The white strip of card read: Rowena Draper Librarian.
It might as well have finished with an RIP. Instead, the customary redundancy package was now sitting in my bank waiting for my unemployed state. Or maybe; a reckless alcohol infused cruise, or a bribe to a publisher for recognizing my talent as a novelist? Once the locker was empty I slid the name card out and pushed it deep into my coat pocket. It would be a keepsake. Council cuts were to blame for this being the worst day of my life; the best, being the day I started at the library on my twenty first birthday, thirty years ago.
Icy rain stung as I trudged home scowling at the Christmas lights still roped across the main street. Post festive cheer had disappeared as hooded townsfolk dodged frozen puddles. There were no friendly smiles, only frowns of deadly intent on getting home as quickly as possible. In the yard of the moors railway, the steam trains stood silent. The hiss and clanking of activity wouldn’t begin again until nearer Easter. Opposite, on the hilltop stood our medieval castle and below, the glow from a cottage window guided me home, where tonight I would be having a shepherd’s pie ready meal for one and a glass of Pinot.
My fingers were numb from the cold and I struggled to get the key in the lock.
‘Might need your shovel tomorrow Rowena. Snow’s forecast.’ Geoff, one of the volunteers on the railway shouted and waved to me from the top of the bridge.
Tomorrow – Ugh!
The next morning I woke exhausted. In my dreams I had welcomed every one of my ‘regulars,’ young and old, through the library doors. As well as the many tourists who descend on our market town every year. Since the Tourist Information office closed down, my role as librarian had extended above and beyond. I’d helped choose books, given directions to places of interest, handed out timetables, recommended tea rooms and answered so many questions on the history of the town that at times I felt like a walking encyclopedia.
What exactly had I been? Part librarian and part tourist information person. The rumbling kettle gushed out steam and then clicked itself off. Thoughts of cruises and writing best sellers made percolation longer, just what I needed. The stronger the better this morning while my fanciful thoughts were processed.
After two slices of toast, topped with a thick layer of butter and a dollop of orange marmalade, I walked on to the Memorial Hall for the Town Council’s public meeting. I have an inherent need to be updated on all things current. Not quite sure why though, now that I was no longer public relations officer (another of my past roles) Habit I suppose, or a case of, just can’t let go.
Polly rushed towards me as soon as the automatic doors allowed me access.
‘What does it feel like? Do you feel liberated? If you get bored we could do with an extra pair of hands here.’
Seeing her beaming smile and bouncing red curls as she grabbed me in a suffocating hug was comforting. Polly and I go way back, as far as infant school. She took politics and law. I took languages; history and English.
I don’t know about writing that book you’re always on about, but you could certainly tell a tale or two about our sleepy little market town. You could be a tour guide.’
‘Could I?’ I felt a frisson of excitement. ‘Could I really?’
‘Why not?’ Polly was laughing. ‘Who else knows as much about the town as you?’
‘You wouldn’t believe some of the things going on here. Sleepy quaint Pickering…don’t you believe it. Past and present, there’s more to this area than moors, impressive castles and historical steam railways you know. Espionage, trafficking, and did you ever hear what happened to Ellen Smiddy?
‘NO what? ‘
‘Exactly! She just disappeared. And you remember ‘Lucan’? Well we’ve got one of them here too!’
My mind whirled. Trust and community spirit was all I had ever known. Had I been ingenuous to the people around me?
‘I’d need to brush up on my languages; especially Japanese. We get a lot of tourists from the Orient. But Arabic! Now that’s one I never did get to grips with.’
‘Well there’s nothing to stop you Rowena, no hoops to go through. You could enrol on a course that would affiliate you and get a badge; but with your qualifications I can’t see you’d even need that.’
‘That easy? You mean I can just start up advertising and set a date for my first tour?’ Polly was grinning at me and nodding.
It had to sink in. Setting up a business, advertising tours. A few minutes was all it took. That’s it! That’s what I’ll do.
I’ll become a tour guide!
Follow Rowena’s: ‘New Start.’
In future ‘Wordbotherers’
(c) 2024 Lillian Bradbury.
