Community

For the love of libraries

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In Exeter Central Library in the ‘80s there was a rocking horse. It sat in the children’s section, regal in its chestnut glory. I waved as I rode to save the fairy kingdom. Later I would thumb through musty picture books. I remember the pleasure of choosing, of lugging my favourites to the desk. The librarian would smile as she stamped return dates inside. Then we’d leave hand in hand, taking the libraries looping path to the city below.

I believe that libraries are one of life’s greatest gifts. Whatever your wealth you can sign up and dig into their treasures. This is socialism in action, the equity of knowledge – of escape through books. The pleasure of reading has followed me from child to adult. Yet a national decline in children reading for pleasure is a trend we should all be worried about.

It is equally shocking to learn that the last 10 years has seen the closure of a fifth of UK libraries. This has worked against librarians advocacy for the joy of reading. On top, the Chartered Institute of Public Finance and Accountancy (CIPFA) highlights a 29.6% reduction in national library spend. Whilst the government blames local decision-makers and vice versa, the public are losing out.

With over a quarter of a million pupils facing literacy poverty and 7.1 million adults struggling to read you’d think this would be a national crisis. But the ‘powers that be’ seem unfazed. Maybe it suits them to leave it this way. Who needs an educated populace challenging the status quo.

But libraries aren’t just places of learning, they are refuges too. Their warmth draws the weary and lonely, the troubled and displaced. They provide a meeting place, a safe space through challenging times.

How many if us know about the 1850’s Public Libraries Act? This pivot point in English social history was driven by reformers and philanthropists. Shoot forward 170 years and we barely celebrate this landmark moment. In our hi-tech, consumer world we’re more likely to order books online than trudge to the library. Yet the libraries social value is as important today as it ever was – maybe more so.

When life gets hard and our pockets empty we can go to the library and get lost in a book. This cost-free ability to escape, to learn and takeaway must not be taken for granted.

We must stand up for our libraries at this critical time. These houses of knowledge need us to shout loud. Above all we must speak up for the less fortunate, the folk that depend on them – for community and hope.

“But libraries are about freedom. Freedom to read, freedom of ideas, freedom of communication. They are about education (which is not a process that finishes the day we leave school or university), about entertainment, about making safe spaces, and about access to information.”

Neil Gaiman, Writer (extracted from a lecture for The Reading Agency 2013

Hull: lit up by the arts

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Photo: Kim Dent-Brown. ‘Made in Hull’ City of Culture 2017 launch

Wrapped up watchers throng the square. The Hull breeze nips at our noses. My son sits on shoulders, he reaches for the stars. The clock strikes, as pictures flood walls and sounds fill the air. Thousands of faces turn to hall, gallery, museum; fine stone buildings, spared from the bombs. The arts light up the city we call home.

History rushes before us – a light-show of oceans, of seafarers, of heroes. We stand, open-mouthed, swept up by the magic. As I look at the watchers I’m moved by the unity. We are different yet similar – our mouths open, tears falling – such is the power of the arts.

This was ‘Made in Hull,’ the launch of Hull’s 2017 City of Culture year. Although nearly four years back, the memory lives on. Ask any local and they’re sure to remember.

Some had sneered at Hull’s win. They’d tagged it a ‘crap town’ years ago. They didn’t care to know the City of Culture at the end of the line. The proud, maritime city, that had birthed poets and playwrights, actors and activists, musicians and mavericks.

They’d not stood at the bar where Minghella and Motion had supped. They’d not read in the library where Larkin had worked. They’d not slept streets away from the Housemartin’s house. They’d not sat in Hull Truck – the launchpad for actors that went on to Oscars. I had done all of those things; I knew Hull’s arts heritage.

Hull 2017 was a turning point, it opened closed minds. Early impact findings showed success. Overall, it brought income, pride, regeneration. The arts united communities, lifted spirits and flipped opinions. Yet, four years on, so much has changed.

Today, as I sit in a cafe overlooking that same square, the arts are in crisis. The sector that contributes more to the economy than agriculture is in free-fall. Across the country, Coronavirus has shut theatres, halls, galleries and entertainment venues. Arts Unions warn of a wave of redundancies.

As we paint rainbows and hope, our government posits that ballerinas trade tutus for security. This is no surprise from a party that’s cut the arts since 2010. Sadly, the arts have been battling austerity long before Corona.

