The Christmas Book Disaster of 1952

I was fortunate enough to have been born into a family that valued and encouraged the accumulation of story books.

Birthdays and Christmas always seemed to produce a varied collection of ‘suitable reading.’ The Boys’ Book of this and that, and the adventures of five imagined children, courtesy of the famous Enid Blyton, come to mind. I was never careless with my growing library, and items relating to railways always dropped easily to hand.

Came the Christmas of 1952 and my parents accepted the opportunity to take the family to my aunt and uncle in Melton Mowbray. After a wonderful but very cold Christmas season, we all returned to our family home in Loughborough. The first clue that something was very wrong was the sight of water running out of the front door.

I was told to wait outside while Dad waded down the flooded hallway. Mum was in tears. The water pipes above a huge cupboard in the living room had frozen and then burst. Water was cascading through the entire contents, including all of my books, and most of my collection of toys.

The soggy mess that finished up in the dustbin sadly included (I discovered years later) four first edition copies of Thomas the Tank Engine, now worth a small fortune.

Like most good parents, promises of replacement items were made in good faith, and the imminent arrival of the local plumper seemed to be upmost in their minds. For me however, it was the trauma that taught me a fundamental truth:-

Nothing in life is totally safe or secure; sad events must be expected and endured with forbearance.

It is part of growing up!

David T — March 2021

This story first appeared on Charnwood Chronicles, a community arts online blog curated by Alison Mott. The author’s permission has been given for its use here.