SO, SO LONG, NOT-SO-OLD FRIEND When John Madin’s Central Library was seven, my Mum would take me into town when she was a cleaner at The Grapevine pub (latterly The Yardbird), nestled close-by the Library. In the early morning before the workers arrived in the city, I’d skate around the library, jump in its empty pools and run around its concrete pillars. I thought the Vogons had arrived, ready to begin demolition of the Earth from the B1 postcode. Out of breath from running around it, I’d stand and stare at it. Partly out of wonder and partly out of trepidation. When it was eight, I’d go into it with school where I found excitement by playing with toys and books in the comfort of its children’s section. That white arc that separated the library floor from the reading area will always stay with me. When it was 14, I’d spend most weekends with it. Finding a quiet space to flick through a history or an art book. Introducing me to exotic ideas and tales.I’d look puzzled at the engineering books. I would talk to its librarians about the future. When it was 18, it guided me through turbulent times. When neither parents or college could make me see sense, I found solace and space to knuckle down for my A-levels in its calm study areas. And flirt with the girls. When it was 20 and I had my first job, I’d spend my midweek mornings trawling through rolls of bendy microfiche films doing research for the radio show I was working on. We went our separate ways for a while in its mid-twenties when I went to university. I’d pay it visits on holidays, checking its aisles of books I’d first found as a teenager. It meant home and safety to me. It meant hope, optimism and a place where possibilities could be thought about and worked out. In its 30s I’d moved away but on a trip to town I’d sometimes walk its floors. I’d sit at a study table overlooking its muddled interior of shops and pubs. People watching. Feeling at home. I can’t bear to see it go as it has been part of my life since my early years. Its books, people and their ideas have consciously, and who knows, unconsciously nudged and guided me in my life. Everything I hold dear about ideas, about the potential for us all to learn and grow, about the importance and dignity of curiosity and knowledge, probably started in the old Central Library. Or standing from the outside as a playing, jumping and skating child. So, so long, not-so-old friend.
