We lined up in small groups, invariably holding hands with a
partner. The heels of our leather shoes
tapped along the polished surface of the hallway leading to the double
doors. I remember the excitement. There it was.
Parked along the curb. The
Bookmobile!
Proceeding in what a casual observer would consider an
orderly fashion, I inwardly squirmed like an excited puppy. Anticipation peaked at the two-step entrance
as the stuffy smell of new carpet wafted through the open doorway. The blue floor-covering looked pristine− even
though that was not a word in my vocabulary at the age of seven. I recall hesitating, wondering if I should
remove my shoes.
Entering the mobile library and circling the rows of books was
as thrilling to me as a field trip. I
don’t recollect having field trips as a child, but if I had, I could not have
been more eager. We did not speak−not
even in whispers. In a well-behaved manner,
we waited patiently while the librarian initialled the card at the front of our
chosen books, each of us mouthing the word thank you as we turned to leave.
Beaming, I stepped down to the pavement, bony knees
protruding from my box pleated navy jumper.
I walked smartly back to the classroom; a book tucked tightly against my
skinny frame. A treasure I could enjoy
for a whole two weeks before the Bookmobile rolled around to our school again.
That memory and my love of books and libraries have not
diminished throughout the years. Yet as
time passes, I notice a change in the library etiquette. It is not the reverent silent oasis of my
childhood.
I introduced my granddaughter to the library when she was a
toddler. The small local branch had a
spacious colourful children’s section that included an abundance of wooden
puzzles and a play table with an assortment of stimulating toys. I would read a storybook with her perched on
my lap and then allow time for puzzles and play. It was our habit to choose another storybook to
read after we returned home.
This became a much-anticipated activity. Now as Sophie approaches her fifth birthday,
we still include a trip to the library with each visit. Her little sister Sadie accompanies us
whenever possible.
Sophie and I have explored several libraries within the
county. I instilled in my granddaughter a
respect for libraries. We must refrain
from making noise, and aside from quiet reading, keep conversation to a
minimum. Much to my chagrin, at the age
of three, Sophie shushed two talking librarians. This is a
libaary, she reminded them.
However, visiting the larger centres is very different. The noise level has increased
considerably. I am disappointed to see
children racing and screaming, falling down and rolling on the floor. Mothers slouched in chairs balancing a Tim
Horton’s and an iphone. The play areas
resemble day care centres. The first
time we encountered this behaviour, Sophie clung to my side. Inexplicably, I felt I had let her down. That I had misinformed her. That I had taught her something that was no
longer relevant.
Sophie looked at me and said, No running in a library. Right,
Nana? My reply was lost in the din.