In another life when I ran a school I had a recurring nightmare that one day no one would turn up. I’d have to tell the Trustees that the place was empty and I didn’t know why. Well I do know why the Library’s been empty since the 23rd March, and it hasn’

In another life when I ran a school I had a recurring nightmare that one day no one would turn up. I’d have to tell the Trustees that the place was empty and I didn’t know why. Well I do know why the Library’s been empty since the 23rd March, and it hasn’t – to be honest - been a nightmare at all, having all this time to think and read and draw and read some more. (I’m acutely aware that many people haven’t been so fortunate.) But an empty library is not a good thing. The kind of “quiet” that librarians enforce with their characteristically friendly firmness is not like the graveyard silence of empty stacks or the Mitchell Reading Room with the lights out in the middle of the day.

Today, June 1st, we reopened. A cautiously enthusiastic line of physically distanced readers started to congregate more than an hour early. My colleagues and I were there to greet them. They’d all booked in advance, and dripped inside one by one. By late morning our reading rooms were filled to their permitted capacity. One reader was angry that he couldn’t have access to the collections – we need to wait a bit longer for that – and claimed that we couldn’t say the library was open until its treasures once again were available for use. He was right in a sense, but wrong in another. Today really was a great day – the first small step towards the restoration of the State Library’s physical role at the heart of the community. His frustration expressed what we all feel. There’s nowhere better than the Library, and I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks that.