THE NORWICH ROAD

In the year 2000 I bought a book in a secondhand bookshop in Norwich. That in itself was not unusual, because every year for over sixty years of my softback life I have bought a book. Or more likely, books. But this one was different in a sense that not only was it almost a hundred years' old at the time, it was also on a subject that continues to fascinate me. Roads. In this case, the main highway from Whitechapel church in London to Norwich's market place, taking in Stratford Broadway, Romford, Brentwood, Ingatestone, Chelmsford, Mark's Tey, Copdock, Ipswich, Little Stonham, Scole and Long Stratton along the way.
A colourful account, then, written in the dying dregs of the 19th century and published very early in the 20th century. But what made it additionally interesting was the fact that, tucked inside the hardback cover, was the original sale receipt.
The hardback had been purchased by a Mr GE Cower, of 3 Gower Street, London, from bookseller Francis Edwards, of 83 High Street, Marylebone, London, at a cost of nine shillings. The receipt was dated June 10, 1902. Two days' later Mr Cower evidently paid the amount in full, ownership being confirmed by a private bookmark pasted on the inside front cover which declared it Ex Libris (from the library of) George Evelyn Cower.
Two years after I bought it, to be precise on June 10, 2002, and exactly one hundred years to the day when the book was first sold to Mr Cower, I used it as an excuse for an excursion to The Smoke for a day of literary exploration. In fact, I and the book took not the Norwich Road but the Iron Horse to Liverpool Street, and repaired immediately to Marylebone High Street, number 83.
Astonishingly, and a century later, a bookshop was still there. At least, a bookshop still occupied Nos. 83 and 84, though it was no longer Francis Edwards but Daunt Books which then, and may still do, specialised in publications for travellers and books about foreign countries. I went in, holding my copy of The Norwich Road, and gave it a 100th birthday tour of its original home.
My next port of call was 3 Gower Street, the 1902 home of the said Mr Cower, which was three Tube stations away, and I duly found it in an area of intense intellect and learning, art and literature. University College, the University of London, the British Museum, Newman House and Darwin House, were all in the same locality, while another nearby house sported a blue plaque recording the fact that it was here the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood was formed.
No. 3 itself was one of a terrace of fine town houses, though it looked as though it might have been divided into flats at some point. There was a letting agency notice outside, and beside the door a nameplate which said The Bloomsbury Centre. I rang the doorbell, wanting to show them my book and its receipt, but no-one answered.
Book and receipt and I eventually retreated back to Norwich, but I was happy to have at least tried to give it a significant and interesting 100th birthday. Later still, a search of the 1901 census turned up a George Cower, of the parish of St George, Bloomsbury, St Giles in the Fields. Then aged 77, he was described as a retired Madras judge. Of course, I have no idea if he was the Mr Cower who previously owned my book, but I hope so. Book and I could both do with some sober reflection and sound judgement.
(The Norwich Road, by Charles G Harper, Chapman & Hall, 1901)