The Chalet School Revisited

by Sheila Ray

Thus my mishmash of reprints and paperbacks, plus the last ten or so books bought new, gradually became my collection as it is today — all first editions with dust jackets (although I must admit that some of the jackets on the first 11 are from similarly sized reprints; I suppose this is cheating a bit, but I like the way they look and I can always hope for first edition dustjackets to turn up). It’s taken a very long time — over 25 years — and I only got my last original jacket to replace a photocopy (The Exploits of the Chalet Girls, 1933) in 1992. I also got my last two Brent-Dyers that year, so now have a copy of some sort of everything she wrote.

  My collecting also led to my moment of fame. Andy Warhol said that everyone is famous for 15 minutes — in my case I think it was 10, but fame none the less. Martin Spence, another avid Brent-Dyer collector, was asked to appear on Woman’s Hour to talk about the Chalet School series and why they still appeal today. He was also asked to find another collector and picked me. We went to Broadcasting House and recorded an interview. It was really fascinating, and lasted for well over half an hour. Sadly, when it was actually broadcast, on 23 March 1987, it had been drastically cut down to ten minutes. I am sure that all my best bits were lost, but it was fun and I was delighted to be able to speak about my passion to a bigger audience than I am usually able to command!

  Book selling

  In the mean time, I had got married and then left work to have my children. This meant that I no longer had my own money to buy books. Unfortunately my husband is not a bibliophile, and he objected to the housekeeping money disappearing just because I had seen a dust jacket for Peggy of the Chalet School (1950) that was marginally nicer than mine. Something had to be done. Since having been in contact with other collectors, I had sold odd spares that were on other people’s wants lists. Now, I thought, I probably knew enough to gather a few books together and produce a list. I did have an inbuilt advantage in that my mother had been producing sales lists for some time. This meant that I had access to her mailing list and, at the beginning, I was able to send out my list with hers, thus saving the postage. I compiled my first children’s list in March 1983 — three sides of A4 paper. I sold a few — at that stage, I thought I would sell all of them. Another misapprehension.

  In the past, when ordering from dealers’ catalogues, I had often found that the particular books I wanted had already gone. Logically, I suppose, I assumed that dealers sold virtually all their books. I was surprised and disappointed to find that from the eighty or so books I had lovingly gathered together, I sold only twenty. These twenty were divided between only seven customers, and only one book was wanted by more than one. Looking at that list today, I only wish I had a few of the books that were so easily disregarded then. For example, out of the five Brent-Dyers on the list, only one was sold. Carnation of the Upper Fourth (1934) in a first edition was unsold at £1.75. Incidentally, of those seven initial customers, I am still in contact with four who buy regularly. By my second list, I was evidently a little more in tune with what people wanted as I sold fifty of ninety books, including all the Brent-Dyers!

  Why did I choose to sell children’s books? Basically because children’s books were what I knew about. Not only was I a Brent-Dyer collector, but by this time I was collecting quite a few girls’ authors, not to mention Biggles. I knew about these and, from reading other dealers’ catalogues when hunting for my own books, I had found out about other authors and who was collectable.

  From there it grew. I learnt from my mistakes; if all the dealers receiving my lists pounced on one particular title, it was guaranteed that I had badly underpriced it, but each time I was caught like this I remembered and knew for the next time. Sometimes I was stuck with books that I had paid a lot for, thinking them collectable, only to find that they did not sell — again, I did not get caught twice — or not with the same book, anyway!

  Originally the lists were produced on stencils as my mother had a duplicator, but these were difficult to read so I bought an electric typewriter and had the lists properly printed as booklets. However, I used to dread the time when I knew I had to sit down and type the lists from my handwritten scrawl. Finally I bought a word processor. Now I could enter books as I bought them and when it was time to print the pages off, all I had to do was to number the books and make sure that the lists agreed with the actual books on the shelves. With the extra time that this allowed me, I started to give short descriptions of the books, as I felt that customers would be more likely to try new authors if they knew a bit about the story. By advertising in various book magazines, my mailing list grew, and I now produce catalogues of 40+ pages about 6 times a year.

  A friend of mine who is a Biggles collector asked me about three years ago whether I wanted to share his stall at a local book fair. Book fairs are similar to antique fairs, in that many dealers attend with their own stands and they give a chance for those without shops to reach the general public. I had attended them since early in my collecting career, and had vaguely thought that one day I might have a go at selling at one. His offer decided me, and I spent hours pricing all the books that I thought I should take and putting them into boxes.

  The first attempt at Bushey in Hertfordshire did not go particularly well. I sold very few books and decided that if I was going to do this properly I would have to get some folding shelves to display the books so customers could actually see them. Slowly I began to realise which books sold well at the fairs and got to know many of the regular customers and which sort of books they wanted. I started exhibiting at a couple of other fairs as well, and now attend at least one a month, sometimes more.

