Day 41 #100DaysOfOld Days

At one time in my life I yearned to be a librarian. Like Mrs Clarke, my childhood Librarian.

Back in the 70’s, our library was in a small downstairs room in the local courthouse. It opened on Tuesdays and Thursdays for a few hours in the evening. Maybe a Saturday morning too—I’m not sure. As far as I remember, children had to have their book borrowing done before 7 o’clock when the adults would start coming in. Please correct me if I’m wrong.

The first two stacks inside the door were for children. If you were caught anywhere near the adult stacks you got the stern cough and the death stare from Mrs Clarke.

I never attempted to go anywhere near the adult section. I was too afraid. But when I grew up I realised she was was a lovely lady who was just doing her job!

I loved the smell of the library; wood and polish and the books, new and old, some with plastic covers. The Famous Five and The Secret Seven were the most sought after books.

All the library members had their own little library cards with their name and address on them. Children had two, meaning they were only allowed to borrow two books at any one time. I think adults had four membership cards. Every library book had a pouch inside the front cover, and there was a removable pocket inside the pouch with the book details on it. The sheet for stamping the return date was glued to the first page.

We had to be extremely quiet while choosing our books. Of course that wasn’t always easy. I’ve witnessed children being threatened with expulsion from the library for whispering too loud, or for sniggering.

After choosing our two books, we’d bring them very, very, quietly over to Mrs Clarke’s desk. She didn’t speak; just peered across her cat eye glasses. She had the demeanour of the librarians you see on telly. She was perfect for the job!

She would take the pockets from the pouch inside the front cover, and slip our library cards into them. Then she’d put them into one of her little filing boxes. This was how she kept track of the borrowed books. She’d stamp the return date on our books with her neat little stamper. Very hard. She’d stamp those books as if she was punishing them. Thump. Thump. At any other time, you could hear a flea sneeze in her library.

Those thumps also served as a warning not to be late returning the books…

I wanted to be Mrs Clarke, sitting at that wee table flicking at the little boxes of cards—not a computer in sight—inhaling the scent of inky books and keeping manners on bold children.