A second-hand shop in England

Jean's Journal with Jean Farrell

Our popular columnist Jean Farrell discusses her recent assessment of the market for second-hand china sets.

My sisters and I spent a few days in England, recently, visiting the city of York.

As we passed second-hand shops, our old wedding presents were on my mind. This is because the windows of these were full of sets of china.

I went into one and am still smiling at the memory of my visit there. The usual display of china and ornaments were displayed on the shelves.

I took a photograph of the blue set. ‘Royal Staffordshire Willow ironstone by J & Meakin England’ was written on the bottom of the soup tureen. I studied it well and observed that it wasn’t a full set. There was no price on it and, out of curiosity, I decided to ask how much they were charging for it.

There were two assistants behind a counter. One appeared to be very young and very bubbly. The older lady appeared to be sad and serious.

As soon as I spoke a word, the young girl nearly burst out of her skin with excitement! “You’re Irish!” she exclaimed with great joy. I was informed that her granny is from Cork and that she is called after her.

“My name is Mary and I’m nearly the only Mary in England,” she shrieked, laughing loudly. Her sad serious boss sighed deeply and raised her eyes to Heaven.

As there were no other customers in the shop, I had their full attention. “Keep talking,” Mary begged me. “I just love your accent.” I asked about the sets of china. The one in the photograph cost £47. I asked who buys the china on sale.

Whilst the older lady, called Agnes, was attempting to answer my questions, English Mary was telling me her life story. “I’m half an orphan,” she informed me. “What about you?” I wondered should I reply that I was a ‘full orphan?’

Some customers were coming in as Mary was getting more information from me. When I told her that I was one of ten children she announced to the whole shop, “Your father must have been a sex-maniac!”

Agnes had enough. Sighing deeply and raising her eyes to heaven again, she banished Mary from behind the counter and talked to me about who buys the sets of china. She told me that people who come to England from other countries purchase it.

A lot of the china is also bought by people who have tea-shops. She said that afternoon-tea has become fashionable again, in cafés, around England.

Agnes also told me that people come in often to see can they find certain pieces of china. This is because they want to complete a set that they have. She told me that is the same with ornaments. One might have a particular vase and might want to find its match, to make a pair.

“Many people come in here, knowing what they want,” Agnes said, as English Mary reappeared. “Come here, come here,” she whispered to me, in a most conspiratorial manner.

Mary actually dragged me behind a rail of clothes. “Look at that man there, look,” she said quietly, pointing at a small fat man. He had a torch in his hand. He appeared to be picking up glass objects and shining the torch on these. “He’s weird,” she said. “He comes in every single day.” Then she pushed me out beside him, saying, “Talk to him.”

The push she gave me made me almost bump into the man, who was minding his own business. I apologised and he seemed so pleasant that I decided to ask him what he was looking for. ‘Uranium,’ he told me.

My mind was immediately transported back to a science class in secondary school. We learnt that uranium provides the fuel needed to power nuclear plants and is highly dangerous. Why was this man looking for it in a second-hand shop?

He explained why. He said that certain uranium is not at all dangerous and can be found in some glass. The uranium makes glass glow beautifully, under ultra-violet lights. He told me that he has several glass-cases in his house with these ultra-violets lights in them. Showing me his special torch, he said that he goes around second-hand shops shining ultra-violet light on all the glass-ware. He buys any glass that glow. This sounded reasonable enough and I was enjoying hearing about it.

I returned to talk to Agnes and she was a font of information. She told me that she had worked for many years in an antique shop before she retired. She talked about her time there and was amazed at what folk buy.

Old photograph albums sold well, she told me, and doesn’t understand why. People might have five of a set of Waterford wine glasses and may spend years searching for the missing one, in good antique shops. Supply and demand governs sales, she said. Coins, bank notes and old books sold well too, in antique shops.

She said that almost everything sells, in second-hand shops. “Regardless of how worthless you think it might be, someone will want it.”

I was enjoying our chat when suddenly English Mary reappeared. She grabbed me again and dragged me behind another rail of clothes. “Come away, quick,” she said, pointing to the counter, which the uranium man was approaching. “Keep your distance,” she whispered. “He might be radioactive.”

I left. My sister was outside the shop. “Why are you laughing?” she asked me. I told her, “I’ve had more entertainment in that shop than I’d get on a whole night on Netflix.”