03.06.2014 – Re-Entering the Real World.

Tuesday, 3rd June, 2014.

Re-entering the Real World.

I know I’ve only been here for a couple of days, but I’ve already adjusted to life at the library. Life here in the Gladstone’s bubble (hereon referred to as the ‘Gladbubble’) calms the thoughts and the mind. Life is slower here; quieter; tranquil. Tuesdays are my day off, so despite only starting yesterday I had a day to myself. In this place, I don’t  even want to have a lie in. I spent the first half of the morning catching up on paperwork. It’s a new, rather strange feeling seeing your work colleagues (the ones who arrive at nine and leave at five) essentially walking around your home on your day off. It’s like your boss walking into your living room  on a Saturday morning. I spent the rest of the day with my nose in a book. It’s quite hard going; it’s a book of essays entitledSikhism and History. I think it’s time to learn more about my heritage. The editor rightly talks in his introduction about how you cannot profess to know a culture or its people without historicism.

I’ve forgotten to mention up until now, I have a spot in the History Reading Room who might be a contender for my favourite chair in the library. It’s surrounded on three sides by books. I’m sure I will find more spaces to show you.

After a day shuffling around the library in my slippers, I got ready for my big date. The Director of Collections at the library was somewhat disappointed when she realised that my ‘big date’ was with someone with whom I had been in a relationship with for nearly seven years.

It was strange seeing his little old faded-red car pootling into the car park, reminding me that there is no real bubble preventing the noise and madness of the outside world charging in.

Our date was lovely as usual. We mimicked our first date; Frankie and Benny’s and then the flicks (albeit the F&B on our first date was smaller and stickier, and we saw Edge of Tomorrow instead of the very romantic Run Fatboy Run as we did on our first date).

Returning to the library was even more strange than leaving it. I was used to going on dates, but I’d always return to the house in Sutton. I’d almost forgotten where I was.I returned home just in time to help one of the other interns lock up – I’m getting as much experience as I can before I go it alone on Thursday night! I was right, though – the creepiness is already fading, and there’s something exciting and magical about the library when everyone has gone home. Sloping around in my slippers, slowly shutting the library down and turning off the lights might soon be my favourite part of this job.

Okay, so it is still a bit creepy.

02.06.2014 – My First Day as a GladIntern.

Monday, 2nd June, 2014

My First Day as an Intern.

I woke at 8 to the chiming bells of the church next door (which, by the way ring every hour, and I mean EVERY HOUR. INCLUDING IN THE NIGHT). I was feeling energised, although a little less so when I realised that the other interns had already been to the gym for a spin class while I slumbered! It’s a lovely atmosphere in the mornings. Food is provided here for you and most people sleepily smile at one another, clutching a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea. At least, I think everyone else is like that – although it could have just been the sleep in my own eyes! There’s a communal feeling of amiability, and everyone takes an interest in everyone else.

Post-breakfast, I shadowed one of the interns as she opened up the library. There’s lots of old locks and massive keys, reminding me that I LIVE AT HOGWARTS.

After we turned on all the lights and made sure the library was neat, I began shelving. This reassured me; here was something that I knew, and was confident in…and then I saw the classification system. Although it is easy to grasp, I will admit that I stumbled. The dewey decimal system is nowhere to be found. They (or should I say ‘we’ now?!) use Gladstone’s own method, which takes a bit of getting used to!

I learned the slip system, which enables us to keep track of which books are being used. It’s something that I imagine Hogwarts would have too, what with not having the luxury of electricity.

The rest of the day was spent on housekeeping. I learned the correct way to open and ascend a ladder next to a bookshelf amongst other such riveting things.

This evening I really felt like I had settled in. I’d just had a delicious meal (cooked by a fantastic chef who makes chocolate cakes and scones every day too!) and retired to the Gladstone room, as one does, with my knitting. I’ve only just learned how to knit and was on my third (quite holey) row when the writer in residence, Judy Brown, asked if I was the new intern. She is a lovely, lovely person, and I am in awe of her poetic skills. We whiled the night away with another person staying at the hotel until 10, when it was time to lock up the library.

