Vertical quote along the spine

Your mother rang on Sunday to say you've finally had the line done, and I should have guessed you'd pick something set in type. You always wanted things straight. I'm posting you the last of my Caslon capitals from the Garrick Street shop, because the foundry shut and somebody has to keep the cases out of the skip. Wrap them in the Yorkshire Post, not the Sun. Your gran would never forgive me.

The week the shop lost the council contract, I cut my thumb on a quoin and bled over a forme of Wordsworth. Harold said I'd spoiled the page. I went home with a bandage and a grudge. It was Mrs Adair, who ran the Sunday school library, who gave me the words that stuck: turn your wounds into wisdom. She'd had them worked on a sampler in her hallway. I laughed at her, then set them that same night, letter by letter, upright in the composing stick, and pulled one proof on the old Albion before I could talk myself out of it.

That proof is in the tin with the cases. Don't frame it. Keep it folded in your jacket pocket, the way I kept my rule, and when you need to be reminded of something, check it with your fingers. The ink's gone a bit grey at the edges, but the letters still stand up straight.

Your uncle, Ray