A Library Fails

If ever Miss Frobisher needed a boost it was now.

The library stood at the top of a hill – a gentle incline but enough to give the building an air of importance looking out over the town – and Miss Frobisher often thought it would be nice to have some kind of jet propelled booster to take her up the hill, usually when she was tired or if there was heavy rain. Or wind, she wasn’t keen on wind; such a disruptive force. Miss Frobisher didn’t like disruption.

None of those forces were in play today. Yet still she thought a boost would be nice. She knew why. Mr Jones. The new Head Librarian. Fifteen years of well ordered and purposeful peace in the library and now, after just six months of Mr Jones, such harsh disregard for everything she, a good librarian, held dear about her work. Her step was weary as she ascended.

Eventually she got there and regained her seat at the central desk. She would’ve liked to say her lunch hour had been refreshing but her heavy heart argued otherwise.

But here was her good friend Miss Dove. They nodded companionably to each other and set about their task for the afternoon, which was to start cataloguing and readying for general release this month’s new acquisitions in the children’s department.

This was usually a task the Misses Frobisher and Dove looked forward to and enjoyed completing together. It was always a pleasure to provide fresh wisdom, entertainment and mind expanding materials to their fellow citizens – doubly so when it came to the children of the town. But now they looked at the list of new acquisitions with trepidation, as they had last month and the one before that.

Banned appeared ever more frequently next to new books on the list. Or Potential to be banned so do not order. This was a Mr Jones innovation. He explained he’d adopted a precautionary approach to ensure the library didn’t waste taxpayer’s money, when queried by the Misses Frobisher and Dove. Often in those early days they had questioned what they saw as his blinkered (Miss Frobisher went as far as blind) approach to acquisitions. But their submissions, along with their considerable experience in good librarianship, counted for nothing any more. Mr Jones’ eagerness to censor, to ride roughshod over principles of intellectual freedom and open access that every good librarian must hold, was at the root of all that is wrong with the world today. So had said Miss Dove to Miss Frobisher a couple of months ago when the pair of them had realised what was happening. Miss Frobisher had not only agreed, but a tear had come to her eye and her feelings had got the better of her altogether and she’d had to retire to the staff facility to recompose herself.

And now here they were again.

Here was a wonderful new children’s book about a bus ride – Banned. Miss Frobisher knew, because she made it her business to know, that this had been a New York Times bestseller and one of The Atlantic’s 65 Essential Children’s Books, these among other numerous awards. But this library would not acquire it.

There was another, a new and very popular venture set in the wonderful world of the Wizard of Oz, for goodness sakes – Banned.

The list went on. Not only were there so many crossings out on the list that Miss Frobisher lost count, there was also a new section: Books to be removed from shelves. When the two of them had taken this in they looked at each other in horror. This was too much.

“We have to do something,” whispered Miss Frobisher to Miss Dove.

“Yes but what?”

They both knew there was no point in trying to go higher up – trying to circumvent Mr Jones to seek reason in higher echelons. They knew he, Mr Jones, was the eager fixer, the messenger with sharp claws, for dark forces that crowded in.

“Well, we’ve got to think,” Miss Frobisher sounded determined. She glanced surreptitiously around at the scattering of library users sitting quietly at tables or browsing shelves. She loved the atmosphere of absorbed and applied silence in the place. It was testimony to all the library stood for – for all, to be fair, that Miss Frobisher stood forand, she would daresay, all that Miss Dove stood for too.

Rather than continue with their whispering, for you never knew where hostile ears might dwell, Miss Frobisher produced her private, non-standard issue notepad and wrote in her clear and practised hand: Tonight, let’s go to Hall’s at 7 and discuss with Cheryl. She showed the note to Miss Dove who, seeming to Miss Frobisher rather more thrilled than she should, picked up her pen (a nice Parker, also non-standard issue) and wrote underneath: Ah yes, in secret! Next to which she drew an image that looked like a phone emoji of a winking person. Miss Frobisher smiled at this, thinking it rather unnecessary but deciding to be indulgent. She carefully put her notepad away in her bag and they both focussed on administering their library for the afternoon with the utmost discretion and expertise. It went without saying that the courtesy and thoughtful guidance they displayed to the many grateful users of the library was beyond reproach.

Serene though she appeared that afternoon, Miss Frobisher was anything but. An idea was germinating within her. It wasn’t necessarily a good idea, but an idea, at least, it was. She found time to send a text message to Cheryl Rochefort, proprietor of the town’s bookshop, to alert her to the desired meeting.

That evening Miss Frobisher descended the hill faster than was usual for her and promptly at 6.55pm she was to be found striding along Main St on her way to Hall’s The Booksellers. The original Mr Hall had been a practical man with a deep love of the written word (an unusual combination) which he had passed on to his only daughter, along with a well founded, solid and respected business in the town. Cheryl Rochefort ran the bookshop successfully with a great deal of energy and enterprise.

Cheryl was greatly admired by Miss Frobisher for her deep commitment to spreading her love of books to everyone she could and the two were good friends, despite moving as they did in different orbits.

“Hi Jane, come on through,” said Cheryl warmly, “Millie is already here.” It was a convention long held between them that the Misses Frobisher and Dove became, respectively, Jane and Millie as soon as they came into the company of Cheryl Rochefort. She would have it no other way and Jane and Millie, for their part, rather liked it. These were, after all, their names.

When they were settled and Cheryl had informed her assistant out in the shop that they weren’t to be disturbed, Jane Frobisher set about bringing her up to date on the latest developments at the library. Cheryl knew the background. Indeed, on more than one occasion these three had shared a bottle of wine at one or other of their houses while they lamented the lost integrity, as it seemed to them, of the library and indeed the world in general, when it came to books. These were evenings they all enjoyed, despite the sad subject matter up for discussion.

