For The Love of Books

Those early childhood memories of the delight of knowing it was library day!

Grandma Clem would find her library ticket and pick up her wicker basket ready for our library trip.
A short walk to the top road, look left and right at the zebra crossing and there was the portal to a world of books.

Three short steps up to the double wooden doors and admittance into another cocoon-like world. The hushed atmosphere and the woody, musty, but comforting, smell of the myriad resident books.

Prim, neat librarian seated at her desk - looking over the top of her glasses. All seeing, presiding over her kingdom. Did I just detect a kindly twinkle in those eyes?

Granny Clem pottering off to the Adult Fiction Section shelves: A to Z. Catherine Cookson or maybe Paul Gallico . . .

Towards the back of the library I would go. Trying hard not to skip. Children’s Fiction. ‘No, I’ve read that one.’ ‘Oh, that’s new.’ Enid Blyton - who didn’t want to be part of the ‘Famous Five’ adventures? C.S. Lewis - wonderful escapes into fantasy lands. Books: my bedside friends.

The satisfying thwump of the library stamp. Return date imprinted. Plastic enclosed book front cover shut.

Library treasures carefully stowed in the wicker basket. Next stop: newsagent for ‘Woman’s Weekly’ and maybe a liquorice pipe.

Thanks to Grandma Clem and libraries my love of books has been lifelong.

So many books, so little time!