This dismissal of the arts goes beyond funding. It stretches to classrooms, affecting young people. Since 2010, the EBacc has devastated GCSE entries in arts subjects. A focus on academic scores has squeezed technical and creative options. The repeated message to pupils is ‘the arts don’t count.’

This shortsighted policy is at odds with thought leaders. The World Economic Forum puts creativity high, in its 2022 Skills Outlook. Governments should be championing the arts. Ministers should be fostering the skills born out of creating.

Yet here we are, stuck with a rogue virus and a philistine government. We’re looking to a front bench that puts cronies over culture. Make no mistake, the arts are not safe in their hands; the clock is ticking.

So, if you’ve ever loved a film, a concert or a play – this is a call to action. If you’ve ever felt the magic of performance. – this is an alarm bell! If you’ve ever been touched by the arts – this is the time to stand, to shout, to lend your support: www.campaignforthearts.org

The yearning for home

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One of my favourite words is nostalgia. Apart from the way it rolls off the tongue, its meaning moves me. Gifted to us by the Greeks, it’s no accident that it is born from the words nostos (return home) and algos (pain).

This longing for home, for past times and loved ones, has never been stronger than this year. This strange, topsy turvy year, which has ripped the rug from under us. Who knew, when we toasted the first of January, our resolutions would unravel before the Easter Bunny came.

Suddenly, we were hemmed within four walls, if we were lucky to have a place to be. Coronavirus, that peculiar word, filled our ears and mouths. When we should’ve been planning for holidays, we were watching for symptoms.

But, harder than than the cabin fever, the home-school and zoom fatigue, was the separation. The inability to go to people and places that made you feel whole. As you pine, Boris says “stay put!”

The weeks turn into months. As you struggle with home-work-school-work de ja vu, you start to remember. You revisit the unlikeliest memories; nostalgia sweeps you up.

You are walking home from Ladysmith School, for macaroni with a crispy top. You are listening to your mother sing, her voice loops in the air. You are riding on your father’s shoulders, it is green all around. You are tracing the curves of an old violin, its head is a handsome lion. You wash potatoes in the sink with granny, she smells of soap. You dance with your sister, the fire dances too.

Memories flood you like a wave, pulling tears from inside. The emotion is bittersweet, like sherbet, sucked on a journey home. There is pain in the return, yet it reminds you who you are.

Back in the corona cabin, you hanker for a hug, from those that have known you forever. Instead, you are forced to wait, retracing the memory groove. These roots are stronger in middle age. Your 40 something heart, yearning for that Devon air, the red earth beneath your feet.

Then, a voice pulls you back, a holler from downstairs, “Mummy, I’m hungry!” You shake yourself present, return to the now, to beans on toast and cartoons, the dog snoring beside you.

Finding my activist voice 

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I’ve always had an opinion. I’ve always thought and felt deeply about things. Even through shyness I have found my voice when it counted. You know that strange feeling when you’re compelled to speak, to challenge; that heart racing, dry mouth moment?

Injustice galls me: meanness, exclusion, making others feel small. My parents taught me compassion and respect. As the daughter of social workers I grew up with a strong sense that I was fortunate. A burning sense that there was shameful inequality in this world.

I was brought up to care and to think and to act. Even through teenage trials and self doubt I held onto this sense of integrity. As a young woman, making my way in the world I hoped I might make a little difference. I pursued jobs that connected me with community. Roles that gave back – engaged the disenfranchised, unlocked creative learning, empowered people to take a positive, next step.

Globally, these are changing, volatile, times. I’ll never forget, January 21st 2017, watching thousands upon thousands of women taking part in the ‘Women’s March.’ As I watched pink-clad activists come together I was struck by the show of solidarity. The power we have when we unite, is limitless.

With a toupee wearing tyrant across the pond and a failing government at home – who knows where it’ll all end? I can’t help but feel that we are at a tipping point, with so much at stake. I worry about the threat of rolling back, hard-fought rights. I fear for the disregard we have for the planet. A drive to change things spurs me, for my son, for those that come after him.

So, I shall not sit on the sidelines. I shall argue for change and represent the causes that seek to do good. I shall use my voice and my vote, honouring the women that fought for this right.

I can be cautious, I can be shy but now is the time to be bold. My mum has always said I have a lion in side of me. I am mainly calm – but when I roar I roar!