Open Writing

"I think I'd like to open a shop," said Gerald.

His wife Binnie looked across the breakfast things at him. Many years earlier she had stopped rolling her eyes heavenward whenever he made pronouncements of this kind. She sniffed and carefully buttered a slice of toast before she spoke.

"You don't know anything about running a shop. You've only recently retired after forty-odd years as a probation officer, remember?"

"I don't have to know anything about running a shop, because this would not be an ordinary shop."

She waited as she savoured the taste of butter melting on the bread she had just put into her mouth. Eventually she looked across at her husband with a look of only mild interest on her face.

"Yes," said Gerald thoughtfully, taking a sip of coffee. "This would not be an ordinary shop, because everything would be free."

"Free?"

"No-one would pay anything for anything in this shop. People would just come in, pick up what they wanted and walk out with it."

"What would the shop stock? Where would it come from?"

"Initially it would stock anything that could be brought through the door. And the stock would come from people wanting to get rid of what they did not want."

"Like Oxfam?"

"A bit. But Oxfam isn't a free shop. It gets its money by selling people's throw-outs. In my shop you simply take what you want - an ashtray, a CD, a book, an anorak and so on."

His wife smiled.

"Sounds an interesting, if totally lunatic idea. How are you going to find this shop? If you follow your idea to its logical conclusion, you'll need to find rent-free premises with no bills coming in for heating, lighting, cleaning, telephone, advertising and so on."

"I agree. It would be quite a challenge. I'm glad you're being supportive and practical about this. In the past you have tended to be rather negative about my ideas."

His wife considered the charge as she looked in anticipation at a second slice of buttered toast.

"Have I?"

"Yes. Remember the Mozart?"

"Ah, yes, the Mozart." She smiled affectionately at her husband. "I'd forgotten about that. I thought that that, even for you, was an unusually inane idea - for you to conduct a performance of the Mozart Requiem by a totally blind orchestra, totally blind soloists and a totally blind choir. I think I was unenthusiastic largely because you can't read music and don't know a single orchestral player or singer, blind or otherwise. In addition, I couldn't help wondering what exactly a conductor was going to do in the circumstances you had in mind."

"Faith," said Gerald. "That is what you lack. Faith."

"Did the project ever get off the ground? I can't remember much more about it."

"It didn't," admitted Gerald. "People thought I was quite mad."

His wife raised an eyebrow, but merely said:

"Let me know how you get on. I may even have a few things to contribute - bits of jewellery, kitchenware, a few books, if that's the sort of thing you're after."

"At the moment I'm not ruling anything out, although" - he paused as a thought struck him - "I might have to draw the line at perishables, bunches of grapes, eggs, that sort of thing."

"I wouldn't have thought, Gerald, that people have bunches of grapes and eggs they don't want. But I'm not really an expert in this field. Look, I'm going to see Lucy in Worcester Park today, so you won't see much of me. Tell me how things are going this evening."

"Rightie-ho," said Gerald as he reached for the notepad he kept handy for occasions when he got ideas. He had a notepad in every room of the house, two by the telephone in the hall. The usual white pad was for use with the telephone, the pink one for his personal use. Binnie was used to his ideas and used to replace the pads from time to time as they filled up.

* * *

Gerald called in at the offices of a firm of estate agents specialising in commercial lettings and office premises.

"I'm looking for a shop," he said to the brightly smiling your lady wearing a badge with Amanda on it.

"Certainly, sir. Any particular location?"

"Well, I had in mind something fairly central. In the High Street, perhaps."

"Of course. Large? Small? Leasehold? Freehold? That sort of thing."

"What I want is a shop where I can give things away. You know, where people can come in and bring what they don't want, look around and then go away with what they do want. If we've got it, of course."

Gerald became expansive, giving voice to thoughts he had long entertained but never before expressed. He felt the need to get across the philosophy behind the concept of a free shop.

"I suppose what I am looking for is rather unusual, because the idea behind it is unusual. You see, we base our daily lives on business - big business, medium business, little business. We take raw materials and we work on them, refine them, combine them, until we have something we can sell - a car, a table, a packet of flour and so on. And everyone who is involved in this chain of production, manufacture, marketing, advertising, selling makes some money. In short, it is a system, which glorifies greed and profit to the detriment of what I like to call the more human qualities of trust, cooperation, compassion ... "

He became aware that Amanda was no longer standing in front of him. Instead there was an older person, a man not wearing an identifying badge. Gerald noticed that the man was smiling reassuringly and gently piloting him into a small room at the back of the office.

"I thought it would be more convenient for us to talk privately," said the man smoothly. He motioned Gerald to a chair and slid behind a small desk, producing a notepad from a drawer and switching on a computer as he did so.

"Where was I?" asked Gerald, annoyed at the interruption.

"You were starting to explain your ideas about a retail business, I think," said the man. "Very interesting, but it might save you time if you we talked about the price range you had in mind."

"The price range?"

"Yes, you know, how much you were thinking of laying out either as rent, if that's what you want, or a purchase price, if you are thinking of buying. I have one or two going concerns on the books at this very moment, as a matter of fact."

