Something for the Weekend

Humour is a funny thing. Something which causes a seizure in one person will leave another inexplicably stony-faced. However, there is a small coterie for whom a certain type of humour resonates. Should you, in daylight, be passing Jarndyce Antiquarian Booksellers in Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, you will often find two 9-year-old boys outside, cunningly disguised as a grey haired, middle-aged woman in sensible shoes (the author of this piece) and a balding, bespectacled gentleman (her solicitor). These two often attract the attention of bemused tourists on the way to the British Museum, as they scream with laughter at the titles of the books in the left-hand window of said shop.

It may seem incongruous to have such books displayed by a shop specializing in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century English literature and history, but there is a reason. The owner, Brian Lake, is coauthor of Bizarre Books, a guide to the extraordinary titles he and other bibliophiles have discovered over the years. Much has been written about these, but little is known about the Crowden Archive, an eclectic collection begun in the early 1980s. I tend to stockpile, then offer selected volumes to Brian, together with a jar of my chutney. He has christened me Dame Smut. Quite a few titles from my library have now been exhibited in Jarndyce’s left-hand window. My bizarre books, like his, are not for sale. Neither is the chutney. Queer Doings at Quantham with its priapic dustcover has, however, received several enquiries, as has The Services of a Solicitor. In the course of acquiring the books, I have discovered that fellow 9-year-old boys abound – one such, a luncheon guest, missed pudding and had to be revived with a tincture and a damp cloth after making a detour to the shelves en route to the bathroom. Another was outed by the Editors in the offices of Slightly Foxed. The archive will be divided upon my demise, half to the solicitor and the other half to my Yorkshire Scout, also an avid collector. Though obviously I am flattered that this northern 9-year-old has found a hobby other than marbles or torturing small household pets, it is a damned nuisance if he precedes me into a charity shop and finds a gem before I do. We sometimes find two of each title, though, and swap. I advised him early on that sourcing from the Internet is cheating. It spoils the random element and indeed the satisfaction of finding titles out of the blue. Paying over the odds won’t do either. Under £10 is the rule. This, alas, meant that a £17 copy of Handling the Big Jets found in a Surrey second-hand bookshop had to be left on the shelf. It would have looked wonderful beside Hot Jets by Jerry Scutts. The books in my archive are carefully categorized according to subject matter. Rim Fire Riders is next to Rim Fire Gets ’Em. The Romance of Excavation sits just above The Theory and Practice of Laundrywork and The Handbook for Singers by Norris Croker. Under Hobbies can be found Making Lampshades from Firm Materials, The Rubber Handbook, Indoor Games for Awkward Moments and a knitting pattern which urges practitioners of home crafts to Knit Your Own Dutch Cap. (This last might be better catalogued next to Marriage Etiquette.) The British holidaymaker is amply catered for. A charming phrase-book from 1936 bought in a Romanian street market contains words for every occasion. There are almost certainly still places in England where one needs to use Shop Idioms. In response to the query ‘Anything else in a small way?’ the correct riposte here is ‘Please send it round.’ Fighting Caravans evokes images of the M5 motorway in July. In the event of inclement weather, it might be advisable to consult Lays by the Way as light diversion, and perhaps Nut Brown Roger and I, with its echoes of Lady Chatterley. Thematic groupings continue with many of the worst titles featuring the sea and all who sail on her. Some are self-help books: Cruising for the Novice by Percy Woodcock, discovered while on holiday on the Norfolk Broads, has an invaluable chapter on Deviation of the Compass. Back on the shelves, Every Inch a Sailor jostles with Pat the Lighthouse Boy and Dick at Stony Beach. Sheet music too has acquired its own section. Many a time the jolly old joanna has been thumped to accompany spirited renditions of ‘Beaver, go and get those whiskers off ’ and ‘I Want a Boy’. Should one choose to widen the keyboard skills, I can also offer The Book of the Organ by W. Allcock, Studies for Organ by E. A. Dicks and (though only when fully qualified) The Climax Albums for Organ. Bizarre Books itself, in the Index under ‘Shag’, suggests Shag the Caribou as a possible addition to a collection. This 1940s marvel is actually one in a trilogy that also includes Peeko the Beaver and Nob the Penguin, all of whom appear under the innocuous (and frankly dull) title Wildlife in Canada. There are books I long to add to the archive: Weymouth, The English Naples and my personal Holy Grail, Roger the Missionary, for which I would happily barter Shag and all his chums. I also covet Yorkshire Scout’s Sara, Gay Model Girl in Mayfair. Perhaps he will bequeath it to me. In the meantime, I feel a swift reprint of Dick and His Donkey or How to Pay the Rent would be most useful in these financially straitened times.

Extract from Slightly Foxed Issue 32 © Sarah Crowden 2011