Shop 4/ 1 Dawson St Strathalbyn SA 5255 0438847329 tbkstrathalbyn@gmail.com Tuesdays to Saturdays 10am to 4pm

Month: April 2022

The family who read a lot

The Book Keeper4 Comments on The family who read a lot

Two women and a heap of kids came into the shop. One of the women hugged an atlas. She kept looking at the front of it, turning her head to one side. A little boy chose one small Zac Powers book at a time and ran it over to me. Then returned for another one. Sometimes he took a book and flew it from room to room like a plane before adding it to the stack in front of me. He added 11 Zac Powers books. A little girl removed half the Zacs and put them on the floor in front of the counter. The boy added another one.

The women with the atlas passed the counter again in a serene ordered way. The other women had novels. She said, ‘I love novels’. Another child watched the atlas float by at her eye level and found her own atlas. She added it to the stack, standing, I think, on the Zac Powers pile, luckily left there for her small sandalled foot.

An older child piled a series of novels she’d found on the top of the Zac Powers.  ‘I’ve been looking for this a long time’. She added a Minecraft book. One woman said, ‘I don’t really know what this Minecraft is, but she does, so we’ll get it. The older child’s face became a lit lamp. The little girl added a book about snakes. Then one about frogs. The atlas passed us again, now with another smaller art book lying on top of it like a slice of something else. The Zac Powers boy zoomed and swooped and added a copy of Possum Magic. His mother said, ‘Oh good.’ And his face became the second lit lamp.

Every time I go past this window I see a book, and I’ve read it

The Book Keeper4 Comments on Every time I go past this window I see a book, and I’ve read it

Three ladies together came into the shop, travellers; they told me they’re in their happy place in a bookshop. They gave each other things to look at.

‘This will do you, Nabby.’

On lady said, ‘When I was growing up, I got all my books free.’

Another lady said, ‘I really love the very old Penguin books because you get some fabulous writers….right back to the 1900s.’

The third lady said, ‘Look at this. This book was just waiting here for me.’

They moved around holding things up and talking about them. They were all wearing delicate colours and scarves and reusable soft bags they unfolded from tiny rectangles. They talked about the beach.

‘The beach is finished now girls. Next year.’ They were all looking down at books, and they all laughed into the books.

Painting by Angela Morgan

Prayer by Carol Ann Duffey

The Book Keeper4 Comments on Prayer by Carol Ann Duffey

Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So, a woman will lift
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift.

Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters our hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.

Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales,
console the lodger looking out across
a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls
a child’s name as though they named their loss.

Darkness outside. Inside, the radio’s prayer –
Rockall, Malin, Dogger, Finisterre.

Painting by Sir Frank Brangwyn

Note: Rockall, Malin, Dogger, and Finisterre are a reference to the British Shipping forecasts: “Because of its unique and distinctive sound, the (Shipping Forecast) broadcasts have an appeal beyond those solely interested in nautical weather. The waters around the British Isles are divided into sea areas, also known as weather areas and many listeners find the well-known repetition of the names of the sea areas almost hypnotic, particularly during the bedtime (for Britain) broadcast at 00:48 UK time.”
From Weblog “While there is still time” by Asha (http://whilethereisstilltime.blogspot.com/…/rockall…)

Paul Keating has an amazing intellect

The Book Keeper5 Comments on Paul Keating has an amazing intellect

Somebody said this at my window, tapping on the glass to show his friend that Paul Keating has an amazing intellect. But they didn’t come into the shop.

That’s ok, it’s the school holidays and the readers are out leaping into the shop with narrowed eyes like hunters on the path of something. One young woman announced herself to me but turned midsentence, already at the biographies and not finishing the sentence.

But that’s ok, I needed to sit down after battling the autumn leaves in the doorway again. And again. Every morning they come back and wait for me. My broom is coming apart.

When I was out there sweeping, an old lady asked me, ‘Did you get that book I wanted and can’t remember?’ But I hadn’t found it. I couldn’t remember it either, and she patted my arm and said, ‘Not to mind. I’ll leave you to your sweeping up.’

Sarah came in needing a number for a taxi. She said that what was going on in Lismore wasn’t good enough.

Robert came in after a year’s absence and started right off where we’d finished last May. His newest news was that he’d saved a lot of money by giving up smoking. He’d saved thousands. So now he could buy some books. But then he remembered that he’d taken up smoking again, and he showed me a plastic wallet of tobacco which reminded me of my grandfather. I almost said Tally Ho, but I didn’t. Robert said that the tobacco cost him $150 and looked furious about it. But then he noticed behind me on a shelf, The Secret Doctrine by H P Blavatsky, Quest Book, Theosophical Publishing House. He read all this out loud. Then he said, ‘I’ll have that.’

We looked at each other, pleased, and then talked about tobacco some more. Then he rushed out to do other errands, and Jim came in and ordered an esoteric type of book that I’d ordered before – for Robert. I told Jim, and he said, ‘I know, Robert gave me a lift in to Strath and told me to get one.’ So I got one for him. I said, ‘How’s Clayton, and he said, ‘Yeah, well you know how it is.’ Which I didn’t, but I agreed anyway.

