Edinburgh Books

In the beginning…

admin — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 13:09:54 +0000

It has gone out of fashion in these post-modern times, but stories used to begin with a beginning, progress to a middle and conclude with an ending. Open-minded as I am, I have never minded a slight twist in the last chapter, but there my liberalism ends.

So, my story will begin with the iconic words ‘on a dark and fateful morning in the Savanna.’ I think that ‘once upon a time’ is a beginning appropriate for nitwits and girls with a deplorable princess fantasy. ‘As I walked out one Midsummer morning,’ is just about acceptable although promises a bucolic idyll which makes me want to sneeze.

So, I begin darkly as the sun is engorging the horizon and I find myself staring into the red face of a maniac with a gun. I stop to think, ‘he looks like a walrus with that moustache.’ That is my fatal mistake.

Clarence

[to be continued]

Book Inscriptions # 1

admin — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 15:05:00 +0000

You find all sorts of inscriptions in books, usually on the front endpaper, from the plain name and address to pledges of undying love. I came across one today at the front of a copy of ‘Grammont’s memoirs of the Court of Charles the Second’ by Anthony Hamilton.
The inscription to the front pastedown reads thus -

“To Claude S. Jackson. Coldstream Guards

From Archer Windsor-Clive
3rd Bn. Coldstream Guards
Windsor 1913

Killed in action with the 3rd Bn. at LANDRECIES.
August 25th 1914.“

The internet being the marvellous tool that it is, confirms some of these details and throws up more information.
Lt. Hon. Archer Windsor-Clive was born on 6 November 1890. He was the son of Robert George Windsor-Clive, 1st Earl of Plymouth. He attended Eton and played first class cricket for Cambridge University. The excellent Commonwealth War Graves Commission website gives more details of his death – http://www.cwgc.org/search/casualty_details.aspx?casualty=581548
Another site gives a quote from ‘Tommy Atkins at War’ by James Alexander Kilpatrick -

A sergeant of the Coldstream Guards, in an account given tothe Evening News, speaks of the death of CaptainWindsor-Clive. "We were sorry to lose Captain Clive, who,"he says, "was a real gentleman and a soldier. He wasknocked over by the bursting of a shell, which maddened ourfellows I can tell you."...........Many British soldierssuffered from the treachery of the Germans in wearingEnglish and French uniforms, and their letters home arefull of indignation at the practises of the enemy. It wasin the fighting following such a ruse at Landrecies thatthe Honorable Archer Windsor-Clive, of the ColdstreamGuards, met his death.

Tragically, another search on the CWGC site shows that the owner of the book and author of the inscription, Claude S.[Stewart] Jackson, was also killed in the Great War 3 years later in the mud of Flanders – http://www.cwgc.org/search/casualty_details.aspx?casualty=1633111

Clarence.

A Scotch Carol

admin — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 17:37:00 +0000

You find all sorts of interesting things stuck inside books: letters, tickets, obituaries, even money.
Today I found a Carol – a Scotch (or Scots) Carol in fact which I will now commit to cyberspace. It was typed on a small piece of paper and “From Popular Antiquities Pub. 1810″ was scribbled in pencil underneath.

I come from Hevin to tell,
The best of Nowellis that ever befell:
To yow thir Tythinges trew I bring
And I will of them say and sing.

This Day to you is borne ane Childe,
Of Marie meike and Virgine mylde,
That blessit Barne bining and kynde
Sall yow rejoyce baith Heart and Mynd.

My Saull and Lyfe stand up and see
Quha lyes in ane Cribe of Tree,
Quhat Babe is that so gude and faire?
It is Christ, God’s Sonne and Aire.

O God that made all Creature,
How art thou becum so pure,
That on the Hay and Stray will lye,
Amang the Asses, Oxin, and Kye?

O my deir Hert, young Jesus sweit,
Prepare thy Creddill in my Spreit,
And I sall rocke thee in my Hert,
And never mair from thee depart.

But I sall praise thee ever moir
With sangs sweit unto thy Gloir,
The knees of my Hert sall I bow,
And sing that richt Balulalow*.

