Learning from Books

Dearest Emily,

I'm glad you liked the Bookshop. Thank-you for exclaiming 'Did you do this for me, GiGi- you did didn't you!'

You are learning from books right now and that's lovely to see. So is your Grandmother. There's much to learn about the 'Dark Art of Bookselling', which I see as a lifelong learning.

This week, I learned much about the kindness of dealers.

When we opened, I made much about being collaborative with each other as booksellers on the Island. All too often I've seen in the past when dealing with vintage clothing or objects- how people create divisions, guarding their patch so to speak. Frequently this lead to negative and paranoid competition, that didn't do anyone any good.

A few weeks ago the 'Ghost Man' (being the lovely chap here who takes groups of people on walks around the Island and scares them out of their wits) was telling me about how in Majorca on holiday, he found himself almost unknowingly being guided around the Island from attraction to attraction- just by the locals recommending each other.

I'm happy to report this beginning here too Em, my old Boss in Yarmouth has come out all supportive under gossip-fire about 'competition', and lovely Shanklin bookseller recommended a regular customer to us. Then, lovely Niton bookseller returned a favour when we sent someone to him.

It's Nice to be Nice, as the doormats say in the shop.

Now, on the subject of learning from books- here's a selection to amuse ourselves with.

One of the loveliest titles I've seen in the shop, (pictures on the right are of Blackgang Chine in the early '60's.)

Tales of a recent customer heheh.

A cautionary tale- to be read and digested.

Work-a-day book.

It was amusing to read about parts of my own life in my own 'association copy' of this!

Every picture tells a story eh, em?

Looking forwards to seeing you at Easter weekend. We have our very own street car-boot sale to look forward to on Easter Monday- heaven on earth!

Your ever=loving Grandmother,

GiGi xxx

Magic and Circles of Wonder-Part One- 'The Dedication'

Dearest Emily,

Here's your painting from last weekend's visit. Weren't we lucky that the weather was fair and we got on the beach. The Bay is so beautiful even in stormy weather- but better when we have the sun starting to shine- and you can persuade Daddy that you really need a great big chunk of Cliff-rock to add to your treasure-box.

After you all went home on Sunday, Grumpa and I went out to a gig at Mrs Cameraman's old house.

We were going to see a Clown-Punk, whom GiGi remembered from the 100 club in 1977. It looked like fun, and had the additional benefit of a fabulous singer supporting him, who had played acoustically at GiGi's shop.

Grumpa and I were looking forward to one particular song- as Grumpa plays it over and over, and over again (just like you when you watch a programme on the iphone- but he's fifty and you are three.) Anyhow- we've kind of adopted it as our song, and it has even replaced 'Wet Sands' (Chilli Peppers played at our wedding before you were a twinkle in your Daddy's eye.)

So we were particularly chuffed when the singer told us he was going to play it as a request for us.

He announced this at the start of the gig, and then also added that he was paying a special song for one of the organisers, as it was so apt for the location.

We were all sat down and the set began. Grumpa was seated next to me in the second row- and as you know he's rather tall, and the rather short lady sat in the row behind would've had a restricted view. So Grumpa went to stand- and dear D.B.H got all a fluster and offered him his seat up-front at the side, and he sat next to me.

Our song got played, and I spied Grumpa smiling a tiny bit and nodding his head (a smidge) in time with the music. 

Then- the next dedication was announced- however said organiser was busy chatting in the hall-way and he missed it. DBH sat open-mouthed and chuckled slightly nervously under his breath...

The reason for this Em, is a bit bizarre really. Remember when GiGi was tasked with designing and overseeing the re-vamp at the location? I know you do, because you used to like the Mad Hatter painting particularly. Well, said organiser was a significant opposer of the brief, which caused GiGi much flak, and even after your little book was published- an anti- Carrollian link with Mrs Cameron became the 'Daily Mash'. Somehow or other, some over-active imaginations went as mad as March hares and had even spread rumours that GiGi was having an affair with a White Rabbit. The increased turn-over and end of year accountants summary were ignored, and to all intents and purposes- GiGi may have been viewed as bringing down the axe on the precarious company, rather than the reality that was holding the axe firmly away whilst carefully building it up. The Red Queen would've made sense of it, no doubt- but to GiGi- the nonsense made no sense whatsoever. 

