Quorn Swapmeet

The venue is the station yard at Quorn and Woodhouse on the Great Central Railway. Gates are open at 7.30, so I was up at 6.00, once commonplace but a bit of a rarity these days. Quorn swapmeet is a kind of car boot sale for railwayana. Its only a fiver to enter, unless you want a side-on, double-sized spec for a van, etc. Some folk start to unfold tables galore on arrival and in no time at all the site resembles a long-established shanty town. Lots of the punters are dealers, themselves, of course, and so it’s the other stall holders that are the first to do the rounds, as they have a snoop round for the bargains that they might have previously missed elsewhere. Many of them know each other well from frequent attendance at similar events and at the main railwayana auctions. I feel like I’m an interloper. The guys either side of me obviously know each other but I don’t know either of them. They would probably prefer me not to be there at all, so they can man their stalls and chat to each other at the same time much more easily. I’m also different because I do books – and not even books in general, but just my own books. You are only allowed to sell railway stuff here, too, which means that some of my books have to stay in their boxes.

By nine, there are more early-bird members of the public around, but those attracted to the third day of the railway’s own diesel gala aren’t showing yet. Most people see that my stall is books and walk straight past with little more than a glance. I’ve known all along that most railwayana followers are primarily interested in things made of metal, with some wood also getting a look in. Paper is a minority interest. Of those that entertain paper at all, some are into ageing original documents like timetables or flimsy posters, handbills and prints, but most are on the lookout for books they know will contain pictures of steam and diesel locomotives taken by well-known railway photographers. This leaves me with relatively few possible customers even before we start. I know this. I depend for any success on considerable footfall, which in reality is actually very patchy. I’ve been a couple of times before, with a sufficient gap having elapsed between visits for me to have forgotten quite how unsuccessful I was previously.

I suffer comparatively from not being a well-known name on the railway scene. My books are also full of words with only the odd picture here and there. Most rail fans who buy books aren’t interested in words once they know which engine is shown in the picture, where it was photographed and on what date. I’m also likely to be the only person present who has made everything that they are trying to sell - with a lot of help from a printer, admittedly [a kind and patient man]. I have been creative, but not much else, perhaps. That I might have been creative does not swing it with anyone.

I sold three books in 5 hours before I decided that I had had enough. It was hot by 12.30 and I was no longer in the shade of the trees. I’d run out of food and drink and I was, I suppose, a bit dejected. Writing and publishing books is so much more fun than trying to sell them. I would never make an entrepreneur of note. I’m not pushy enough. Perhaps I just don’t have the necessary self-belief or skill set, either. A “today only” price reduction and a “free print with each sale” notice made not the slightest difference. I kind of feel obliged to make a bit of an effort to try to recoup the cost of production each time I publish a book. I get a bit of a buzz when I sell something on Amazon or to one of the big distributors, and even more so when someone chooses to buy one face to face. However, what keeps me going is not the selling process but the creative juices – to make something that was not here before, plus a belief that what I’m doing is providing a worthwhile perspective on things, even if it is only being shared with a select few.

As a footnote from last Sunday, I had probably only spoken on average to one person during each hour of my stay. As I was just completing a rare transaction, a man came up to me and said he had seen my books online and how pleased he was to meet a famous author. He motioned to shake my hand, which I gratefully accepted. “I’m not sure about that”, I replied, trying to appear modest at the same time as thinking “Are you taking the piss?” The nice thing was that I really think that he meant it. Even he didn’t buy a book, though.