Revisiting the 1921 doll's house village fire, on Hampstead Heath
Over the weekend I had cause to venture into the unnerving, multi-level attic of our home, in a search for the origin of a disconcerting line of mottled damp that had appeared along a sloping section of the ceiling, just outside the bathroom. My cursory inspection of the point where the roof of the extension joins with the old roof provided me with no insight into the root of the problem, beyond my observation that there are no visible pipes that might be causing the leak. While I was shuffling backwards towards the loft hatch, over a collage of loose wooden boards, I accidentally knelt down on a shoebox, squashing it at one end. I took it with me into the spare room to inspect the contents and to see whether it could be repaired. Inside I found several bundles of very old, miscellaneous photographs, in an assortment of proportions and small sizes, none larger in length or width than three inches. They had been wrapped-up in loosely folded sheets of brown paper that turned out to be di...