* Lullaby

Welcome

admin — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 10:25:32 +0000

Edinburgh Books has been a landmark for book lovers for more than twenty years. Formerly known as West Port Books, it was saved by the skin of its teeth from becoming yet another café in 2006 by William Lytle.

This off-beat Edinburgh bookshop has a huge, wide ranging stock of second-hand and antiquarian books: just when you think you’ve scanned every shelf you find the stairs and realise there are four rooms in the basement. For the reader, there is a large stock of fiction and non-fiction; for the collector, a sizeable number of intriguing titles.

The atmosphere in this second-hand Edinburgh bookshop tends towards the dog-eared and slighty foxed, but glimpses of rarity and respectability can be encountered if you look hard enough. Clarence the water buffalo keeps a beady eye on proceedings aided by Graham, the rather stuck-up grouse.

One basement room is rented by Alba Musick of Glasgow and is full of sheet music.

Move over skinny dog

admin — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 11:22:00 +0000

Some customers are just funny. Funny peculiar I mean, not Funny ha-ha, though we have our fair share of those too.
One peculiar thing that these funny customers do is to go straight to a section where somebody else is already standing and do everything but peer between the first customer’s legs in order to see the books which the unfortunate man or woman was previously browsing peacefully.
Never mind that there are seven other rooms full of books in the shop for them to browse. Never mind that the first customer will probably move on in a couple of minutes, these odd little men(they’re usually male and usually short) just have to go and start breathing heavily behind the customer or even stick their head in front of them to see what lies beyond.
I suppose some of these characters do actually come in to see that specific section but I’m sure there are some who are just programmed to make a bee-line for the only other customer in the shop and make them feel uncomfortable until they move on.
It’s probably the same folk who, on the top deck of the bus when you are the only passenger, sit right behind you or even right beside you.
Clarence.

Dirty rotten thieves.