I won’t lie. It’s not not scary switching off all the lights in all of the nooks and crannies of a large old library, and pulling across creaky old bolts. Hopefully this creepiness will cease with time. My first time locking up is on Thursday night, though I’ve roped in the other interns to do it with me to ‘make sure I do it right’, meaning to stop me running away halfway through screaming that the ghosts are after me.

01.06.2014 – Beginning the Gladstone’s Journey.

Sunday, 1st June, 2014

The Beginning of my Gladstonian Journey.

Did I mention that I live in THE GREATEST PLACE ON EARTH? Better even than Disneyland.

Today I stopped saying goodbye to people and started saying hello. The car was packed in Sutton Coldfield and unpacked in Hawarden. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to say this – THIS is now my house!

I thought that it might be a strange atmosphere, as I am replacing a much-loved intern who has been here since September. When I arrived, though, everyone was very welcoming, and I already love the place and the people! Who knows, perhaps this place will fill the hole that Aberystwyth left.

There’s not much to say today – I’m just settling in, more will come tomorrow!

Oh, but I did go for a lovely walk with the other two interns on the estate where the current Gladstones reside. There were sheep just milling around!

Not sure what kind of impression I gave my new friends, when midway through a conversation I started baah-ing at sheep and waving to them…

31.05.2014 – In Which I Introduce my Love of Vikings.

Saturday, 31st May, 2014

In Which I Introduce my Love of Vikings.

Yesterday was my last day at Lichfield. I feel that I should take a moment to say goodbye to my lanyard, the building and my wonderful friends and mentors who have made it a pleasure to work there.

Besides teaching me so much, another thing volunteering at the library did for me was re-introducing me to modern fiction after four years surrounded by eighteenth- and nineteenth-century writing. Having recently watched Vikings on Amazon Instant (absolutely well worth watching, by the way!), the cover of Giles Kristian’s Raven trilogy caught my eye when I was straightening the fiction section.

Though it was partially the look of the trilogy together on the shelf, it was also Kristian’s inspiring names. I could almost hear the roar of the characters from Gods of Thunder and Odin’s  Wolves.

As my first foray into modern fiction in quite some time, the Raven trilogy seemed at first to be written in a simple, clear fashion, a far cry from the therefores, arts and steadfasts of its preceding generations. My mind was trying to figure out underlying meanings, hidden political agendas and unrecognised metaphors.

It was the first sea storm that switched off my critical thoughts. I could feel the sway of the sea and my stomach rising as the fellowship crest a huge wave in their longship, Serpent, and the terror as they stared down at the wave they were about to descend into. From then on, my imagination was captured and I have been binge-reading the trilogy ever since.

I think that if I could choose to believe in a religion, I would choose the Norse Gods. Their stories are so interesting, and their characters complex. The idea of Ragnarok demands attention in the way that only an apocalypse can.

I’ve even taken to calling the Beloved ‘Red Bear’, in honour of his (very bushy, very Viking, very ginger) beard.

30.05.2014 – Upon Finding Criticism from the Keatsian Era.

Friday, 30th May, 2014

Upon Finding Criticism from the Keatsian Era.

Today was perhaps…one of the best days yet. It could be said that any last day would be a good day, filled with cakes and hugs and a warm sense of appreciation. Today was the first day that I had time to roam among the stacks. Though I thought much was taken up by multiple copies of books for reading groups, they are a small proportion of what these staff-only, behind the scenes shelves are hiding.They call it the Living History Collection. I found treasures to keep me going for days.

The first of the trove was a little old book, threadbare and wonky, hiding in the miscellaneous section by itself in the shadow of brighter covers and bolder prints.

It creaked when I picked it up, a strange experience to hands that are used to feeling the quiet, rigid confidence of 21st century books. The book was printed in 1803. As usual, I immediately compared it to Keats’s time; I was excited that it was physically in print and circulation, in the brief period  that Keats walked the earth.

The criticisms that followed piqued nostalgia from my Master’s degree; the scathing wit and utter relinquishing of oneself to the detestation of others renders modern criticism bland. Each fragile page was filled with strong words that would have destroyed it’s recipients, much like Keats’s critics affected the man himself. Finding this book on my own made the past more real; it put  what I was taught into practice. This criticism was not an academic text given to me for a purpose, but in a little book protected from history in the dusty stacks of Lichfield Library, giving an insight into the mind of a man who lived in the world at the same time as John Keats.