Anyhow, that's all history now- and straight after GiGi left- the Mad Hatter was painted over, the Museums Award removed from sight, and all that remans is the little door painted in a corner- that someone forgot to make disappear.

So, when the song began with the line 'Go ask Alice- whilst she's ten feet tall' and then turned out to be all about both books in question- I started to laugh. 

The title Em? 'White Rabbits'...

If Carlsburg made dedications!

The main act was fabulous too- and we all left grinning like Cheshire Cats- for one reason or another.

I'll tell you another strange story in the Freshwater Circle scheme of things next time Emily. Right now I'm still chuckling.

Your ever-loving Grand-Mother,

GiGi xxx

Stand There, She Shouted!

Dearest Emily,

It was lovely to spend time with you and Annabel this weekend. After we said goodbye, Grumpa and I have been to a gig- at Mrs Cameron's old house, and when we got back- a book that I have been looking to stock, had arrived at home.

This book Stand There! She Shouted, by Susan Goldman Rubin, with illustrations by Bagram Ibatouilline is FAB!

Pardon my gushing Em, but this little book is refreshing. It is written by an author who clearly knows her stuff,  and illustrated by someone who has made Mrs C look just how I see her too!

The book tells her story for me- at the core of who she was, and gives a very strong sense of her personality and colour through both the text and illustrations.

Hurrah, for this Em, it shows a clear picture of a lady whom in my opinion has been undersold and not clearly understood in her place in our heritage. I shall be stocking this title avec plaisire!

Thank-you for telling me you will make me up a bed in your room so I can stay, I shall look forwards to it...

Your ever-loving Grand-mother,

GiGi xxxx

Keeping Mum about Sherlock

Dearest Emily,

Maybe it's got something to do with the nature of our local history that makes the West Wight good at keeping secrets. The long history of Smuggling gave up few secrets, in Chale for example, whole conversations could be had on one level- that had 'secret codes' in a local patua only understood by those in the trade.
Queen Victoria came and went- un-noticed in a Brougham and walked about the High Down with Tennyson according to Harold Nicholson.
Last week the legendary Robert Plant was quietly shown Julia Margaret Cameron original photographs and was able to do so without fuss or fawning.
So when news of Benedict Cumberbatch and Sophie Hunter's desire to have a quiet wedding at Mottistone reached our ears- we managed to keep mum.
How lovely for them both- Ben a modern day figure akin to Lawrence Olivier or Richard Burton in both fame and standing as an actor, and Sophie as a descendent of a historically important Island family- the Seely's.
It's refreshing to see people's wishes being granted in such a frenzied media-circus age.
Everyone kept quiet. As the ferries filled with well-dressed guests, and Mottistone prepared for a visit not seen since Garibaldi in the 1860s- the George hotel welcomed the Grooms party, and Island businesses quietly delivered food and marquees to Mottistone, a good example of West-Wight politesse follows.
A friend who works at the Yacht Club was approached by a journalist- "What do you know about the wedding here today?" "What wedding?" as Mr Cumberbatch was quietly being served at the Deli opposite.
Helicopters came and went- smart cars carried wardrobes of clothes, and Saturday continued as normal around it all.

Only when the wedding was over, did facebook and twitter contain news of congratulations etc.

Another reason I love it here dear Em, on the whole we know our etiquette.

GiGi knew young Ben as a neighbour in our former home in Kensington. The Cumberbatches lived on the top floor, and we lived on the bottom- next door to the flamboyant George. Though Tim and Wanda (Ben's mum and dad) - who were successful actors themselves, of Carry-On fame amongst their credits, George's behaviour was often a tad alarming to the quiet family. It is amazing to see the little Ben I remember's great success over the years.

As of Mr Plant- well GiGi's manners haven't been impeccable Em I must admit. He has been an idol of mine since I was thirteen, and when a friend invited him secretly to my party back in 2005- I did not show such good restraint.
My jaw dropped, and I walked around murmuring "Robert Plant is at my party" ad-infinitum.

He sat- Lancelot-like amongst friends in the conservatory, surrounded by Julia Margaret Cameron prints. A pre-raphaelite-esque tableau for my eyes.

No photos though Em, it would have spoiled the evening.

