A harsh lessonīut if that first library introduced me to the pleasures and perils of losing my heart, the second one stomped all over it. It was stupidly expensive, but I bought it. Fifteen years ago I found a secondhand copy of it online. I took it out so often I was eventually banned from doing so. To me it was an esoteric treasure trove.Īmidst countless tatty books – but still, books! – about cars, nursing, rabbits Brer and Peter, and (increasingly strangely the more I think about it) a hardback edition of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, I quickly came to have my favourites.Īmongst a run of Antelope books on the farthest wall was Adventuring with Brindle, by Rosemary Garland, a simply riveting tale of a boy who runs away with his Great Dane when he fears his mother is going to get rid of her. On the shelves was what I suspect a more critical observer would have judged a motley collection of volumes. To a bookworm, though, the content made it a heaven and a haven. Technically, it couldn’t have been more cheerless. Sharp-edged metal shelves lined three walls, forming a horseshoe round a rectangular piece of thin polyester matting. Three schools – primary, secondary and sixth form college – and three libraries, in increasing order of splendour mark my pedagogic progress.Īt my primary school the library was half a classroom set aside for the purpose.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |