MURIEL RURIAL
I wandered into Kent Alooominum; I had missed the whole process
of buying something in there. The friendly staff with their
gentle humour. The lovely floorboards, worn smooth by generations
in search of the right tool, screw, flex, cable, elbow, bend,
rod, brush -
And the aroma as we step across the threshold is pure luxury.
I stand there drinking in the smells of a time gone by, that
remains here still preserved by Richard and his crew of “assistants
fantastique”. I make my way to the shelves housing screws,
nuts, bolts, washers. Chrome, black, brass, round head, flat
head, counter sunk; and there I dip my hands into the bins where
they are housed and let them run through my fingers, like gold
...Ahhh. And the power and the glory is that I can buy one or
two of these gems. I don’t have to buy a packet of twelve
and throw eleven away, or put them in a drawer where I’ll
never need them, or remember where I’ve put them if ever
I do need them .... There are mugs of tea on the counter. There
are always mugs of tea on the counter because it’s relaxed,
informal in there. Where they’ll take a sip in between
serving, but you never feel that the tea is more important than
you.
And beyond those bins of gold, more wonderful things for me
to deftly touch and delight in. Hooks, measures, pen-knives,
wire wool, thermometers, sand paper and it doesn’t end
there. No sir! Because just when you’re feeling sad, thinking
you’ve exhausted the wonderful experience that is Kent
Alooominum, you discover, like the second layer of a box of
chocolates, a small archway that leaks to a veritable cornucopia
of articles on offer. Through the archway then, like a child
at Christmas entering Santa’s grotto, I find mouse traps,
goldfish bowls, moth balls, budgies’ ladders. rubber bones,
fish tank divers. Ohhhh it’s wonderful.
Then making my way back through that magic archway, the piece
de résistance, a small almost secret area where Chubb,
Yale, Mortice, Union, car, in fact every conceivable type of
key is cut. Keys that you know will never fail you when you
get them home. For it is there that the best key cutting in
the whole world is performed. All hail Des, genius of the spinning,
cutting wheel...
Onward, destination the plumbing fittings. Where I plunge my
hands into the plastic bends, elbows, traps and tees and rattle
them around. Sometimes spilling them out of the bins to tumble
onto the floor. But Richard is never cross, he simply looks
up and smiles. An expression that says “It’s OK
Muriel, we know, we know...”.
Sometimes, on rare occasions, I may leave without purchasing
anything. But it doesn’t matter, I’m not frowned
upon if I don’t spend any money. Nobody is. Sometimes
I, like others, am merely seeking advice. Advice that is glaringly
obvious to the cognoscenti of hardware who staff Kent Alooominum
but who never look down upon us
bumbling “do-it-yourself” fools. No it doesn’t
matter but, on this occasion, I did buy something. I bought
another watering can. I couldn’t resist it, they were
displayed out front in an amazing display, Richard informed
me as I was paying, was entitled “a cavalcade of cans”,
£3.95 each. Well actually I bought two, as just one missing
spoilt the symmetry of the display.
Oh how I love Kent Alooominum... But hand on heart now Muriel,
is it the staff, the products, the smell, or is it something
more profound than that?
Why is my house full of articles purchased there. Things I don’t
need, things I did need but now have dozens of. Why do I keep
returning? Well I don’t know, and perhaps there are those
of you out there who experience the same need, the same longing
as I do. Other who, like me, in our quiet moments of honest
reflection, consider our motives for patronising Kent Alooominum
beyond our needs, and arrive at the same frank conclusion. It’s
nostalgia and a longing for the way things were. And “K
A”, like other certain aspects of our village, symbolises
a world all but vanished in today’s society.
Go in there and experience it. Sense the ghosts of tradesmen
past as you negotiate the aisles. Hear the buzz and screech
of keys being cut, drowning out the humorous banter of staff.
See all walks of life wandering the store, consulting scraps
of paper - reminders of material required, mumbling softly to
themselves the mechanics of a projected task.
Stroll through those doors that transport us back to the way
we once were all those years ago throughout England. Briefly
wallow in that atmosphere this fine store evokes. And after?
Well, would you be interested in buying a couple of watering
cans from me? I’ve got dozens of ’em.
MR