At the meeting, it became clear from all Jane was saying that things had now reached a critical point. Millie produced Mr Jones’ list for Cheryl’s inspection and asshe read, Cheryl’s normally cheerful demeanour slipped away and was replaced by something approaching horror.

But Jane hadn’t finished.

“Now, the question is, what are we going to do about all this?” She didn’t wait for an answer, because she already had one. “I’ve been thinking about that and it seems to me we need to do two things, to start off with at least. Firstly, we need people to understand what’s going on so that means making that list public.” She nods at the list Cheryl is still holding. “And secondly we need to ensure people have access to all the books on there.”

“Well it’s no problem for me to stock them and sell them,” Cheryl said, “But that does cause one major problem,” She looks from one librarian to the other. “It is this. I will have to charge people for the books. They will have to buy them. That’s a key difference from the library, especially for people out there who are already struggling.”

“You are quite right Cheryl.” It was clear that Miss Frobisher – for it was very much the librarian who answered – had already given this problem some thought. “The point of a library is to make the entire vast breadth of human knowledge available to all, regardless of social standing, race, socio-economic -”

“Yes indeed Jane,” interrupted Cheryl, who had much experience of her friend’s prodigious ability to expand at length when it came to principles of librarianship and the like, “But am I right in thinking you have an idea for that too?”

“I do.” Jane was used to being brought back to the point after she’d launched herself on an explanation of a matter of principle and so was unfazed. She looked at each of her co-conspirators with sudden intensity. “We fundraise. We create a book group especially for children and we raise funds for it, then we buy these banned books and they get circulated around the group members, like, well, like a private library.”

After taking a few moments to absorb this, Cheryl and Millie both smiled.

“The Book Band, we could call it!” Millie exclaimed, with a little hand clap.

That was quickly agreed, with much admiration. Apart from the obvious word play, Cheryl thought it could be a very good publicity hook. She was already seeing banners showing children banging drums and blowing trumpets surrounded by books.

They moved on to the detail of the scheme. “We will need to circulate your list,” said Cheryl. They all looked at the offending piece of paper before them.

Millie’s face clouded. “But we can’t, can we? They’ll know it was us. We’d get fired – at the very least.”

But Jane put a calming hand on her friend’s arm. “I think we can do something about that,” she said.

************

So it was that Jane Frobisher and Millie Dove found themselves, only a week later, crouched in the shrubbery along the side of the library building on a dark and windy night, dressed all in black and looking the very definition of criminality. Millie carried a torch and Jane had a hammer.

They crept along with their attention on the darkened windows that faced out over the shrubbery.

“Here,” breathed Jane, “It’s this one.”

Standing on tiptoe they could just manage to peer carefully through the window. Mr Jones’ office. As expected, the room was in darkness, empty. Jane produced a roll of duct tape and they set about taping one of the window panels, before taking refuge back among the bushes.

“Are you ready Millie? There shouldn’t be a lot of noise, that tape will make sure of that.”

Millie nodded. She was barely able to speak, her breath coming in short excited little gasps.

“Remember, you help me up, just like we practised, and I’ll go in, quickly make it look like a break-in then you be ready for me as I come out.”

“Yes, yes Jane, but, you know, it is one.” Millie managed to say in between gasps.

“It is one what, dear?” Jane was keyed up for the endeavours ahead and somewhat distracted.

“It is a break-in.”

Jane gave her friend a thin but determined smile and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Millie wasn’t used to this sort of thing, she reminded herself – but then nor was she.

For the past week they had intensively practised their manoeuvres and carefully researched the quietest methods for smashing windows. There were no two people in the town, or for miles beyond come to that, who were better at research. If Mr Jones had had any idea what these two diligent librarians had been researching and for what purpose… The Misses Frobisher and Dove had done well to quickly banish such thoughts as soon as they formed. Next, they hadn’t had long to wait for a windy night with no moon.

They sprang into action like a well-oiled machine.

The window pane was dispatched with minimum fuss or noise and with only marginally less grace than a ballerina, Miss Frobisher sprung from Miss Dove’s shoulders onto the ledge and into the breached office. She did, of course, know where Mr Jones kept the keys to his filing cabinets. Fortunately, paper records of just about everything were still an important part of this library’s life and Jane the intruder set about pulling out papers, strewing them across the office and making effective use of the hammer wherever this seemed warranted. In short, she had an enjoyable minute in there.

Then back out onto the waiting Millie’s tense shoulders, carefully down to terra firma and away the two of them went, like panthers in the night.

The ensuing hue and cry was gratifying to behold for all three of them. Cheryl Rochefort said that the talk in the town was of little else, while the faux shocked Misses Frobisher and Dove did their duplicitous best to calm the apoplectic Mr Jones. They even did a bit of bonding with him over this shared outrage, which Miss Frobisher thought a nice touch.

Then, when all had died down and things returned to normal, with only the perplexing question remaining as to why the break in had occurred, The List surfaced and gradually the town understood the great perils of so blindly narrowing the tracks.

As befits an idea whose time has come, The Book Band was a great success, with additional groups quickly needed – Book Bands two and three. Jane, Cheryl and Millie thrived in the midst of it alland if anyone made any connections to the break-in they weren’t saying.

When Jane Frobisher looked up at the library on her way to work, about to once again climb the hill, she no longer felt the need of a boost but instead would smile in a satisfied way as she stepped lightly on. And if the wind blew, she never again disapproved of its disruptive tendencies. In fact she rather liked the feel of it on her face.