Banned From The Library ....

It’s more than likely that I’ve written about this unhappy episode previously because even after all this time, reaching back into the dim past it emerges readily as a rather nasty skirmish and one you would not be liable to forget easily.  To make matters worse we had certainly not behaved as badly before and we were more than old enough to know better.   We definitely didn’t intend to become banned from the library for six weeks and to be honest it came as rather a shock.  

It wasn’t like us at all.  On the whole Molly and I were dependably well behaved children because, as my mother was fond of pointing out, we knew Right from Wrong.  Our behaviour that day was most decidedly Wrong.  On the other hand there was definitely something energising about engaging in belligerent and confronting conduct that emulates those classmates – usually boys – whose day to day behaviour was reliably abysmal thus regularly earning them admiration and respect from the rest of us.   I knew that the only reason I was known as Good was because I was frightened of what would happen if I wasn’t.   I suppose I was rather easily intimidated but I don’t think that applied to Molly and I never thought of her in that way.  Being a Leader rather than a Follower she had something of a reputation to keep up which at times must have been tiresome.   I was generally a Follower wishing I had enough spirit to become a Leader.

Northfleet Library was situated at that time in a rather impressive Victorian house at number one London Road.   The Children’s Library was in the old kitchen quarters and closed at five o’clock in winter and somewhat later in summer and it was then that the Children’s Librarian locked up and either went home or simply went upstairs to work for another hour or two in the Adult Library.   The Children’s Librarians back then were Miss Ivy Semark who was liked by everyone and Miss Doreen with the forgotten surname who didn’t like children at all and was universally disliked.   The Head Librarian was Miss Webster who rarely if ever appeared downstairs among the junior shelves and if she ever glanced at us at all it was always with icy disapproval.  

The library had become very important to Molly and me and contemplating life without it would have ensured a certain degree of horror.  But of course we didn’t contemplate life without it and because it was a mere ten minute walk from York Road we visited it after school twice weekly.   In those less enlightened days we were called Junior Borrowers were only allowed to take out one fiction book at each visit bolstered by two non-fiction.   This did not seem quite fair to us at the time because we had little desire to know more about physics, aeronautics or how to play Chess and in fact little on the copious non-fiction shelves attracted us unless it was authored by Enid Blyton.    That was not quite as unlikely as it sounds because she was in the habit of writing liberally on Nature Study and from time to time retold tales from both the Old and New Testaments.

Miss Blyton remained our author of choice over a number of years and if we were unable to briskly denude Northfleet Junior Library of every available as yet unread title at each visit we turned our attention to Pamela Brown, Lorna Hill, Monica Edwards or Noel Streatfield.   Failing that reliably popular bunch of children’s writers we might occasionally dip into Richmal Crompton or Malcolm Saville.   We did not venture towards Tolkien and had no real desire to widen our horizons too drastically so when Miss Ivy Semark after attending a Saturday Seminar in Maidstone enthusiastically suggested to us that we might really enjoy Eve Garnett’s Family From One End Street we were quite shocked because we definitely did not want to read anything that reminded us too much of our own monotonous and needy working class lives.   Looking back it seems astonishing how easily we accepted those tales of middle class children some equipped with Nannies and Cooks and holidays in Cornwall who were nothing like us at all, how effortlessly we accepted the values that lay between the pages.

You would quite rightly consider that being as emotionally dependent upon the Northfleet Junior Library as we clearly were, we would have had more sense than to misbehave so significantly, but we were clearly not imbued with a great deal of common sense.   On that particular Friday afternoon we for some reason or other decided to make the life of Miss Doreen of the forgotten surname as difficult as possible as we ran in and out of the old kitchen and scullery, up and around the area, laughing hysterically and ensuring that she found it impossible to lock up.   Eventually, tiring of the game and becoming excitedly exhausted we headed for home congratulating each other on how surprised she had been and saying things like:   I bet she didn’t expect that! – and:  She’ll have to think twice when she next sees us!  

We did have just a sneaking moment of doubt a few days later when we went together to return The Swish of the Curtain and Ballet Shoes together with The Life of Mozart and The Bumper Blyton Woodland Book.   We entered the Junior Library as quietly as possible and might even have bid Miss Ivy Semark a good afternoon because we were very glad to note that it was not her colleague at the desk.     For an agonising moment or two she said nothing before looking directly at us and asking us to follow her up to Miss Webster’s office.  We did so, after exchanging horrified glances.   

Miss Webster’s office was just like that of Miss Dennis at Colyer Road Girls’ School – that’s what Molly told me as we walked home twenty minutes later in a very subdued silence.  She was in her first year at Colyer Road and had already been hauled before the headmistress for what was called a Uniform Breach which meant you were wearing something forbidden.   Molly said that in her case it had been the wrong colour gym slip and that it wasn’t her fault because her mother had simply made a mistake and the navy blue one was to be returned to the Uniform Shop and exchanged for forest green.   Miss Dennis had been reasonably kind at that stage apparently but her kindness dwindled when the exchange did not happen quite as rapidly as she had expected.   I was not familiar with headmistresses and their offices because I was still in my last year at St Botolph’s where the headmaster was the greatly dreaded Mr Cooke and only badly behaved boys ever got sent to report themselves to him where, no matter what misdemeanours had occurred they were routinely screamed at and caned.   The entire female population of the school was far too terrified of Mr Cooke to risk any hint of conduct he would not completely approve of.   In fact he terrified Pearl Banfield so much that she routinely took Friday afternoons off because that’s when he was most likely to take us for Arithmetic which he called Mathematics.    

Although Miss Webster was not likely to emulate any of Mr Cooke’s unpleasant traits she did demonstrate something of the manner and bearing of a Headmistress and it was this that made us shrivel before her that particular afternoon and wish we could disappear into the swirls of the faded Axminster we stared down into.   She told us that our behaviour had been disgraceful, contemptible, shocking and she was still debating as to whether it should be reported to our schools at which point I began to cry, desperately wondering if Mr Cooke ever caned girls.   However, after due consideration of the fact that it was to her knowledge our first transgression, she was prepared to give us the benefit of the doubt and a second chance.   We were instead going to be banned from the library – for six weeks! When you are ten years old six weeks is a very long time indeed.   When you are a book lover and you have few books available at home it looms before you as endless.   Back then schools were not in the habit of allowing pupils to borrow reading matter and we did not have the kind of parents who would agree to add something suitable to the weekly shopping list.   Molly’s mother did buy comics for her and her brother George each week – Beano, Dandy and Film Fun but mine maintained that she totally disapproved of comics.   I was never sure if she was not just exhibiting a meanness of spirit.

I’m not sure if I ever revealed to my parents that I had been banned from the library but probably I didn’t because I would always rather avoid any kind of confrontation that might involve a degree of honesty.   It’s more than possible that neither of them noticed I had largely given up reading for six weeks.   It was the Eleven Plus year so I might conceivably have announced that I was going to concentrate on passing the exam.  I was well aware that this would appeal to my father who was extremely keen that I should attend the grammar school if at all possible.    He would have been delighted to think I intended to focus on gaining entry to it to the exclusion of even Enid Blyton.   Later that year we heard that to my surprise – and certainly to his, that I had failed.    Molly said I should be grateful because there was an awful lot of homework involved in attending the grammar school and those who were unlucky enough to find themselves there definitely had far less time for reading.