Sometime in 1984, I paid twice the value of my car for a mobile phone attached to a battery the size and weight of two bricks. The mobile device transformed my one-man business, having entered the world of Architectural Salvage just a couple of years before. It enabled me to be in two places at once; in the office while on a roof, and no longer “gone up North” or whatever, but answering calls wherever I may be. The telephone enabled me to go further, stay away longer, as I traipsed from one demolition site to another, all over the country.
 
I forged many long-standing trading relationships on those trips, saw and bought amazing buildings and materials, and only cursed the mileage. It was not unusual to drive up to Liverpool, look at a brick wall or street full of cobbles, say yes or no and then drive all the way back. The reward was not so much in the profit margin, but the characters I met who became reliable suppliers (and friends) over the next thirty-five years. And there was always the unexpected amongst the craic and banter; I remember going to Nottingham to look at the roof tiles on “a police HQ” which turned out to be a once very stately home. I returned having bought the tiles, bricks, flagstones, and a pair of huge marble baths with lion’s head carvings and rings.
 
The point I always reminded myself as I moaned through the traffic jams and motorway hold-ups, was that I never knew what I was about to see, or whom I might meet. Very occasionally, such as when a stranger from Scotland was trying to flog some grand architectural items, I might be sent a bundle of Super-Snaps colour photos. On that occasion, I quickly hopped in the car and drove to Stirling (going through the process again) and was happy to see that all was as good as the photos suggested, and thus buying a fine set of stone finials. Oh, and around 10,000 slates off the roof which hadn’t been mentioned in the correspondence.
 
As the phones inevitably got smaller and cheaper, we soon had a proper network and everyone was fully mobile. The rest, as they say, is history. A revolution?
 
Jump thirty-odd years, and the phone is now a mini-computer. We can send images in an instant, we can message and email. An image of a brick wall or street of cobbles can save a massive amount of miles, and avoid burning diesel and daylight. However, I now despair…
 
Covid hasn’t helped, but everyone now wants to stay at home. I’m still doing my miles, as I get the nod on this job or that, but no one seems to be prepared to go see for themselves any longer. “Send me an image.” “Could you Zoom around the building for me?” “Facetime it?”
Give me strength! You don’t know what you’re missing!
 
I have never underestimated the benefit of mobile communications in every trade, but I cannot see many future long-standing relationships developing if we are to act as trade pen-friends, and trade remotely. I recently cleared a Georgian mansion of fine fittings, managing to sell most of the period items to a dealer on the strength of emails and images. However, so much was left behind because no one could be bothered to come and mooch about - surely one of the essential joys of our trade! - or do a bit of networking over a cup of tea and breakfast.
 
Over the last few weeks I have been trying to move a grand York stone doorway on into the trade, the doorway and elements well worthy of display and a large price tag. A bargain and an earner for someone. I’m now semi-retired and do not have the facility for marketing or lugging about such items. Imagine my disappointment when a trader I’ve dealt with for almost forty years says, “can you send me some pictures?’
 
He even refused my offer of breakfast, on me. “Send images?” I asked him if he wanted an image of the breakfast, too.
 
I have not named names in my rant, but there are a couple of stalwarts of the traditional way that need a mention. Take Ronnie Wootton, 86. I only name him because if I were to describe his activity the whole trade is likely to say ‘he’s on about Ronnie!’ Such is his fame and mileage.
 
Ronnie possesses a mobile phone but hardly knows how to work it. Emergency purposes only. A quid for every mile he’s done on the road would make me a rich man. We first met at the derelict LDV factory in Smethwick. Thousands upon thousands of feet of roofing boards, which I bought, and we got on immediately. Repeat for the Jaguar factory in Coventry, and on and on. It was he that dug up the Witley Court finials that the trade, and in particular, me, did well out of.
 
“Trooper” Ronald Wootton would be insulted to describe him as a trade “Sniffer” but he will find or dispose of anything without the benefit of t’internet and digital imagery. If Ronnie asks for a “photo” he means just that: something he can throw on the passenger seat of his pick-up before driving a 500-mile round trip to thrust it under some interested party’s nose.
And in doing so, he is adding more contacts to the little black book that I would love to get my hands on. Making new friends and relationships.
 
I must also mention Peter Watson, of Cox’s Architectural. At his recent funeral, we were told of an occasion he went off to buy some fencing and returned with a fire engine. A perfect example of the benefits of go-look-see! Peter loved a site visit – came once to buy the doors from a country pile, and took all of the sanitaryware, lighting, Butler’s Pantry etcetera. And usefully observed; “there’s twenty tons of 1960’s coal in the cellar. The building was converted to gas in ’63. Worth having.”
How did I miss that?
 
Just like Ronnie, Peter put his miles in and enjoyed every minute. Any site meeting with Peter or Ronnie would be a pleasure: always informative; an education, but above all, a deal conducted with inevitable hilarity. And breakfasts: I was honoured to breakfast with Peter at Weatherspoons, Henley-on-Thames during a Salvo Fair. Peter held court and regaled us with trading tales that soon had a gathering around the table, with some mind-blowing stories of profit and loss, and hilarious tales of disasters and near misses. Do that in an email!
 
I only describe myself as semi-retired because the phone will not stop ringing, and off I go. Given rising fuel costs, I no longer venture on speculative networking sorties around the salvage yards, but I’m always keen when there is a purpose to the trip, to see old and new faces and have “the craic”. How Ronnie maintains an enthusiasm for an arse-numbing long trip up the M6 or worse, is beyond me. And Ron still uses “Chat-Nav” as in, “Excuse me, am I on the right road for…?”
 
Of course, we should utilise modern communication technology, and what I would have given for Sat-Nav in the early eighties, but I only appeal to the trade to resist the trend of reliance on imagery (look in the background!) and get out and about. A refusal is easily given by text, and there’s the sad thing. My first-ever deal with Ronnie and Macca had gone sour. A roof-full of shaled roof tiles. We each made our own damage limitation and shook hands. But we obviously got on. Had we done it by email, I would never have got to meet Ronnie in Smethwick and endless other exciting places. Think on, next time you email back, “not for me”. You don’t know what you’re missing. Breakfast, for a start.
 
…and a final appeal to the buying public. While most reclamation yards sell online via websites, they also go to great trouble in displaying stock in their showrooms. If you are buying heavyside materials – brick, stone, flags – you are always urged to view in the flesh anyway. Many yards cover acres of ground, and only a fraction of stock gets posted online.
 
The Salvo Directory will give you details of all the reclamation yards and specialists in any county, or abroad. Make a trip. You’ll not regret it.