Priceless, worthless

Nothing will put a dent in the notion of sentimental value faster than the guys who specialize in house clearances. Two of them arrived yesterday morning, as promised. The boss was little, his assistant a huge man with hands like a bunch of bananas. They zipped through the apartment as I explained that I needed them to leave some stuff -- the bed, for example -- until I left on Sunday. That done, the little guy whipped some sheets out of my father’s wardrobe, spread them out on the floor and started piling clothes on them. His mate did the same with books. I had absolutely no chance for second thoughts. Did I want to keep books that I remember from my childhood, books that had moved houses at least six times, continents twice, and probably never been opened in the interim? I had already decided that I didn’t, and it was just as well, because in two minutes they had been bundled up into their shrouds and carted off out the door.

Trinkets went into boxes willy nilly. LP records and cassette tapes, along with old VHS tapes. They were a bit careful with the TV and video recorder, but only in comparison. Within half an hour, they more or less emptied the place.

I imagine that they are at the base of a food pyramid that slowly sifts value from the material. Perhaps the clothes go to a specialist who will separate rags from resellable items. Maybe there’s a shoe maven who will salvage a couple of good pairs and ditch the rest. Is there a bookseller who will find appropriate outlets for the serious theatrical stuff and the soft-cover shlock? I remember reading long ago that some of London’s antique markets were like that, in space and time. Early in the morning the real experts would scour the offerings of the generalists, maybe even house-clearance guys, looking for the George III sugar tongs. By late afternoon, those same tongs would have changed hands a few times, from the silver guys, to the George III guys, to the sugar tongs guy, increasing in price and provenance along the way.

My father and his ex used to like going to those markets, but I can guarantee that he didn’t end up with a single item that might eventually find its way back to the top of any pyramid whatsoever.