H&S Archive: The magic of libraries and the Shetland Library van
Childhood memories of visiting the library and the library visiting us
This VoiceOver was recorded unedited in my home so there may be a couple of throat clearings and word jumbles along the way, possibly a dog or a cat in the background. Whether it’s something you need or prefer, I hope you enjoy it regardless.
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This post was first published on 16th April 2023 (when Notes was brand new!).
Hello lovely
I love everything about libraries. The quiet that washes over you when you walk in is the first sign of magic. A hush descends over everyone as though we instinctively know it’s a hallowed space, a church hall for books. People edge gingerly past each other, speaking only in whispers or soundlessly mouthing “excuse me” and pointing to a shelf. As a kid silent spaces of slightly grave-looking adults are, as a rule, intimidating but I always found the quiet of the library exciting. Just being in a place filled with so many stories and ideas was amazing to me - it still is. There’s a buzz of energy underneath the quiet, as though the stories are thrumming inside the books - whole worlds lying dormant just waiting to be unleashed by a reader cracking open the pages.
shared a letter about libraries this week on . It’s from E. B. White writing to the children of Troy, Michigan, telling them “what a library can mean to you.” He explains that “a library is many things” and that “if you like to be told a story, the library is the place to go.” He ends with a brilliant line about the power of books: “Books are good company, in sad times and happy times, for books are people---people who have managed to stay alive by hiding between the covers of a book.” It’s true, isn’t it? Books allow our stories to outlive us, to have a life of their own with other people, and the library is their ancestral home.When I was growing up our local library was in Lerwick, a 40-minute drive away from our rural village at the south end of Shetland. It’s still there, in the same (albeit recently refurbished) 1960s building. It’s now light and airy and the children’s section occupies a huge area on the upper floor but when I visited as a child the Junior Library was in a little room on the ground floor next to the main desk. It had high windows, too high to see out of, and apart from the red bucket chairs everything was wooden or an appropriately 80s shade of brown. There was a fairytale mural painted along the wall and I remember staring at the castles and dragons whenever we went in.
Books were shelved at kid height so I’d rifle through looking for the most exciting cover then Mum would hunker down to read to me. When we got books stamped out at the desk to take them home I couldn’t see over the top and always wanted to see better what was going on (this remains an issue as an adult since I only grew to 5’3). There was no computerised system or scanner, of course, just little cards kept in long narrow trays. Most of them were yellow, I think. Maybe some were a faded red. I would listen out for the click-thud, click-thud as they worked through my stack of treasures.
The reference room was a “grown up” space next to the Junior Library. I never went inside even by accident: a seriousness emanated from the room that entirely repelled small children. A peek through the glass door would confirm why: it contained serious books read by serious people sitting seriously at serious tables. You tell they were serious because they weren’t smiling, the books had no pictures, and there was no mural in there just more shades of brown. I imagined everyone in there was very clever and spoke using only long words. Either way, I thought you must have to be highly impressive to be let in there at all.
Little did I know that half the people were in there reading magazines and the only qualification required was to get a bit older (if not taller).
shared a Note this week about working in the library and watching the students: “I love the atmosphere of a student library: desks littered with detritus of revision, the rustle of crisp packets, and the occasional pop of a coke can. Sardines of students at desks, bleary-eyed, hunched in hoodies, massive headphones, no makeup. One stares wistfully out the window, waiting for life to happen.” Despite appearances, I’ve no doubt small children would still find them all very serious and assume they use only long words.Different libraries have seen me through different seasons of life, as I’m sure they have for you: as a toddler going to Lerwick, as a kid at primary school (taking out books on dragons), as a student (all the books, all the time), and now, as a teacher (recommending books, often including dragons). One of the best libraries, though, was the little van that visited our village once a month before I was old enough to go to school. It was as excellent as it sounds - a van with a library inside. A library on wheels. It’s not a new invention (I learned recently that the first ones were horse-drawn!) but it’s a great one. I remember the excitement of waiting for it to arrive knowing that new books, new stories, were about to be delivered.
When the van came I would clamber inside with my Mum and thumb through the books, choosing a giant stack I could take home until the van came back. We were allowed 12 at a time, as far as I remember, and it was the best day of the whole month for tiny book-obsessed me. We’d sometimes request specific books to make sure we got exactly the ones we wanted or to get a favourite book again (I’m sure Mum was delighted). By the time the van came back, we would have read and re-read (“again, again!”) all of them so often that we’d both know them by heart. Reading together is something we did every day whether we were cuddled on the sofa or outside in the sun taking a break from weeding (Mum) and ‘helping’ (me). We’d talk about the pictures, count things on the pages, name the colours, and talk about other stories of our own as we went along.
When the van brought us books what it really brought us was the magic of the library. It gave me the same feeling as Matilda who carried home stacks of books to read in secret with her hot chocolate: “The books transported her into new worlds and introduced her to amazing people who lived exciting lives. She went to nineteenth-century estates with Jane Austen. She went to Africa with Ernest Hemingway and to California with John Steinbeck. She travelled all over the world while sitting in her little room in an English village.” My books choices were a touch less advanced - more Duck Tales than Dostoevsky - but that feeling of being “transported” from my little Shetland village was just the same.
Libraries are always magic but even more so when they’re on wheels.
Do you have a mobile library in your area? If you do, I’d love to know where you are in the world and any memories you have of using it!
Scroll to the bottom for a video about Shetland’s current library vans and to see a bit more of the place I call home.
Take good care
PS - I’ve been sharing a few favourite writers on the new Notes feature and was really excited to see my recommendation get chosen by Substack Reads this week! It was this piece about Beatrix Potter’s coded notebooks by
- it’s so brilliant. If you’ve not already subscribed to her newsletter you definitely should, it’s a gem. ✨Here’s a short film from Promote Shetland about the current mobile library service in Shetland (which is still going strong!) if you want to learn a bit more:
That would be an amazing job! Books and adventure! Shetland is stunning. My daughter works at our university library. I’m jealous.
Love it! I'm just reading "The bookshop on the Corner" by Jenny Colgan which is right on theme 😄