I discovered my first nineteenth century photographs in 1963 when I was around six or seven years old in the most unlikely place - a duck farm. If Dickens’ Miss Havisham had an outbuilding, it would have been the vast, antique-filled, dark barn in which I discovered these antique images.
I wandered through that massive barn along pathways seemingly laid out with the use of a blindfold and an Etch A Sketch; it was literally a maze from the past. Victorian balloon-back sofas, pier mirrors, highboys, chests of drawers, spinning wheels, trunks, tables, oil lamps, and glassware of every description lined the aisle which