"Ah, that's what I was in the middle of explaining to - what was her name? - Amanda. No money is to be involved in this."

The man appeared genuinely puzzled.

"I don't understand."

"The essence of all this is that nobody pays anybody anything."

The man struggled with this concept and then brightened up.

"I think I understand. Do you represent a charity, sir? I'm not sure we can help. You see, bodies like Oxfam ... "

Gerald felt irritated.

"That's the second time today somebody's mentioned Oxfam. The first time I said a bit like Oxfam, but now I think that would be misleading, so I'll say no, not like Oxfam. People give Oxfam things to sell for money which they then use for whatever it is that Oxfam sell things for - I forget what at the moment. In my shop no money will change hands, there is no benefactor, except society as a whole. The idea is so absurdly simple that I'm surprised it has not been thought of before. All I am after is an empty shop that nobody wants. You must know of one or two. Something so run down you couldn't possibly hope to sell or rent it to anyone."

By this time the man had put back his notepad in the drawer, switched off the computer, straightened his tie, looked at his watch and stopped smiling. He rose from his chair and moved towards the door.

“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have anything like that. We are estate agents and we operate on a professional basis.”

He opened the door and stood to one side. As Gerald realised that the interview was at an end and prepared to leave, the man added:
“Have you thought about advertising in the local paper or, perhaps, having a dummy run, so to speak, from your own garage or garden shed?”

Gerald shook the proffered hand and in next to no time found himself outside in the street. He went home to think about the suggestions that had just been made. When Binnie returned from Worcester Park she found him seated at the dining table staring down at one of his notepads. He looked up.

“They were not very helpful at the estate agents,” he said, “but they did make a couple of suggestions which might take things forward.”

“Good,” said Binnie. “Are you at all interested in how our daughter and her family are? I could tell you, if you like.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic. Of course I’m interested. How is everybody?”

“Well, Lucy’s had her leg off and James has left her, but the children seem OK.”

“Good,” said Gerald thoughtfully. “Look, you said you might have one or two things for the free shop, didn’t you?”

Binnie was now in the kitchen taking things out of cupboards and opening drawers.

“Yes. So when is this shop opening then?”

“You’ve not been listening to me,” said Gerald irritably. “We haven’t got a shop yet. I’m going to have a dummy run in the garage. Let’s say two or three days. Do you reckon some of your contacts might help? Fairly modest to start with - books, rolls of wallpaper, crockery, kids’ videos, that sort of thing.”

“A garage sale?”

“No, a garage give-away.”

“Who’s going to take it all down to the dump afterwards? The neighbours will be delighted to lumber you with their clapped out fridges, lawn mowers, microwaves, tellies.”

“You still don’t understand. They don’t just let me have what they don’t want. They take away what they do want. That way at the end of the give-away we have an empty garage again.”

“Of course, dear. One thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“You’d better take the car out of the garage first.”

“Do you take me for a complete idiot?”

His wife did not reply.

* * *

In accordance with her normal practice whenever her husband pursued one of his ‘ideas’, Binnie took no part in the preparations leading to the garage give-away. Gerald moved the car out of the garage, prepared and distributed leaflets and collected donations which he arranged in appropriate grouping inside the garage. It filled up fairly quickly and objects started to appear on the verges on either side of the drive. When Binnie expressed mild irritation that their property was beginning to look like a rubbish dump, Gerald sought to reassure her with complete confidence that the give-away would be such a huge success that this would prove to be only a temporary inconvenience. Having demonstrated the viability of his concept - a new twist to the phrase free trade area, he said - he would have no difficulty in finding suitable premises in town.

Binnie did not at first realise that Gerald intended that the event should last a few days. Again he accused her of not paying attention.

“I said two or three days.”

“I thought you meant within the next two or three days. I didn’t think it would last more than an afternoon.”

“An afternoon! That’s no time at all. We are talking here about a novel economic concept which will in due course revolutionise the way society works.”

“Yes, yes, I know all that. I don’t want another of your lectures, Gerald. What I want to know is: who is going to look after everything. I certainly can’t spare the time.”

“There is nothing to be looked after. Everything is free. I’m only going to be here to answer questions like Have you any potatoes or skis or Scotch or whatever?”

“You haven’t got any of these.”

“Yes, I have. Janice from 23 gave me some potatoes because she’s going away for three weeks and doesn’t want them to start sprouting in the kitchen. And the skis came from 12. He broke his leg last year and has decided that his skiing days are over.”

“And the Scotch?”

“Funny story about the Scotch.”

“I’m sure there is. I’m waiting.”

“A man rang me from the big house at the top of the hill. Said he had been a heavy drinker. but had been warned by his doctor to stop immediately. Got quite a stock of booze, apparently. Wants to get rid of it urgently to stop himself being tempted. Said my give-away was a godsend..

“Can’t he sell it?”

“No. He needs a licence to do that. And he can’t get one. They told him they don’t license ordinary individuals to sell booze, only pub landlords and restaurant owners. So he asked me to take his cellar off his hands immediately.”

“Won’t you need a licence?”

