Hello again,
After the nerves and experience of the poetry evening I opted for a less stressful day on Friday with the emphasis on spoiling myself. I was going to be pampered, not with hot towels, mudpacks or soggy seaweed, but with all things bookish. Heaven.
I took the day off work, dressed up and went into Penzance for a 10am tour of Morrab Library. Founded in 1818, it is one of only 19 independent libraries in the UK and is in a large Victorian mansion standing within Morrab Gardens.
Not having lived in the area long, I wasn’t aware of this particular library, I had been using the local council-run one so I took the opportunity to have a guided tour by a member and volunteer who knew the history well. Myself and six others went from room to room where books lined the walls from floor to ceiling. I relaxed in the peace and quiet, sunshine poured into each room through the huge windows and I had to resist the need to sit at one of the antique tables and empty my soul onto paper.
The ambience transported me back to the library at school and to Mr Ewing the Librarian. I thought he had the best job in all the world and wanted to be a Librarian too, but such roles were considered too lofty for a young girl from a small country village where priority was for planting, tending and harvesting the crops; and if you was female, making the snap – copious amounts of tea, sandwiches and cake.
Now, all these years later I desire not to look after the books but strive to write one. Marvelling at the thousands of books in that special place has inspired me to aim to have my book on the Victorian shelves of Morrab; I’m sure they could find space for just one more.
Reluctantly I left Morrab Library and the friendly members, particularly Annabelle Read, the only employed Librarian, all other jobs and duties are performed by member volunteers; I think it’s time I took out a subscription.
I walked quickly across town in the summer rain to the Arts Club where there was to be a talk by author Lilian Harry: ‘Doing your Homework: Research for Writing.’ The talk was being held in the same room as the poetry evening, being in the small space again, packed with an assortment of chairs and sofas, brought back the goose-bumps. Lilian’s books are mostly about the years before and after the second world war so she is certainly experienced in researching.
The amount of research and the lengths she went to was very interesting and demonstrated how one thing can lead to another. How a book plan can change and evolve as more details comes to light. The ladies in the audience and myself hung on her every word and many questions were asked at the end. I liked her ordinariness and down to earth attitude, and while it has taken many years for her to become a successful writer, she encouraged us with wise words and many interesting anecdotes. Her talk was occasionally punctuated by the Arts Club cat who decided to try everyone’s laps for comfort.
By now it was 12.30 and time to switch to lunch mode. Tea and coffee cups were taken away and glasses of chilled white wine replaced them. I had never been to a literary lunch before, it sounded rather grand and the only reason I was braving it on my own was because the guest of honour and speaker was the author Patrick Gale. I have read several of his books, including the most popular of the moment, the best seller, ‘Notes from an Exhibition’, about which he was going to take questions after lunch.
I tried to look nonchalant reading through Lilian’s handout notes while sipping the chilled wine and wishing I’d had lemonade as it had been quite some time since I’d had my porridge and I was feeling slightly squiffy (not a word of mine usually but it seemed appropriate for the company I was currently in.) A stressed waitress came to take my order, to be safe I chose the soup and the lemon sole though later I would regret my choices as the soup was laced with chillis and the sole with bones.
to be continued ... see you tomorrow.
PP
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