admin — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 16:01:00 +0000

I don’t think we have a huge problem with theft but then again, I just don’t know. There are eight fairly sizeable rooms in the shop with thousands of books in each of them and although I try, it’s impossible to keep an eye on every book we sell. Sometimes I go to look for a book which I think we have and and can’t find it. Well, maybe we sold it, maybe not. Maybe it was pinched – who knows. “Pinched” – that’s quite a nice, soft word. “Stolen” or “theived” is probably better because it’s a horrible feeling when you realise or think that someone has stolen something of yours. Maybe it was valuable, maybe not. Maybe you had spent time repairing it, pricing it, placing it on a shelf. It cost you money. And now it’s gone. The anger and rage starts to build up inside you but there’s not one thing you can do about it – at least not usually.
Curiously enough, for an establishment which doesn’t suffer from too much theft(we hope), we have had two cases of theft discovered in the last 24 hours. One has really annoyed me and will almost definitely not been resolved, the other was annoying but was resolved within an hour with the safe return of the two books which had been stolen.
The first case didn’t involve books. I went to put on a cd yesterday evening – I thought I’d listen to some Van Morrison – but I couldn’t find the cd I wanted (the fantastic “Philosopher’s Stone – Unreleased tapes” double cd). I hunted through the piles of cds on the shelf by the stairs beside the stereo and began to realise that it was gone. Actually the piles looked a bit smaller than usual. Oh No! Where are my Dylan cds? I did a quick stock take and from what I could see I had “lost” 10 cds – 4 Bob Dylan including 3 boxed sets, 2 Van Morrison, 1 Johnny Cash, 1 Gram Parsons, 1 by the Byrds and 1 Grateful Dead. Aaaagh! Some of these were amongst my most treasured albums, 2 of them I’d only just bought a month before! I quickly rang all the shop workers in the slim hope that someone had borrowed them but as I had expected that was not the case. Well I suppose the cds were a bit vulnerable to theft but the thief must have had some neck to stand and pick through the piles to get the ones he wanted. And he did pick through the piles because the missing cds were not a random sample. He hadn’t taken any folk music of which there was plenty, no jazz, no classical, none of the downloaded albums in home-made covers. This guy had good taste – he wasn’t some wee ned who had just grabbed a handful from the top of the pile. He had taken unusual cds – “The Complete Reprise Sessions” by Gram Parsons, “Workingman’s Dead, expanded and remastered” by the Grateful Dead, “Sweetheart of the Rodeo Legacy edition” by the Byrds – this guy(or girl) knew about music. He had similar tastes to me! This made me feel sick. I felt even more sick when I went on to Amazon last night and worked out that it would take about £140 to replace them all! Well today I’ve moved the rest of my especially favourite cds to a safer place, leaving the home-made and classical and a few others which I hope no-one will have the desire to steal. I’m going to leave my vinyl where it is too as I don’t suppose anyone will have the gall to stuff a few records up their jumper where hopefully they will be relatively easy to spot.
Case number 2 happened this afternoon and did involve a wee ned or rather a wee nedette. I should have seen it coming but I like to think the best of people so I assumed that this unlikely looking bookshopper was trying to improve their education and so I tried not to judge this particular “book” by its cover. Anyway I was vaguely aware of her wandering round the shop and I was only vaguely aware of the sort of open bag she had on her arm. She eventually came up to me and asked if I bought books and showed me an oldish copy of Alice in Wonderland and a Topper Annual 1981. I offered her a couple of pounds for the Alice but she muttered something about having to talk to her dad and hurried out the door. Next thing I know of the matter was twenty minutes later when Jenny from the bookshop across the road rang up and asked if I’d had a young blonde girl in and had she bought a Burns’ Poems? I had and she hadn’t I replied and it turned out that she had gone there and tried to sell some books including the Alice, the Topper Annual, the Burns and a Tennyson, the Burns and Tennyson both having a price and code in my handwriting. On inspection of the appropriate shelves I found the tell-tale gaps where these two (not very valuable) books had formerly resided. For some reason the girl had left the books with Jenny while she again went to consult her dad who presumably knew more about these things than she did. So the books were returned to their rightful place and there the matter will presumably end.
Needless to say I’d rather the cds had been returned and the 2 poetry books had never been seen again rather than the other way round but hey, that’s life and I’ve learned a lesson or two – er, Look out for thieves or something like that.
I’ll leave you with a couple of medieval curses on book thieves which I would happily have applied to modern day cd theives, no matter how good their taste in music.

He who steals this book
may he die the death
may he be frizzled in the pan…

Steal not this book, my worthy friend
For fear the gallows will be your end;
Up the ladder, and down the rope,
There you’ll hang until you choke;
Then I’ll come along and say -
“Where’s that book you stole away?”

For him that Stealeth a Book from this Library,
Let it change into a Serpent in his hand & rend him.
Let him be struck with Palsy, & all his Members blasted.
Let him languish in Pain crying aloud for Mercy,
Let there be no Surcease to his Agony till he sink to Dissolution.
Let Bookworms gnaw his Entrails in token of the Worm that dieth not,
When at last he goeth to his final Punishment,
Let the flames of hell consume him for ever & aye.

Ouch!

Clarence.

