In Oxfam today I picked up a paperback copy of The Ginger Tree by Oswald Wynd. I read it some time ago but got rid of my copy when I was downsizing my book collection. I was just curious to know if this was exactly the same copy – I didn’t think I would be able to recognize it, but opened it anyway.
The scrawled signature inside said ‘Best wishes, Oswald Wynd’.
Wordlessly, I showed it to Mum.
“We’ve already got one or two copies of The Ginger Tree,” she said.
“I got rid of mine,” I said, and continued to hold it open.
“Is that your copy?” she asked.
“No,” I said, still holding it open.
“What’s that?” she said, frowning at the signature.
I flipped the book shut so she could see the writer’s name.
“Ahhh,” she said, the penny dropping.
Now I seem to have a copy of it again… I don’t even approve of collecting autographs and signatures; it’s such a senseless thing to do. But I need all the good wishes I can get.