Sir – Chris Koenig’s piece about the Thornton family (Weekend, February 3) reminds me of a story that used to circulate in Oxford publishing circles in the 1970s.
A callow, wet behind the ears, publisher’s sales representative was despatched to sell-in a new book to Thornton’s Bookshop.
Climbing the dusty stairs to the first floor, he espied an elderly gentleman inscribing figures in a ledger. This, he thought, must be the man who took the Big Decisions.
No notice was taken of him, so he coughed discreetly. The reaction was instantaneous: “Eh? What? Selling something, young lad? It’s my father you want! Two floors further up.”
Giles Woodforde, Kidlington
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