Lovely memory though- the picture is in my head.

Looking forwards to your visit very soon, give Annabel a big hug from me, and of course one for you too,

Your ever-loving Grandmother,

GiGi xxx

Off the Beaten Track- Freshwater's Elegant Economy

Dearest Emily,

Do you remember when we spoke about Elizabeth Gaskell's 'Cranford', and in particular its 'Elegant Economy'?

Well, fast-forward one and a half centuries or so, and I shall set the scene here-abouts...

Though not constrained by Victorian sensibilities, and without the 'shape' of a season (April to late September) and societal houses to hop from- the innate sense of economy- (possibly in living memory from the second World War) prevails.

But here, to my mind- it has something else.

One big reason for me- is the locality. The rich, mind-provoking if not blowing landscape is something appreciated throughout the economic scale- and it is possibly that one sphere that determines my topic of observation.

There is an un-avoidable and spoken or unspoken agreement of 'otherness' here. Whether its the grandeur of the panoramic cliff scenery, the expanse of sea, the rural settings right beside- something bigger than ourselves is omniprescent.

Grumpa and I in our relatively short history here, have always decreed that the Island chooses, and gives and takes in equal measure. Maybe it is something to do with it being an Island- metaphorically if you put your arms out, you feel that something you do, might make a bit of a difference.

How this translates, in my focus, becomes something quite amazing.

I first saw this when engaged in running the Trading Company at Dimbola ( Julia Margaret Cameron's former home- now Museum to her work. ) It had a fantastic support mechanism of Volunteers ( as does many a Museum. ) However, Dimbola's Volunteers struck me particularly. It didn't matter what the politics where, or how their circumstances panned out- they love the place and gave and gave and gave. When one suggested we should enter the ring for a National award, and goaded me on facebook, I must admit, I thought it a little above our then current sites. Transforming and theming a Tearoom and Gift shop in a month. But- whaddy know Em, we did all the work necessary with a budget of £1,500, because the volunteers deemed it so. And, with their help, we actually won the award over the great and the good of Museum-hood.

I wouldn't have entered the ring without their encouragement, and it could never have been achieved without their application.

Then, when I left, I thought that the magic I felt there, belonged to the house and appreciation of Julia Margaret Cameron and all that went with her. But no! - since my journey of six months took me to my new/old shoppe that you will see on Feb 22nd- the 'magic' is alive and kicking and rocking in Freshwater and the West-Wight.

We opened our new/old shop at Christmas. I wanted to test the waters in low season here, as Freshwater has a strong mix of local and in season- tourist custom. I have been amazed and delighted by the support and by the way this cherished community works.

To give it a 'personality' might be the best way to show you what I mean. Of course, money changes hands here as is the establishment norm. But not as much as you'd expect in order to live. Maybe the long history of smuggling comes in here. Local fishermen share out a catch. It is normal to run an account at Orchards the local shop which celebrates its 150th anniversary this year. In the distant past- children of the 'back of the Wight' often went to buy groceries saying "Mum says she will pay you next shipwreck" . I've been pleasantly surprised over my Morris Minor's regular demises meaning she was a regular visitor to the doctors- and when she was made better- to be told to pick her up and settle when you are ready. There's a lot of trust here. Trust works- much more often than it doesn't. At the end of the summer- boxes of apples, pears, cucumbers and marrows are left out- with messages to 'help yourself'. Eggs sold similarly with an honesty box to pay into. Dogs with owners at work are often walked for free by someone who wants the exercise and a dog to go with them.

There's more too Em, I've been amazed at the support I've had to get my shop up and running. Books donated, books sourced and sold in. Volunteer cover while I walk my dogs. Spare reading glasses donated in case customers forget them. Local knowledge about news, council affairs, the thoughtfulness and peripheral vision around here is second to none.

Today, along these lines, I am the 'banker' for a local collector who needs to raise a sum over the next few months. So- he strikes a deal- here are some books (thoughtfully those that I favour.) The profit is mine- the books all a set price. He wants the money as he needs it. A week or so's notice.

And I could go on. My point my dear Em, is that there's a magic that comes from somewhere that has a great deal of commonsense and humanity about it. I would call it elegant. It has a quiet pride and dignity. It takes no prisoners, it just keeps things going around, and it is nice.

