely quotidian to the deeply weird and dreadfully un-pc.
My favourite second hand bookshop in this feast of musty tomes is Kim’s Bookshop in the town of Arundel. Arundel is home to Arundel Castle, Arundel Cathedral and the Duke of Norfolk (long story, read the wiki).

You can’t see it from here, but In the front window there is a first edition collection of the Chronicles of Narnia in their original dust jackets. On another occasion, an edition of Hans Christian Anderson Fairytales, illustrated by Heath Robinson. Just inside the door a reprint of a 1912 edition of the Arabian Nights complete with illustrations and plates. Further in I happened upon the Railways section, whereupon I discovered a book dedicated to ‘Narrow Gauge Steam Railways in South Wales’. Upstairs in the travel section I came upon a book on Norway written in 1962. Upon opening the cover a black and white photograph slipped out and fell to the floor. Eight elderly men were pictured in a harbour. In the background a passenger ship sat icebound and silent. Above one of the men an X had been marked in biro. Opposite the frontispiece were eight signatures and a dedication from ‘The Arctic Society’. Under each name was a date; 1888, 1889, 1885. The birth dates of the men in the photograph perhaps?
The book had a story, a tale to tell. Who were the men in the photograph? Why did they both sign and give their birthdates? The curators of Kim’s Bookshop respect a book’s history. When this slim volume emerged from whatever box it arrived in, they carefully sorted and priced it and then just as carefully tucked the photograph back into the slipcover to ensure it was waiting for the next owner.
I carefully replaced the photograph and put the book back on the shelf. I had other treasures to seek out that day, but next time I wander in I shall see if the men of the Norwegian Arctic Society still rest in their frozen anchorage.
(This post was originally written in July 2008)








