A woman in her late 70s approached me in a charity shop. She said to me, “I couldn’t help but notice that you were looking through the record collection. Were you looking for anything in particular?” 

I told her that I wasn’t looking for anything too specific, but was interested in vinyl records from the 60s, 70s and 80s to add to my collection. She informed me that her husband had recently passed away, and that he’d left her with a large collection of vinyl she was hoping to give away to charity. She asked if I’d be interested in any of them, and if she could have my phone number. I gladly agreed and wrote it down on a piece of paper for her. Her name was Linda.

I left the shop feeling very touched by this experience. I felt slightly emotional as well, verging on tears as I got back to my car to drive home. This lady had recently lost her husband and yet was acting out of generosity and kindness. Despite being recently widowed, she still wanted to help me and give away a small sentiment that connected her with her late husband. 

The following afternoon, I woke up post night shift to find a missed call and a voicemail message from a local landline. It was Linda. The message she’d left brought a smile to my face. She informed me that there were a few records I might be interested in, having looked through the smaller EPs and singles in the collection. She had music by Blondie, Kate Bush and David Bowie, to name but a few. I called her back immediately. I informed her that I’d be very keen to have a look.

With the address in hand, I arrived at her house within the hour. After spending some time chatting with Linda about a variety of things, I’d accumulated an abundance of records.  

Her husband, Hayden, had died of prostate cancer earlier in the year. I learnt this after explaining that I was a doctor at the local hospital. He was a keen collector of vinyl and also had a large assortment of 12” records upstairs accompanying the smaller EPs and singles that were on her living room coffee table. Linda explained that she hadn’t yet built up the courage or strength to sort through the 12″ LPs by the time of my visit.

This overall interaction with Linda felt incredibly wholesome and almost serendipitous. We were in the same charity shop at the same time; my intentions were to build my collection, whereas Linda’s intentions were to part with her husband’s music. Now he was no longer here, memories of his hobby left only grief and sorrow.

In retrospect, it became very apparent that we shared one thing in common: we were two strangers helping one another.

I never saw Linda again after this. In hindsight, it would’ve been nice to maintain some sort of connection with someone whose loneliness was tangible. Her front door was overgrown with shrubs and vines. The hallway was busy with memorabilia of the local football team and old photos she’d shared with Hayden. Linda had at least four or five house cats as well, with the smell of used cat litter wafting around the lounge. She didn’t appear particularly frail or vulnerable, but I think she’d lost some sense of purpose following her husband’s passing. The cats were clearly very loved and well cared for.

When I asked how I could repay her generosity, she simply suggested making a small donation to the local Catwell charity shop. I also offered myself as an extra pair of hands if she needed anything moving or tipping. She turned my offer down, although she appreciated the gesture. In retrospect, I should have insisted on helping tidy up her overgrown garden.

Unfortunately, the first and only time I visited the Catwell shop, it had closed for the day. My shifts at the hospital always finished after the shop closed and I didn’t tend to venture to that side of town on my days off. The street itself was always quite busy and didn’t have a great deal of charity shops to browse through.

I still frequent charity shops where I live today. Despite having to relocate to another part of the UK for work, I often find myself wandering around town when running errands on my days off. I find going into charity shops helps clear my head. There’s nothing specific I’m looking for, which adds to the mindful nature of it all. If I’m lucky enough, I hit the jackpot when I find a record worthy of adding to my collection. These trips seldom come to anything, which is part of the fun of it, I suppose.

Even more recently, as part of our wedding favours, my wife and I collected second-hand books and coffee cups to give to our guests on the day. Most of which were bought from charity shops. These were met with a mixture of reactions. Some found it sweet, some found it odd. But overall, after clarifying our reasoning in my wedding speech, there was a collective and resounding “Awwh!”.

I suppose there’s another reason I still go into charity shops, other than to simply support them and to minimise unnecessary first-hand buying. I deep down hope to bump into someone; another Linda, perhaps, who’s hoping to bump into someone like me.