Donated items from our Workshop Shop always in high demand

Sad to hear about the demise of Rolfey’s, the bric-a-brac cum antique shop that has graced Bear Flat for more years than I can remember. I’m pretty sure that almost everyone I know has a prized possession or quirky item of interior décor that they ‘discovered’ in this true Aladdin’s cave of treasures. Bath used to be particularly rich in this kind of emporium. I used to help run one in Walcot Street, the famous and long-gone Workshop Shop. It was a fundraising enterprise and people used to donate entire house clearances in support of the Arts Workshop community projects. In return, we would get rid of the rubbish and leave the premises spick and span. Sometimes there was a deal more rubbish than there was sellable goods, the canny donor having gone in first and creamed off the more desirable items. But mostly people were incredibly generous and sometimes even paid a fee on top in order to see the last of grandma’s big old sideboard, wobbly dining chairs and rickety commode. Brown furniture was still de rigueur in those days and I remember reproducing the famous Selfridge’s catalogue by fitting out our shop window with an entire flat of brown items, carpet and all, for less than £100. The only condition was you had to buy the lot. It sold after only one day! There were several similar shops in the street in those days, but none were cheaper than the Workshop Shop. A combination of the myriad properties being cleared for renovation and the kindness of local citizens meant that our big pink and lime green van and its hirsute crew, known as King Kong Transport, would be buzzing to and fro all day. The van’s arrival outside the shop would be greeted by a scramble of excited dealers with an eye for a bargain. Tiring of this melee we adopted the policy of stopping in a layby on the way back from clearances. Armed with a felt pen and a roll of sticky labels, we’d price everything up before proceeding to the shop. Even then I remember one particularly eagle-eyed Lovejoy spotting us as he passed through the suburbs, screeching to a halt and practically climbing into the back of the van in order to get a preview of our spoils! If there was too much stuff to squeeze into the shop at opening time at the Hat and Feather, the ugliest wardrobes and the wormiest dining tables would be left in the side alley. A certain vicar who rented out cheap rooms to students would often be seen lurking. And sure enough, by next morning the alley would be clear. I pity his tenants: we left out some horrendous items. This gave rise, whenever something totally unsellable turned up, to the phrase ‘Oh, just leave it outside for the vicar.’