Hooptedoodle #434 - Bookmark and Ramifications

And we note our place with book markers, that measure what we've lost

 I was looking through some old books the other morning - trying to find some military reference or other, and a suitably old bookmark fluttered to the floor.

I must have been given this to accompany a book purchase, one among so many. The old-style telephone number (031 for Edinburgh) indicates that this purchase must have been before 1995 [I knew you'd spot that, Watson], though I am surprised that the insertion of a "1" as second digit of UK phone numbers was as recent as that. No matter.

I am a little embarrassed to relate that I had a single employer from the time I left university until I took early retirement, and for much of that period I was based in or around George Street, and for a large proportion of my lunch breaks I would have been in The Edinburgh Bookshop for some of the time. It wasn't an especially brilliant bookshop - it was always overshadowed locally by James Thin's and Baumeister's and the many specialist booksellers in the Old Town, but - well, it was in George Street, wasn't it? On wet days, cold days and just plain boring days I would traipse along to No.57 after my lunch.

It wasn't a very welcoming store. In charge of the shop-floor were two older ladies who always wore black - very serious older ladies. They were devoted followers of the old Edinburgh principle that anyone who worked in a shop was a cut above anyone who might have the temerity to shop there, and they were very hard on anyone who did not conform to their high standards.

Right at the start of my interest in wargaming, I went into the EB (which, confusingly, was usually known locally as "Brown's", though I never met anyone who remembered it actually being Brown's - I suspect it was one of those social tricks to make outsiders feel uncomfortable) to order the Osprey book about the Iron Brigade. They had a stand of Ospreys, so, since I couldn't find the Iron Brigade, I was encouraged to ask.

Mistake. One of the two Angels of Death rolled her eyes at me, and refused to order it.

"Our stock of these is bewildering, we have lots of them, I think the quality is very poor, and I am not going to order a single copy. I'm sure that if you look in again you may find the item you are looking for, though why anyone should be interested in such matters escapes me."

Right.

That kind of sets the tone. I was just a spotty actuarial trainee at the time, and was used to being abused as part of my normal day, so I was not scarred by the experience, and I bought the book on a trip to Newcastle, later the same year. Visiting "Brown's" became a ritual punishment for my colleagues and me - there were many tales of retribution.

My friend Jake Mansfield was asked to leave on one occasion, because he was carrying a Woolworths carrier bag; it was explained to him that a lot of important people patronised the shop, and it was necessary to preserve the tone of the place. Paul Levack was asked to leave because he was carrying a box of cream cakes, obtained from the patisserie next door - maybe this was more understandable. Andy Scott was asked to stop chewing gum.

We were always on our best behaviour - you can understand why.

There were some prominent visitors, in fact - one regular was Professor Peter Higgs (of boson fame), whom I knew slightly because he had been my Mathematical Physics lecturer for one year at university, and there were all manner of lawyers and medical consultants and financial superheroes - none of whom I knew at all, naturally.

I remember one particular incident with affection - it encapsulates so many human frailties in one short lesson, I feel...

I was in "Brown's" at lunchtime, as usual, and decided to ask if they could obtain a particular book for me. The shop was fairly quiet, and I realised with a sinking heart that I would have to speak to one of the Black Sisters. She was already "helping" someone else - generally nondescript middle-aged man, rather below average height, I recall. I stood behind him, to wait my turn. He was not doing well; the lady in charge was becoming very exasperated - shaking her head and being even more rude than usual. He had obviously brought into the shop some kind of a receipt for something he had ordered previously.

"Oh, this is ridiculous - what is all this here? [pointing]"

"I'm sorry, your colleague completed the order - I believe that is the title of the book, is it not?"

"[Theatrical sigh] I can see that it is a title - no - this, here - 'Melville' - is that supposed to be the author?"

"No - no, that is my name..."

"MELVILLE?? - what sort of a name is that? - Melville What? - or is it Mr Melville?"

"No - I'm sorry - it's my name - I am the Viscount Melville."

The lady leapt to attention - like a ramrod; she didn't salute, but I would not have been surprised if she clicked her heels together. Obviously she had been blind-sided by one of these important customers she used to speak of, and what followed was a demonstration of fawning obsequiousness which was so embarrassing that I actually crept away and left them to it. This must be what happens when someone takes a hefty kick in the value-set. I have never forgotten it. The lady in question must have been dead for many years now, but I still remember the occasion with a gentle warmth. Ahhh...   

Edinburgh Bookshop disappeared around 2006. For a time it may have been Ottakers, I believe it was actually a branch of the great rival, James Thin's, for a little while, which must have hurt them deeply. It must have been knocked for six by the arrival of Waterstones, and it was certainly finished off by the rescheduling of George Street to become a very posh shopping area. Nowadays if you cannot eat it or sip it or wear it you will not find it in George Street. Such is progress. Last time I looked, No.57 was a shop selling up-market outdoor sports clothing, but  that may have changed now. The only remaining clue was the iconic clock over the front door.

I was astonished that I cannot find any old photos of The Edinburgh Bookshop online - not even Brown's. I had intended to include a suitably gloomy b&w shot. Just nothing. I spent so many hours there, over the years, on my very best behaviour, and it has vanished without trace. That's not easy to get your head around. There is a new Edinburgh Bookshop now, in Bruntsfield Place, away from the city centre, but they are a completely separate operation; just to be sure, I phoned them up - I spoke to a charming, friendly, helpful lady who was unaware that the old shop had ever existed, and who obviously wouldn't have lasted ten minutes with them, back in the day.

Perhaps I imagined it?