The girl who was amongst the biographies came back to the counter with a pile. There was 1 historical, 5 crimes, 2 biographies, 2 children’s flats and 1 art book. She bobbed up and down while she paid, flexing leg muscles and looking powerful. I said, indicating Wolf Hall, ‘This is good’, and she said powerfully, ‘I know, my mum told me about it.’

Anthony came in for science fiction. An ambulance and police car went past, and then a CFS truck. He said, ‘that sounds bad’.

A silent young couple came in and looked at just about everything and left silently. I said, thanks for coming in, but they didn’t reply. A lady asked for a book about a certain type of guitar. Another lady asked for spiritual Christian fiction and then left with nothing and looking unsatisfied. I went to the bakery for a chocolate doughnut and there were none left and I came back with nothing and feeling unsatisfied.  

Then someone tapped on the window and called out to his friend that Paul Keating has an amazing intellect. The friend nodded with folded arms not looking interested. The man remained bent over and slowly examined all the other books in the window. They didn’t come in.

All in all a satisfying day. Except for the autumn leaves. Lol.

Illustration by Konstantin Mashkarin

The book had been written

The Book Keeper2 Comments on The book had been written

“…the book had been written with winter nights in mind. Without a doubt, it was a book for when the birds had flown south, the wood was stacked by the fireplace, and the fields were white with snow; that is, for when one had no desire to venture out and one’s friends had no desire to venture in.”
Amor Towles, A Gentleman in Moscow
Painting by Brad Relish

Easter. While in Quarantine.

The Book Keeper2 Comments on Easter. While in Quarantine.

At Easter, Saturday evening,  warm and still and evening. Next door the neighbour’s boys, who are children, are being wolves or something. I can hear them.

‘Ooooow. Owwwwwww. OOoooow.’ And so on. It’s so still I can hear them talking when they are not being wolves, in other words, behind the scenes.

There’s also one bird making the same long sound over and over again which interrupts wolf world for me. I can’t see the bird, just the bird sound like a liquid jet of news about my garden, not intended for me.

In front of me a wheelbarrow full of earth. Next to me a bucket of chalk in thick pastel sticks and a pile of 8000 shoes, none mine.

The bird makes the same long sound again and again. Can’t get it over with. Next door the wolves. Over the road the jackhammer has stopped. In the orchard the midday complaining crow has finished. Cigarette smoke coming from somewhere. My grandfather maybe, but he’s dead.

I used to play in a pile of sand with my brothers at my grandfather’s place in Richmond, but then he got hit by a car on Richmond Road and died. He had a garden set out in precise plots like you did in the old days, and also an almond tree. Under the almond tree a dog kennel with a long chain attached to nothing because the dog had died. My grandfather grew a hot and shocking plant called horseradish. He used to polish pieces of wood with sand paper, and then pieces of felt and talc powder until the wood became a screen, reflecting back his failed alcoholic world war two face.

‘Ooooow. Owwwwwww. OOoooow’. Well, the wolves next to me are still alive and going for it. Nothing in the world can stop play. That bird livestreams more new. It must be worth hearing. The galahs dripping insult from every gum tree. The wolf boys next door shout, ‘Get off, it’s mine’ through the wisteria, which is chucking its leaves into the driveway, not even caring.

In front of me there’s a cardboard box holding a wooden train set but all of the trains have gone to another house in a grandson’s pockets. Our garden in plots. I can smell kerosene on the evening air waves. Reminds me of something. My grandfather didn’t fail.

The ice cream: was it necessary?

The Book Keeper2 Comments on The ice cream: was it necessary?

Another window scene delivered with clarity and precision. A couple pass the window fast. It’s a warm afternoon. They are speaking in small shouts, which is why I look up. I look up in time to catch a still. Then they’re gone.

They were leaning forward in hurrying positions. She said, ‘Well, did I need to buy that ice cream?’

His head was turned to her. He said, ‘Well.’

She said, as though he’d said a lot more, ‘No. No. No. I just spend that $10.00. Did I?’

He said, (his voice fading) ‘it’s all good.’

So, the ice cream –  it was necessary. And good.

Then, inside the shop, an lady bought a copy of My Goblin Therapist by Morgan Taubert, and said, ‘I shouldn’t come in here.’ I looked at her and her face was a lit lamp. Then she said, ‘I’ll be back on the weekend for the Vera Brittain. I said, ‘Ok’, my face, a lit lamp.

I had stopped my chair

The Book Keeper3 Comments on I had stopped my chair

“I had stopped my chair at that exact place, coming out, because right there the spice of wisteria that hung around the house was invaded by the freshness of apple blossoms in a blend that lifted the top of my head. As between those who notice such things and those who don’t, I prefer those who do.”


Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose
Painting by Alina Maksimenko