“I’m not selling it, am I? I’m giving it away. Incidentally, there’ll be some stuff arriving quite late tonight. I had a call from a man who said he had quite a lot of surplus. He’s moving house, clearing it today and packing what he doesn’t want into a van to bring here tonight.”

“What time’s he coming?”

“I don’t know. I said I’d leave the garage door open with the light on and he said he wouldn’t make a noise if he found we’d gone to bed.”

“Gerald, I’m not sure ... ”

“Relax, Binnie. We lock up normally. He can’t steal anything from the garage, because ... “

He leaned forward expectantly. Binnie sighed and finished his sentence.

“ ... everything’s free.”

They were not disturbed during the night. After inspecting the garage the next morning Gerald concluded that no-one had left anything and that the telephone caller must have changed his mind for some reason.

* * *

The first day of the give-away was warm and sunny. Binnie announced at breakfast that she would be visiting her mother most of the day. She said that she looked forward to seeing the garage and drive restored to normality by the time of her return. Gerald was quietly confident.

“I wouldn‘t mind betting that most of the stuff will go in the first hour. We may find we don’t need a second or third day.”

“I hope you’re right, Gerald. I look to you to see that nobody starts digging up the flower beds.” Gerald shook his head sadly at such evidence of pessimism.

In view of the unusual nature of the occasion Gerald saw no reason to maintain a high profile. He pinned a large notice GARAGE GIVE-WAY emblazoned with an arrow on a tree by the front gate and then returned inside the house to jot down some more ideas on one of his notepads.

It was about half-past twelve when Gerald answered a knock at the door and discovered two uniformed police officers standing in the porch.

“Would you mind telling us what’s going on here, sir ?” asked one looking around in some bewilderment at people strolling about the drive and front garden.

“It’s a garage give-away, officer. Everything is free. I hope I am not breaking the law ?”

“That depends, sir. Where has all this ... stuff come from ?”

“Neighbours, friends, virtually anyone in the area who wants to get rid of something.”

“Do you know everyone who has - er - donated?”

“No. Are you interested in anything in particular ?”

“Well, sir, that gets us round to why we’re here. Some young people - very young people - have been found in the town in a state of advanced intoxication. We have traced the source to your garage, sir.”

“Good God! I never thought of that,” gasped Gerald, genuinely taken aback.

“There is something else. We took the liberty of looking behind your garage.“

“You won’t find anything there.” said Gerald, trying to recover his composure. “Everything that is free is either in the garage or at the side of the drive. I hadn’t expected so much stuff, but when I distributed ... “

“Could you just step outside, please, and I’ll show you what I’m talking about.

As Gerald made his way to the garage flanked by two very tall policemen with a third strategically positioned behind him, he noticed a police car with flashing lights at the entrance to the drive. Other police officers were quietly but firmly ushering members of the public out of the garage and down the drive.

Gerald was escorted round the back of his garage where he was surprised to find neatly stacked about thirty brown cardboard boxes bearing labels giving their contents variously as video recorder, television set, computer, radio, stereo system and other electronic devices of which Gerald had never heard.

“Would you like to tell us about this, sir?”

Gerald thought for a moment and then clicked his fingers.

“Got it!” he announced triumphantly. “The phone call!”

“So you know something which might help us? I think it would be best if you came with us, sir. I suspect this may take a bit of time, what with the Scotch as well.”

“The house .. my wife .. ” began Gerald.

“Oh, you can lock up, sir. As for the rest ... well, there’s nothing to steal, so there’s nothing to worry about, is there? Still, we’ll leave a man at the gate. He can tell anyone who asks that the sale - sorry, the give-away - is temporarily suspended.”

* * *

It was nine o-clock when Gerald walked slowly up his drive and let himself into the darkened house. He was very tired and felt desperately in need of a cup of tea. He was in the kitchen when he heard the sound of Binnie’s car and then her key in the lock. She started speaking immediately she was inside.

“Gerald, I can’t get the car into the garage because there isn’t any room. In addition, the verges look pretty much the same as they did when I left.” There was a big sigh and suddenly Binnie was at his side setting out an extra cup and saucer for herself. She sat down.

“You look exhausted, dear. Can I take it that absolutely nothing has been given away?”

“Well, I suppose very little has been given away, but quite a lot has been taken.”

“Such as?”

“All the Scotch and a large number of brand new video recorders, television sets, computers, microwave ovens, stereo systems and the like.”

“I didn’t know we had anything like that.”

“Truth to tell, neither did.”

Binnie, seeing that her husband seemed genuinely tired and upset, forbore to ask further questions.

Gerald suddenly brightened up and started to speak quickly.

“Look, there is nothing wrong with the idea of a free shop and the concept of collaboration for mutual benefit. The idea is so new, however, and so poorly understood that people need to be educated if it is not to be misdirected and abused. What is needed is a series of public lectures. Binnie, pass me a pad, will you? I just want to rough out a programme of enlightenment. I think a brief outline of economic theory, the idea behind barter systems ... “

Binnie was finishing her tea.

“I’ll tell you about my visit later, dear,” she said. “Please get rid of all that junk outside before you start organising your lecture tour.”

Gerald, however, was scribbling furiously on his pad and appeared not to hear.