January 2025

What does a charity shop in Bridport, a French convent, a mouse, and poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge (not to be confused with famous composer Samuel Coleridge-Taylor who was, in fact, named after the poet), have in common?

The answer is… me.

My penchant for old books knows no bounds; I love their provenance, and to imagine what life was like for the book’s first owner.

Which is why, on a damp, grey December day, between Christmas and New Year, when I was casually browsing the shelf of ‘Vintage/Collectors’ books in a Bridport charity shop, my eyes alighted on a shabby copy of ‘Coleridge’s Poetical Works’, printed by Macmillan Publishers in 1925. I hadn’t planned to buy any books, I really was just passing the time and would probably have replaced the book back on the shelf, except for the fact that as I held it open in my right hand, leafing through the pages with my left, to my horror, the front cover fell off.

I made a comment to the world in general, ‘oh, that’s not good’, and the old dear standing next to me quickly scurried away without acknowledging my dilemma.

What to do? I couldn’t simply put it back and pretend nothing happened, noticing the old dear was standing near the till probably waiting for me to do just that so she could snitch on me; and whilst part of me wanted to buy the book, another voice in my head reminded me I’ve yet to read the many other books I have at home. But either way, I had to do the honest thing. I went to the till with the literary injury, and explained what had happened, and, expecting a telling off, was surprised to receive something of an apology, which made me feel even more guilty, so I told them I would buy it, only for them to reduce the price due to the damage.

Win/win.

Safely home, I took a closer look at this literary centurion.

​The bookplate told me it had belonged to the Pensionnat des Soeurs de St Joseph, Haunton Hall, in Staffordshire, and had been a prize awarded to someone in 1929. I can’t quite decipher the French writing.

Now a care home, Haunton Hall has an interesting history, inevitably linked to Henry VIII’s Reformation; but in 1904, a convent was set up by the French ‘Sisters of St Joseph of Bordeaux’, and this is where things start to join up.

For it was Yorkshire born furniture maker, Robert Thompson, who was employed to provide the furniture for the convent and church. The story goes that a conversation took place between Robert and one of his employees, that they were as ‘poor as a church mouse’, and soon after this, the mouse became their trademark, with Robert and his team carving a small mouse into all their work.

When I read this snippet of information, it rang a little bell, and I dug out a newspaper article I wrote in 2009 about St John’s Church, Yeovil, and sure enough, there was Robert ‘Mouseman’ Thompson’s name, because he had also made the pews for this Somerset church, where you will find several little carved mice dotted about.

I like to think all of this is more than just a coincidence, that once again fate is knocking on my door telling me 2025 is going to be a good year, and this verse from one of Samuel’s poems, entitled ‘Happiness’ is very apt:
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With foot advanced and anxious heart
Now for the fancied goal I start –
Ah! Why will Reason intervene
Me and my promised joys between!

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