A new chapter

 ‘Dear Heywood, I hear Mollie is leaving at the end of next week, in which case so am I. Yours ever, Nancy.’ So wrote my ever-direct aunt, Nancy Mitford, to her employer Heywood Hill, the founder of the famous Mayfair bookshop, on 17 May 1944. Whether or not Nancy’s threat had some effect, she continued to work at the shop for another year.

Here I should declare a strong interest in the fate of independent bookshops. I am the proud owner of a modest chunk of Heywood Hill, which is currently celebrating its 75th year. Not a bad milestone for any business. But can bookshops really survive in a retail world overgrown by Amazon? (Perhaps Leylandii would be a more accurate name.)

Long before the internet or the Kindle, or the financial crisis, bookselling was not exactly easy. Heywood established his shop in 1936 in the teeth of the Depression and for the first few years profits were non-existent. When the war came things looked even bleaker. Heywood left for the front not knowing whether the shop would still be there when, and if, he returned.

An unintended consequence of the war made a big difference. When rationing really took hold, books were one of the few items that could still be bought, by the wealthy at least, in unlimited quantities. But it was a stroke of headhunting genius that really saved the shop. Heywood recruited Nancy Mitford to help his wife Anne in his absence.

Aunt Nancy was a powerful social magnet, and soon the pavement from St James’s to Curzon Street was worn down with the tread of returning officers on leave, keen for some intelligent and witty chat, and of course an informed view on what to read.