Signing off, as I have just seen the snaps of you on your holiday (poser!), lucky you- looking forwards to seeing you here later this month,
Your ever-loving Grand-mother, GiGi xxxx

Freshwater Malarkey

Dearest Emily,

Knee deep in some research currently regarding Secret Societies and their Island history, I was delighted to discover one today- that's right up my Carrollian street!

Whaddya know Em, this was 1862- right at the time when dear Edward Lear was becoming famous for his Nonsense, and Dodgson was here-abouts lionising Tennyson, and scribing squibs and parodies a-plenty about his Oxford peers. Just down the lane in Norton was the HQ for a satirical 'Society'- with its own Poet Laureate, and Fizz/Lear/Punch-esque illustrator.

The 'Larky-Lot' met for the season at West-Cliff House. With members from society local and on North-Island (near where you live for example Em) their motto was Semper Roare.

A tongue-in-cheek bunch, they wrote verse, drew cartoons and generally involved themselves in silliness.

Here's another example of their nonsense- a Limerick about Norton, where GiGi lives.

There was a young person of Norton

Whose cloak was by no means a short 'un

When they asked " Is it long?"

She replied  "Get along"

That evasive young person of Norton

So, the fashion for nonsense didn't confine itself to children's verses, or the still to be written Alice and in particular- Through the Looking Glass. 'Twas something in the zeit-geist breeze Emily, and a less stuffy, straight-laced and repressed take on the Victorians than commonly opined.

Maybe it was just here in Freshwater that the daft-mood overcame our Victorian visitors- though I doubt it. But there is something in the air here Em, don't you think?

Your ever-loving Grand-mother,

GiGi xxxx

Birds of a Feather

Dearest Emily,

I am looking forward to your next visit. We shall have our tea-party at GiGi's new old shop. Last time you were here it was all sixes and sevens. Now it is a more ordered number.

My new route to work takes me over Golden Hill, where a Victorian Fort was built (now turned into apartments.) Golden Hill must take its name to the incredible golden light that the daily sunshine beams across the hill, with its myriad walks around its circumference. Then, again at sunset- its position allows golden vistas across towards Totland. I'm loving just drinking in the ever-changing light on my way to and home from work.

Daddy warns me that you now constantly dress as a Princess, and that you are going through a rather 'wilful' stage. Hmm, I cannot affect surprise there. Mummy and Daddy's gene pool have generated a mix to be reckoned with. Of course, GiGi was an angel-child with no predisposition to wearing whatever she felt like and causing imaginative mayhem whenever the mood overtook her- you must have inherited it elsewhere!

So- moving on (birds of a feather.) GiGi's painting challenge is to decide on the first of the month what to paint from the landscape around me. I am not allowed to predict it- just find something each first of the month- and paint it.

January first saw me plodding off to work at my new old shop. As I walked over Golden Hill, suddenly a flock of Pigeons swooped up above me. It was an overcast day- but still here-abouts there's that magical light that shines through whatever weather fronts abound.

I didn't like Pigeons. Neither did Uncle Joe- we used to walk together to school in Marylebone silently annoyed by their omnipresence, scavenging and flapping away at every corner it seemed. Eventually we spoke about it- and nick-named them 'flying-rats'. They seemed to be about more when take-aways were discarded in the streets, and everywhere after the markets off Lisson Grove.

They seemed to us- colourless, irritating creatures. So- why, here on the Isle of Wight did they seem less irksome? Bonkers, I thought, and even now Uncle Joe is a full-blown Teen-ager with less bent for unintelligent discussion with his mum about the merits of birds- he too announced that he didn't take against them here.

So, I started to paint what I saw on January first- and looked up examples of my quest.

Hah! The Pigeons here- very varied in colour aren't yer common or garden ferral variety. They are called 'Rock-Doves' that inhabit the Islands around the UK. They do- Em, rather look more like Doves, than the Pigeons you are used to from Fulham, and I imagine in Tonbridge Wells too.

And, they vary in colour.  All over the place, some fan-tailed with much white, some skewbald brown and white- and lots of shades in-between.

I shall use them as my example for my post to you this week, dear Em. Birds of a Feather still come in different sizes and guises. As we know, and you are showing us...

Your ever-loving Grand-mother, GiGi xxx