Every collector, whether of rare porcelain, jade or Old Masters, dreams of that one find that will astonish their peers and bring fame everlasting: their name will be spoken with bated breath for as long as there is interest in their field. Collectors of gramophone records are no different. For the instrumental enthusiast it might be a previously unknown recording of Johanna Martzy; the vocal collector may dream of finding the two fabled Fonotipia sides of the nineteenth-century tenor, Jean de Reszke. Whatever it may be, each and every collector has the belief that once in their lifetime he, or sometimes she (and it does seem that collecting is a male feature, or problem, depending on your point of view!), will make ‘the great discovery’ that will place them at the forefront of the craft.

At this juncture I must confess to being a ‘record collector’ – there, I've said it! My excuse is that I am a second-generation collector and my father inspired me with stories of his visits to Covent Garden to hear Supervia and Chaliapine (that's how it was spelt then): my earliest memories are of thorn needles being sharpened prior to wonderful sounds coming from an elaborate radio-gramophone. I still remember my first records when I can have been no more than five years old: a job-lot box from Morphet's sale room in Harrogate that included, oh joy of joys, Charles Penrose's ‘The Laughing Policeman’. That's probably why my professional life has revolved around records and recording for more years than I care to think. Love of the artists, and their performances, has been why I am in this strange business of ours. But although I had been on the receiving end of luck in finding interesting and sometimes rare records, I still awaited The Great Discovery.