  There are a lot of disadvantages to book fairs. First, having to get up really early on a Saturday morning has never been one of my favourite activities. There is also the lugging of boxes of books and folding shelves out of the car boot and into the hall and back again, without much difference in weight at the end of the day! The final problem is the total unpredictability of numbers attending. Despite all the organiser’s best efforts at advertising, bad weather, very good weather or a major sporting event on television can cut numbers drastically. Luckily there are advantages, too, in that they enable me to find new customers and to meet others whom I have known for years.

  The money was, of course, useful as it enabled me to buy books that I could never have considered before, and also paid for extras such as holidays and Christmas presents. Now it is essential, as our main income has decreased so much owing to the recession that the money goes on necessities such as food and clothes for the children.

  However, most of all, selling books is fun. I love books. I love searching for them, finding those that collectors want, talking to people about them and — the most important — reading them. How could I have dreamt when I found that copy of Trials in the library that it would lead to this?

  The collector/dealer network

  There are only a few major specialist children’s dealers — probably no more than ten. Many of them started as collectors themselves, following the maxim to deal in what you know. Most serious collectors are in contact with some or all of them, sending them wants lists and receiving their catalogues. Prices from these dealers are necessarily higher as they are specialist and frequently need to use their expertise. Additionally, they tend to have to pay more for their books as they are known to be specialists.

  There are other smaller children’s dealers who generally specialise in one or two areas such as Biggles, William, school stories, Blyton or similar subjects or authors. There are also general dealers and bookshops who have a children’s section. These are the places where bargains may occasionally be found, as such dealers cannot be conversant with current prices in all subjects. We all have our favourites — and I have no intention of divulging mine here!

  Many collectors become dealers to a lesser or greater extent because they have spare books that they do not want to give away to jumble sales or charity shops when there could be a fellow collector somewhere who is desperate for the
m. Most just sell them to other, larger, dealers who can pass them on, but there are the few such as myself who don’t stop there and go on to produce catalogues and, eventually, let it take over their lives!

  Dealers’ attitudes to their own collections are also interesting. Until recently I assumed that all dealers put their collections first and that dealing was firmly in second place. If I get a better copy of a book in my collection, I keep it without a second thought and sell the copy which isn’t so good, hoping to recoup some of the outlay on the new copy. However, I have heard that some dealers steadily downgrade their collections, believing that the condition of their own books doesn’t matter and they prefer to sell the better copies. I find this a very strange way of going about things and cannot, personally, imagine putting my dealing before my collecting.

  Dealers’ reactions to the request for Brent-Dyers are interesting. Nowadays, at least, there is generally an admission that they have heard of her, unlike when I was first collecting, when the invariable reply was “Who?” Quite a few of the general dealers do not understand that Chalet School books do not all have the same value, and have a habit of putting out copies of The School at the Chalet and The Chalet School Reunion at the same price, which is wonderful if you happen to be there at the right time! They also realise that they are much sought after nowadays and tend to make that price quite high.

  Collectors

  I know many collectors from all over the world, most of whom I consider to be friends. Those first lonely days after giving up work were filled with the fun of building up a business and being in contact with so many other like-minded people. But what are these other Brent-Dyer collectors like? It is impossible to generalise. Although there is not a typical Brent-Dyer collector, they do all share one thing: a love of books in general and her books in particular.

  Whilst I know seven or eight male collectors, the vast majority are women. They range in age from seven to over eighty. They live all over the world. Most are naturally English-speaking, from the UK, Australia, New Zealand and Canada, although two are Swedish. It is very hard to keep up correspondence with so many of them, with other calls on my time, but rarely a day goes by without my receiving a letter from one of my “book friends”, as I call them.

  The vast majority discovered the Chalet School when they were round about ten years old. They read and collect assiduously. At the age of about fifteen, a break often came. In the past, many collectors have told me that they had to move to the adult library at about this and were no longer allowed to borrow their favourites from the children’s library. Nowadays, it is more likely to be outside interests such as boys, or teasing and mocking from their contemporaries, that stop them reading the books. Those who decide that they want to stay with them are likely to keep their love of the books very quiet, feeling embarrassment at keeping them. They often have their break a little later, when they leave home and do not have the space to keep all their childhood favourites. So many people have told me that at some stage or other they had all or most of the Chalet School series, including all the later difficult titles, but gave them away or, worse still, found that they had been given away by parents whilst they had been living away from home.

  Many of these collectors have a nostalgic urge to replace their collection and, perhaps, recapture some of their childhood. They may see one in a shop and suddenly remember their love of the books in their younger days and, having read one, the memories come flooding back and they feel they must read them all. A recent collector, a lady in her 70s, had thought that the series ended with the war as that was when she had stopped reading them. One can only imagine her feelings when she discovered that there were 44 more books that she didn’t know about!

