While out of the country in the month of August, I had just finished posting my ‘Picture of the Day’ (not a whole album!) on Facebook, when, with time to kill before dinner, I chanced to look at Facebook’s Marketplace, more with idle curiosity than any intent to buy. My glance was immediately arrested by a vintage Grundig table radio for sale. The caption read, “Here is a very nice older radio by Grundig of Germany. It’s a short-wave radio. Plays beautifully.”
Those who know me, know that I am a sucker for old tube (valve) radios. They went out of vogue about fifty years ago with the advent of the transistor radio. But for me, in spite of their enormous size and weight, when compared to their tiny, tinny modern counterparts, the old radios, with their booming bass, still have the charm of an age gone by. I couldn’t get the ‘plays beautifully’ part out of my mind. Without the need for expensive restoration after the purchase, the asking price was a bargain.
Then, when I looked at the location of the seller, I almost fell out of my chair. Here I was, almost half-way around the world, and the seller was located in my own county (the US equivalent of a district) – Prince George’s – and only about 20 miles (32 kilometers) away from my home. ‘No harm going and taking a look on my return,’ I thought and sent the seller a message seeking a week’s time till I got back to the country.
I did not forget the Grundig on the long, transatlantic flight back. The very day after getting back, I checked the ad again. To my utter surprise I saw that the already low price had been further slashed almost in half! This was too good an opportunity to pass up. I messaged the advertiser who gave directions to the owner. (Turned out she was only helping the real owner with the sale.)
How much the world can change in twenty miles! When I got off the busy main road, it was almost as if I had stepped back in time. Gone were the suburban homes. Instead, there were stately Victorian-looking homes with ample grounds around them. It felt as if I was in rural England. Even the name of the street – Q
ueen Anne!
As I drove up from the main gate on the winding driveway that climbed to the house at the top of the hillock, I was mesmerized. When I stepped out of the car, my reverie was broken by the loud barking of a pack of Cardigan Welsh Corgis (I found that out later – knowing nothing about dogs or, for that matter, cats) in a large, fenced kennel by the house. I jumped back into the car and phoned the lady of the house who assured me I was safe.
When the door opened and the lady welcomed me in, the illusion of being in a time warp was complete. She spoke with an upper-class British accent.
“You’re here for the radio,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Then she stepped aside and there it was – the Grundig radio looking shiny and clean.
“It’s in fine shape. Almost as good as new,” she said, turning the radio on. The wonderful sound of old radio filled the room.
“You love radios, then?” she asked.
“Yes, I do,” I confessed. I went on to tell her how I had listened to the world on shortwave radio from my Telefunken radio in my teenage years.
“In two days, the house will be sold. I cannot take the radio with me.”
Then after a pause she answered my unasked question.
“I’m going back to England. It’s been fifty years. It’s time to go home,” she said quietly.
The pathos of that statement hung heavier in the room than the silence.
She unplugged the radio. It was time to leave. I handed over the cash, which seemed so meagre.
“You’ll take good care of her, won’t you?” she said as I picked up the radio and headed back to the car.
The Welsh Corgis did not bark this time. ‘What will become of them?’ I wondered as I drove back, thinking of the fifty years the lady had spent in this country. Such is life.