
A 1938 Christmas article for W.H. Smith's own magazine
The Book Window by Collie Knox. Knox was a much published journalist who also wrote lyrics. He was a friend of Chips Channon from whose collection this came. A potboiler of an article of the kind that could no longer be written. Some of the sentiment about books has recently been revived in the face of Kindle and the decline of book reading among coming generations. The idea of coming back to a room full of books (even a study) is still attractive and trumps coming home to a thin grey slab...
Dreams for Sale
CALL no man friendless while he owns one book.
After your day’s work do you go to your home–large or small–where, ranged round your own particular room, are rows of books? It is to be hoped that you do so, for, once there are books within reach, you need never feel lonely.
Most of us lead painfully hectic lives in this age of pace. So little time there is for peaceful–unhurried things. We dash home only to dash out again–to mingle with large numbers of strangers who have been bidden to meet at this or that social activity. Further and further away from us rolls that heaven-given blessing–“A quiet evening at home.”
Waiting for us at home, weary, sad and neglected, are some of our best, our most real friends. Neatly ranged on their cosy shelves they wait eager to transport us out of a grey mood into an hour or two of excitement– of forgetfulness. To teach us by gentle example–to lead us into lands of memory–to smooth our cares and to assuage our workaday worries.
Here, indeed, lie the panaceas for almost every ailment of the mind.
At Christmas–is it really so soon upon us?–I never give any present but the present of books. I choose my books with the care with which I choose my friends. Knowing their funny little ways, their idiosyncrasies–their unrealised dreams–I choose books for them accordingly.