Thank you for the music

admin — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 14:34:00 +0000

One of the great things about working in a secondhand bookshop is being able to listen to the radio or the music of your choice whenever you like, which for me is most of the day. When I bought the property, along with the shelves, a few chairs and a centimetre of dust, I inherited the previous owner’s stereo system consisting of a good Pioneer amp, tuner and tape deck, an average cd player and turntable and 4 cracking speakers. Upstairs are 2 Celestion Ditton 44s from the 60s I think. Downstairs are a couple of three and a half foot tall beasts with no visible make on them. These brutes could wake the dead when the volume is pumped up, without any distortion but unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately for the neighbours) there aren’t too many opportunities to put them through their paces. Occasionally, as I’m doing the tour of the shop just before closing to turn off all the lights and check that no customers are lurking in dark corners, I put on something appropriate(perhaps some electric Dylan or Credence Clearwater Revival) and crank the volume up. Good money has been offered for these speakers on several occasions but always politely declined.
Not all of my music is apporopriate for playing in a bookshop, no matter what the volume. Some of Tom Waits more experimental offerings might scare the customers while Stevie Ray Vaughan or Rory Gallagher would probably be a bit to loud and distracting. Some stuff is well suited to the atmosphere of a bookshop: maybe Nick Drake’s “happier” albums, Kate Rusby, The Be Good Tanyas or some classic jazz from Ella, Billie or Louis. Mind you even what you may think would be totally inoffensive will offend and annoy someone. One elderly lady customer in a charity shop I used to work in would put a finger in each ear when we played Dougie MacLean and would be heard to mutter “could someone not put that man out of his misery?”.
Anyway you can’t spend your whole life worrying about what other people think and after all it is my shop so I don’t mind playing a bit of Dylan, Van the Man, Johnny Cash or Merle Haggard even if they’re not everyone’s cup of tea.
Top of the playlist over the past few months have been: Sam Baker’s two albums, ‘Mercy’ and ‘Pretty World’; Gurf Morlix’s ‘Diamonds to Dust’; Roddy Woomble’s ‘My Secret is my Silence’ and Julie Fowlis’s gaelic offering ‘Cuilidh’. Nearly any time I put on Gurf Morlix or Sam Baker, someone would ask “Who’s that singing”. Another album which gets that reaction is ‘The House Carpenter’s Daughter’ by Natalie Merchant.
One drawback to having all this music in the shop is that people are constantly wanting to buy one of the CDs or LPs despite the blindingly obvious “NOT FOR SALE” signs . Only today someone brought up Bob Dylan’s ‘Live 1975 – The Rolling Thunder Review’ double cd and asked how much it was. As if. Also this morning a well known Scottish/Australian author whose name I’d better not divulge(though it begins with ‘F’ and ends with ‘aber’) approached me with a strange request. “I know your vinyl isn’t for sale but is there any chance I could borrow your copy of Van Morrison ‘Hymns to the Silence’ to copy as it isn’t available on cd any more?” He said he’d return it by this afternoon and I reckoned someone so well known should be easy enough to track down if he didn’t bring it back so I thought “why not?”. It’s half past four now and there’s no sign of him yet and it’s started to pour but I’m sure I’ll get the album back before long.
The tuner get’s its fair share of use too as I usually have radio 3 on in the morning. They play a good range of music and generally the presenters are incredibly enthusiastic and knowledgable without being patronising. Some of the music is on the ’slightly challenging’ side but generally it’s worth the effort. I’m not sure what it is about it but I don’t like Classic fm(in fact it’s banned in the shop). It could be the adverts, or the annoying presenters with their fake mid-atlantic accents, or the whole “relaxing/soothing/romantic” thang. I’m not sure, but it generally has me reaching for the bucket.
I used to be a devotee of the Tom Morton show on Radio Scotland every afternoon when I just had a wee radio sitting beside me but it doesn’t really work over the big speakers what with the chat, the competitions etc. Tom is very good and quite funny and has a great taste in and knowledge of music but I think the choice of music isn’t what it could be with a bit too much pop and “classic rock“. A bit too Radio 2. I love radio 4 as well – World at One, Afternoon Play, Brain of Britain, Feedback etc. but again not on the big system and unfortunately the little radio sitting by my desk has rubbish reception on FM. Once we get a decent computer with decent broadband, I’ll be able to listen to Radio 4 on it and I’ll also be able to take advantage of the great “Listen again” facility on the BBC to listen to all the great Radio 4 shows I’ve missed or Radio 2’s Bob Harris Country or Iain Anderson’s great night time show on Radio Scotland.

