hope; Faith; charity

0 Comments | Sunday Herald, The, Nov 28, 1999 | by Gordon Legge

By now, I was hungry again. I asked one of the Melrose's many dog- walkers - always on their own, always without jackets - for the whereabouts of the local chip shop. I was suitably directed. Fine bag of chips it was, too; but the woman didn't half labour the point when it came to wrapping them. Less of a poke, more of a parcel. Who knows, maybe she thought I was going to post them. ("Hey, Janice, come here. You'll never believe this. Gordon's sent us a bag of chips. By jings, they're still hot, too!") The following morning, I wasn't really up for Hawick. I thought 18 miles there, 18 miles back, plus the cycle home, seemed a bit much. I didn't really enjoy much of a restful sleep either. It'd been a while since I'd last stayed in a youth hostel, a while since I'd roomed with other males, particularly six knackered ones who'd been out climbing all day. What a racket they made with their snoring.

So, after an inclusive breakfast of cereal, fresh orange, tea and rolls, it was off to the charity shops. But first, a visit to Abbotsford. And yes, all the books were there (I counted them, all 9000), and all the armour as well (tons of the stuff, including Rob Roy's gun and Montrose's sword). No, but the setting was just beautiful: the sumptuously-sculpted grounds, the scenic splendour of "Scott's beloved Tweed", the battery of roaming poultry, and the inevitable American tourists clutching guide books. "Hi, I'm Gordon," I told them. "I'm a writer, too. Please buy my books."

When it comes to books, it's hard to beat Borders Animal Welfare in Galashiels, which has to have one of the largest collection of books I've ever come across in a charity shop. Not quite up to Abbotsford's level but certainly getting there. A huge collection of vinyl too, including a lot of old punk and indie stuff, half of which I'd never heard of.

It's funny, but it's as if you've joined a chain when you do the charity shops. I kept seeing the same faces rifling the racks. I didn't know if they were following me or I was following them. All of us moving at what you'd call "pace", it was classic revolving door shopping. I came across a few backpackers, a lot of holiday folk, but mostly just people raking round, looking for something, a bargain or something specific.

Just like me.

Like I say, I was looking for something, something specific, and I wasn't finding it. This was strange. But there were plenty of others to visit. In the 1997 Yellow Pages, Galashiels had five charity shops listed. In the 1998 Yellow Pages, there were seven. I think I maybe came across ten. I know that in Edinburgh there's been some complaints about the numbers of charity shops, and reading through clippings this seems to be widespread. In 1992, there were 47 charity shops in Edinburgh, now there's near enough 100. Retail parks and supermarkets have taken custom out of town. Consequently, traditional shops have folded: their premises have been taken over by off- licences, estate agents and charity shops. The fact that charity shops don't have to pay the same rates has caused some resentment. There's also been resentment toward charities in general, regarding their adoption of commercial marketing policies and advertising advisors.