An ephemeral coincidence

It should be obvious from my last several posts — if it hadn’t been already over many years of posts! — that I love digging into old archives and ephemera. Thus occupied, I came across something rather interesting: a page of advertisements in which two of Tolkien’s grandparents, one on either side of his family, both advertise their respective wares on the same page, some twenty years before their children would marry and the Tolkien we know today would be born. [1]

At the top right, John Benjamin Tolkien — Tolkien’s father’s father — advertises pianos at 87 New Street, near the Town Hall. The door to the Town Hall is still visible today, more than 150 years later. The ad promises that “excellence of touch and tone characterises these Instruments, which, considering their high-class character, are a Marvel of Cheapness”. He also tuned pianos and sold music, but his business would go bust in 1877, less than five years from the date of this advertisement.

Then, in the middle the left-hand column, John Suffield — Tolkien’s mother’s father — flogs his wares — hoses, gloves, lace, collars, ties, undergarments, and more — at 107–109 Bull Street, less than a half-mile walk away from Tolkien’s shop. The Suffields had done business here since 1812. First, a stationery shop run by Tolkien’s great-great-grandfather, William Suffield; then, a drapery and hosiery from 1826, run first by Tolkien’s great-grandfather, John Suffield, and then his son, also named John. The latter Suffield was successful and prosperous until his business too collapsed in 1886, about 13 years after the date of this advertisement.

An interesting piece of ephemera, wouldn’t you say? I suppose it’s really not so unlikely a coincidence to find two prominent, well-established businessmen in Birmingham on the same page sooner or later, both unknowingly drawing near the end of their trade. Suffield’s daughter, Mabel, was two years old at the time, while Tolkien’s son, Arthur, was already fifteen. They would marry about 19 years later. It’s a peculiar moment in time, totally unremarkable then, but seen in hindsight it’s almost as if Birmingham were holding its breath, awaiting the arrival of greatness, with two parties to it, totally unbeknown, sharing a page. They would eventually share a grandson, who would go on to fill many, many pages of his own.

Too dramatic? Well, what can I say? It’s in my nature. :)

[1] King Edward’s School Chronicle. No. 9, December 18, 1872, p. 87.