Of course there’s one thing that takes priority over Radio 3, Radio 4, Van the Man, Dylan, Billie Holliday or whatever and that’s Test Match Special. What a joy work is when I can sit and listen to the wit and wisdom of Aggers, Blowers or Vic, the dulcet tones of Sir Vivian Richards, Colin Croft, Barry Richards,Brian Waddell et al.

now playing…..Sufjan Stevens “Come on feel the Illinoise“

p.s 5.01pm – ‘Hymns to the Silence ‘ has just been returned!

p.p.s. Check out – http://www.sambakermusic.com/

Gies a job mister!

admin — Fri, 27 Jul 2007 08:40:00 +0000

One of the more difficult things about running a bookshop (after the tax return and all other dealings with authority) is staffing the shop. Ours is quite a big shop and although I dearly love my job and regularly thank the Lord that I no longer work for Scottish Widows, I can’t be here all the time. On thursday mornings I go to an auction to buy books. On saturdays, depending on the time of year, I might be found at Easter Road watching Hibernian or at Inverleith Park playing cricket for Holy Cross 3rd XI or in Oban visiting the in-laws. Other days I might have to do a house call so it’s good to have someone else in the shop. Sometimes we even go on holiday.

If I gave a job to every Tom, Dick and Harriet who asked for one, as well as being bankrupt, everyone would get to work about 3 hours per week and I’d be constantly training people and seriously thinking about a return to Scottish Widows. On average we probably get 3 requests per week, rising to about 30 in the summer when the world and his wife come to Edinburgh and want a job for 2-3 months. Most applicants seem very nice and I’d love to give them a job if I could but unfortunately I have to explain that it takes about 2-3 months to train somebody properly so it’s not really in my interests to pay someone to learn the ropes and then see them disappear back to Brisbane, Barcelona, Bratislava, Baltimore, Balbriggan or whatever other Bally place they come from.

As I said, most of these folk seem quite nice and I always feel bad as I explain why I can’t give them a job. There are exceptions however. Yesterday a young Russian boy called Leonid came into the shop and told me why he thought I should employ him. Generally I have nothing against Russians: I read Dostoevsky, listen to Mussorgsky, download music from cheap(but apparently legal) Russian internet sites and I even plan to visit St. Petersburg and Moscow some day. This fellow, however, tested my Russophile tendencies to the limit as he explained why I shold be begging him to work for me. I tried the “how long do you plan to be in Edinburgh for” question which usually serves as an excuse to dismiss any unwanteds, and I thought I had him when he replied “2 or 3 months”. Even as I was explaing why this wouldn’t do though, he was changing his story, saying that actually he hoped to find a job somewhere and when the lucky employer found out how indispensible he was, they would immediately apply for a work permit on his behalf. Besides, he was “passionate about books”. “My passions” he said in his heavy russian accent”are books and wimen. All my spare time I spend rrreading books and talking to wimen so this would be peerfect job forr me” This was said without even the slightest hint of irony or the slightest trace of a smile on his face. I was beginning to get a bit scared of this modern day Rasputin so I asked him to leave a cv with me so that when I needed someone I could consider him. I don’t know if he believed me but he eventually left and I breathed a sigh of relief. I hope I don’t see him again though I have to say I would be quite curious to read his cv.

Colt, a theology student and my best employee, is unfortunately leaving next week. He is heading back to Amerikay because our useless government won’t renew his Malaysian wife’s visa. If she was a terrorist this would be understandable and quite reasonable but she’s actually a highly trained doctor who has lived here for the best part of ten years.

The gaping void left by Colt will however be temporarily filled by a student from Leipzig who is attempting to gain experience for life in the real world by doing her 3 month placement at Edinburgh Books. She doesn’t fit the profile for prospective employees as she will only be here for three months and doesn’t have fluent english but on this occasion I’m prepared to make an exception as we will be getting her on the cheap thanks to the German government. Whether working in an Edinburgh secondhand bookshop could ever prepare anybody for the real world is a moot point, but we’ll be happy to have her over our busiest time of the year.

When she leaves I’ll have to find someone else. Perhaps an English philosophy student fresh out of public school or a single mum who is writing a children’s novel in her spare time. Maybe even another American theology student who is good at everything he turns his hand to. Any of these would be fine but one thing is for sure: it won’t be Leonid, the Russian Lothario.

Clarence.