  There are a few collectors who did not read the Chalet books in childhood. Some have discovered them through their children reading them, and they are usually new to book collecting in any form. Some are collectors of other girls’ stories such as the Abbey books by Elsie Oxenham or the several school series by Dorita Fairlie Bruce. They graduate to the Chalet School for one of two reasons. Either they have got as far as they can go easily with their current collections and want another series to collect or else they bow to friends’ pressure and try one. Of course, having tried one, they are hooked.

  Chalet collectors also have widely differing ideas as to the form their collections should take. Some collectors are anxious to read and have the text in any form, even paperback, and either don’t know or don’t care that these are edited and cut. They are rarely interested in her other books, though very occasionally they will branch out into the connecting stories. These are stories such as the La Rochelle series of seven books and Monica Turns Up Trumps (1936), which tie into the Chalet School series at various points when characters from them appear in Chalet books.

  Some collectors have budget limits. They decide how much they can aford to spend on their books and try to stick to this figure rigidly. This is useful for the dealer, as she does not waste time or money offering a book that is outside their price range. The problem here is that some of the rarer books are always outside the limit, in whatever condition they are.

  Others are keen to have beautiful first editions in dust jackets, although they are happy to have any complete edition of the book to start with, just to read the story. They will then upgrade their copies as and when possible. They are completists in the true sense. They are determined to get all the books Brent-Dyer wrote, including the elusive school geography readers and the awful religious “Sunday School Prize” stories. Some collect ancillary items, such as postcards of the Achensee where the first few books are set. I expect that you have realised by now that this is a pretty good description of me!

  There are a very few who will pass by a book they have not read because it does not have a dust jacket. I can see the logic behind this as it means there is no need to upgrade, less money is spent in the long run and the collector has definitely no chance of becoming a dealer because she has so many cast-off upgraded copies to sell. A very few collect only Brent-Dyer; the majority collect other similar authors. Many (though not myself) collect Elsie Oxenham as well, but, if they do, virtually all have a decided preference for one or the other.

  Some go further and make lists of the characters and try to fit the correct time-scales to the series. This is not an easy thing to do. I myself am attempting this, as it’s a long-held ambition to have my own personal encyclopaedia of the Chalet School. It is driving me mad, as names change, ages change, and some things are just totally illogical! These collectors have also been known to continue the stories beyond Prefects at the Chalet School (1970, the last book of the series) in their own minds. Recently in the Friends of the Chalet School Newsletter members have been writing about how they thought Brent-Dyer would have continued the series and whether they felt she would have brought events up to date into the 1970s. Despite my own opinion that she realised that Prefects would be the last book in the series, many collectors find themselves having withdrawal symptoms when they reach the end and feel they must know what happens to the characters, even if they have to write the story themselves.

  The part collecting plays in people’s lives

  Most Chalet collectors share an objective view of the books, unlike some collectors of other authors. They know about the faults and illogicalities and enjoy discussing them. They know the stories are not perfect, but accept them just the same.

  Just as the collectors are all different, so is the part that collecting plays in their lives. For some it is a very minor part. If a book happens to be on a shelf right in front of them, or someone writes to offer them a book from their wants list, they are pleased to have it. They wouldn’t go out of their way to look for it, however. At the other end of the scale, there are those who would drive 50 miles out of their way because they have heard a vague rumour that there might be a second-hand bookshop. They send for every children’s catalogue they see advertised and put a lot of effort into finding
the books they want.

  Many collectors produce a wants list that they send round to dealers. These range from half a page with a few titles to 20-plus handwritten foolscap pages (yes, I do know a collector who has one that long). Some send updated lists every time they write — this is very useful for the dealer, because it means that she doesn’t get stuck with books she buys for a specific person, only to find that they have already got them. Yes, we all get caught that way! This doesn’t matter so much for a rare Brent-Dyer title, but some obscure books are not wanted by other people.

  Once a collector produces a wants list, she is well on the way to ruin. What started as a harmless pastime is beginning to become an all-consuming passion. She has admitted on paper that she is truly a collector. She is no longer reliant on being the first to ring for that elusive title in a catalogue, only to be told that it went at 6.30 a.m. She has put herself in the hands of the dealers, and has to trust that it is to her that they offer that elusive title that appears on 60 other wants lists.

  Reactions to being offered that elusive title are very different. From some you receive a dull acknowledgement letter — please send the book, followed by a cheque in an envelope with no letter at all. From others you receive an effusive letter saying how delighted they are, and a lovely letter of thanks when they pay. These are the people I prefer to find books for and I feel that their gratitude and pleasure make it all worthwhile. I know from personal experience the pleasure when a letter or phone call comes offering a book that I really want, and so cannot understand those collectors who do not seem bothered, or even do not reply at all.

  Once the collector has most of the books in some edition or other, there is a void in her life. She knows that the last few books she wants will be hard to find and needs to have some purpose when she visits her accustomed bookshops or book fairs. She begins to think it might be nice to have hardback editions of all of them, then perhaps dust jackets would be a good idea; they will brighten up the shelves. Finally she gets this inexplicable urge to have first editions — the first printed form in which the book appeared. She is getting a collection together.