As my suddenly cumbersome hands delicately attempted to turn the thin leaves of the volume, a kind of surreal feeling came over me, the same feeling I felt when I was standing in the doorway of a house Keats briefly stayed in in Teignmouth. Even a book that is only related to Keats in that it was published in his brief, bright lifetime brings me excitement because it reminds me that the transcendent poet I idolise was alive; he was real; he was human.

29.05.2014 – Talking Books.

Thursday, 29th May, 2014

Talking Books

Even on my penultimate day at Lichfield Library, I’m still discovering new areas where libraries are still very much vital and relevant to everyday life. Today I helped take part in the talking books reading group, which takes place once a month. The book group starts at eleven, but by half past ten there are already people taking their places by the old fireplace in the fiction section.

We are greeted with grateful smiles as we wheel the tea trolley towards the readers (though technically listeners, they still like to refer to it as reading). The archaic teacups jingle and rattle through the quick picks, new acquisitions, biographies and fantasies, past the wall of talking books, jarring the quiet and announcing our arrival. A nice cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit is welcomed by all.

It becomes apparent that the reading group is not simply a place to discuss books, but a social occasion.These people are not merely acquaintances; friendships have been forged over a love of fiction despite failing eyesight. The group is (strangely) bonded by a love of the author Lee Child, though many of them mention that they are getting bored of murders and mysteries; soon, they feel, we should move on to memoirs.

As talking books are not as readily available as paper books, an interesting dimension is added to the discussion as everyone has read their own, different book. Each person introduces their novel, gives a quick synopsis and their thoughts, much like a book review. A nice personal touch becomes apparent when they know their fellow readers enough to know if they would like their books or not.

Many of the members of the reading group are visually impaired, or suffer from debilitating illnesses such as a stroke. Despite this, they all get through (literally) a trolley-load of books every four weeks. Whilst I learned from my work at Focus Birminghamthat a visual impairment can make the world smaller and smaller, with the access to a wide range of fiction and non-fiction talking books that the library possesses, and a place to discuss them and socialise, the mind can be taken anywhere, just like having your nose buried in a book.

Well, you should know by now what a hopeless romantic I am. Part of the reading group that really touched my heart was a husband and wife who came. Though not as visually impaired as some of the others, they like to read talking books together at home and discuss them. The husband carries the books in two carrier bags and his wife takes them out and arranges them in a very specific order. Her husband takes each title in turn and reviews each, occasionally helped on by his wife. As the new books are taken out, his wife whispers to him when she sees one she likes and he asks us for it. He says he doesn’t mind reading ‘women’s’ books if that’s what she likes.

Their love is endearing, and I can only hope that my Martin and I will still be as happy and in love as them at their age.

Empty teacups, a plate of crumbs and bags and trolleys full of books signify the end of the group. The importance of the group is highlighted when they all realise with dismay that they have to wait for five weeks instead of four until their next group. Some begin to worry that they will run out of things to read, but we give them the direct number to the library, which can arrange to send out new books if they cannot get here. As I wheel the clattering trolley away, they all wish me luck in my new Welsh adventure.

It brings a smile to my lips when I return to the fiction section twenty minutes later and they’re still sitting there, talking and cooing at one of the grandchildren.

28.05.2014 – #ThisBook.

Wednesday, 28th May, 2014

#ThisBook

I was perusing twitter this morning, as you do, and I came across this tweet.

The first book that came to mind, and has since stayed there, was this beauty. 

Our heroine, Margaret Hale, becomes one half of a romance that Austen would be proud of, but maintains her values and personality throughout the novel. Whilst most women search for Mr Darcy, I want my Mr Thornton (okay, so I’ve already found him – it still counts!). Mr Thornton finds himself respecting Margaret as a person and as a woman, and the more women simper at him, the more he is drawn to the woman who faints not from pure emotion, but because she has taken a stone to the head for him. Their relationship is one of equality, yet still fulfills the criteria for a romance story that can carry you away.

