Yesterday I settled for a morning of
reading some philosophy in my favourite place, Bromley House Library.
Surrounded by books, silence and overlooking what is regarded as one of the
best examples in the UK of a Georgian garden Bromley House is one of
Nottingham's greatest treasures.
Only a few metres away the great
Nottingham Market Square is its usual busy self. Trams and buses rattle by.
Nearby Nando's and Gregg's are filled with people buying their lunchtime
"Meal Deals" and as I approached the Library's entrance squashed
between a Barnardo's Charity shop and a newsagent and sport memorabilia outlet
I passed the Bell Inn where a homeless young man lay in his sleeping bag asleep
on the pavement oblivious that just a few metres further on four burly hi-vis
jacketed policemen were bundling another young man, this one flailing and
aggressive, into a police car. Nottingham on a bright spring Wednesday morning.
But pass under the unassuming
entrance arch and through the ancient front door of Bromley House Library and
one is instantly transported, Narnia like, from the ordinary and the humdrum and the woes of
city life to another world, a more attentive, comforting and certain time away
from the madcap 21st century streets outside. Here, as others have done for
over two centuries, I can soak up the silence and steadfastness of hundreds of
years of wisdom and great literature seeping from the thousands of volumes that
surround me and line every wall of its myriad of rooms, book lined passageways
and storeys. Ancient books, much local Nottinghamshire history, the latest blockbuster novels, CDs, guide books, audio books and everything else in the literary spectrum is there. No matter that I have been a member for many years, each visit is
a journey of discovery, an ever-exciting experience of finding my way, like
some bygone explorer, through the warren like jungle of rooms, doors,
passageways and staircases, each leading to a different and unexplored magical
trove of great works both ancient and modern. From the walls, old oil
paintings, fading photographs and marble busts of past Bromley House members
and Nottingham's great and good of yesteryear gaze down upon the winged
armchairs, the soft cushions, the polished tables, the reading lamps and the
engrossed silent, old and young literature lovers and academic researchers of
today.
A gentle spring breeze drifts from
the garden and in through the open window behind me and around the corner from
where I sit the smell of coffee from the Library's little refreshment room
fills my nostrils. A fellow member smiles as she passes where I sit in my winged armchair, the spring sun pouring through the window and warming my back. She is on her way to grab a coffee and as she passes she mouths a whispered "Good morning, isn't it a lovely day?" and then disappears to do silent battle with the coffee machine. I smile back in acknowledgment and mouth "Indeed it is", feeling warmed by her smile and courtesy; in Bromley House it is always thus - kindness and courtesy are almost written in as a requirement for membership. In this turbulent, uncertain, brash, shallow and often
despairing world Bromley House is an oasis of solitude and solace, a haven of
treasured certainty and continuity. It is, for me, the still small voice of
wisdom, tolerance and peace in the disturbed, distracted and intemperate world
that we now inhabit.
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