Distancing ourselves from the romance with Mr Thornton, the novel still has much to tell us. The female community is an interesting one; made up of differing personalities, the women still acknowledge a sacred bond between them, as is shown on Mrs Hale’s deathbed scene with Mrs Thornton. It would seem that ‘weaker’ women are forever linked with the stronger; if we were simply given the characters with no surname, it would be more likely that Fanny Thornton were Mrs Hale’s daughter and that Margaret were Mrs Thornton’s daughter. It is Mrs Hale’s weakness, both physically and mentally, that forces Margaret to be strong. Likewise, it seems that Mrs Thornton’s strength has created the simpering, fainting Fanny who wishes only to be married to a rich man in fear that she would have to work like her mother and Margaret.

Mrs Gaskell beautifully weaves romance with female community to create a well-rounded woman in a city of turmoil and riots. Although the book could be termed a bildungsroman, Margaret teaches Mr Thornton a thing or two as well.

SIDE NOTE: I hear that Gladstone’s Library has a first edition of Cranford – I’ll update you as soon as I can get my hands on it!

27.05.2014 – The Art of Straightening.

Tuesday 27th May, 2014.

The Art of Straightening

When I first began work experience-cum-volunteering at Lichfield Library, I never imagined I would fit in so well. I walked into the grand old building, although the peeling paint in the echoing hallway reminded me of the danger of council cuts. Books absorb sound like no other; you can be entirely alone and shout in a room full of books and have no echo; libraries shouldn’t echo.

My fears were alleviated when I walked through the doors to the ground floor. I was faced with the quick-pick section, behind which was the new acquisitions, the biographies and beyond. It is not how libraries used to be; there is a coffee machine and assistant librarians now chat with regulars rather than staring accusingly from behind half-moon glasses.

During my first week, there was a big emphasis on straightening. I always tookthe neatness of libraries for granted; in reality it takes dozens of assistants hours of work to make sure everything remains in order and neat. To give you an idea of the amount of time it takes, it took me two hours to work through A-D of the crime section alone.

Though it took time, straightening and shelving books was the first real experience I had of librarianship.I was surprised by the exhilarating feeling with the first book I placed on the shelf. I had to hide my excitement to avoid my new mentors thinking I was a little on the strange side, but I couldn’t help having a huge grin plastered across my face. Something was finally happening. I had found something that I loved. In this job, having a touch of OCD is a good thing. In this job, I can give in to the need to straighten,to alphabetise and I can give in to ORDER. Order is a wonderful thing when you embrace it.

Moving to Gladstone’s gave me an opportunity to have a clear out of my old books. I seem to be torn; I’m part-hoarder, part-minimalist. Whilst I wanted my bookshelf to reflect who I am now, it was hard to give the books of my childhood away. It’s part of the innate fear that people won’t look after them like I do; I hate to think of them on a charity book shelf with the pages bent, dust on the top and a big white crease on the spine. It was a some point in the night, when I was cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by various piles of books, that I had what you could call an epiphany, inspired by the man who started the library, William Gladstone. Books are meant to be read. The focus of the library was to bring books without readers to readers without books. Why should I keep two copies of The Hobbit when one can be sold for 50p to a child who has yet to experience the adventure? With that moment came clarity.The boot of the car was full with books the next morning. Gone were the Artemis Fowls, the Molly Moons, the Jane Finch books that I had held on to for so long. It was still difficult, but it was liberating.

Then came the fun part. When viewing my bookshelf, you can now find a Romantics section, a classics section, a modern fiction section and on the bottom shelf, those children’s classics that will probably stay with me forever (Frances Hodgson Burnett, Roald Dahl, J.R.R. Tolkein and Jacqueline Wilson). In the family bookcase, you will now find crime/thriller on the top shelf, general fiction on the second, dog fiction and miscellany on the third, non-fiction on the fourth and reference books at the bottom (all alphabetised of course). It looks beautiful.

Straightening has brought balance to my life. It has shown me that I don’t have to be stubborn and fight my need for perfection; sometimes it is alright to give in. A bookcase is the perfect place for something like this. It means that things can get messy and stressful, but when I walk past my bookcase I can glance and smile and my small piece of perfection.

I had better not go to the charity shop for a while, though. I would definitely buy all my books back…