DERWENT BOOKSHOP 2002  ‘Where’s Megan?’

The sun rises behind Skiddaw and ignites the frost-capped Scottish fells over the Solway Firth.  The conditions are perfect and I see the Isle of Man outlined on the horizon as I drive to work.  Local Cumbrian wit dictates this means it will rain later, and if I can’t see the Isle of Man it means it is raining already.  Flights of Oyster Catchers wheel and turn above the sand dunes as my car shadows the shore.  The dunes eventually give way to the manmade landscape; the slag banks and old mine workings giving silent testimony to the once titanic industries that extracted ore and wealth and employed thousands. The iron and steel works in Workington, pioneer of the Bessemer converter, at one time girdled the globe with track for the world’s railways. Today the furnaces are cold and silent. The spoil heaps now serve as vantage points for slowly arcing wind turbines – new technology is literally rising from the ashes of the old. 

Workington town centre is undergoing a multi-million pound regeneration which initially consists of knocking down the previous multi-million pound regeneration.  The Derwent Bookshop is on the margins of the town centre and so escapes the disruption but hopefully will reap the benefits of an increase in visitors.  Established nearly 30 years ago the bookshop has stood witness for a generation to the seismic blows suffered by the town and townspeople; British Steel shedding 5,000 jobs, unemployment up to 20%, and the continued emigration of talented youth.

The three golden rules of retail are location, location and location, and the corresponding rules for independent bookselling are local, local and local.   West Cumbrians are rightly proud of where they live and have an insatiable appetite for anything and everything that relates to their landscape, history and culture.  There is a permanent corner of our shop window dedicated to local interest and the first books I see as I open up the shop are local history and walking guides to the Lakes.

Local, knowledgeable staff are an essential asset, but today one is missing.  ‘Where’s Megan?’ Someone saw her come in – she’s out the back.  First task of the day is to sift through the 100 emails landed overnight, print out the handful of internet orders and delete the junk.  The all-female staff are not convinced that the deluge of Viagra spam has nothing to do with me.

We hold 16,000 book titles in stock, a micro fraction of the total number available so inevitably we spend a lot of time on special orders for customers.  We receive every imaginable request – and some unimaginable.  A loud guffaw and peals of laughter percolate through to the office, this is not unusual.  Visitors to the shop expecting a library atmosphere of respectful silence will be disappointed by the laughter and continual banter that is the soundtrack to bookshop life.  A male customer has approached the counter and enquires if we have a book in stock.  His exact words are: ‘Do you have any sexual fantasies?’  At five past nine in the morning, operating under a severe caffeine deficiency, the member of staff has replied ‘Do you mean me personally?’

‘Where’s Megan now?’  It turns out she is in the window.  Best place for her.  Megan is by far the most attractive and popular member of staff.  Megan in the window will pull the punters in.

There are 1 million books in print in the UK and 100,000 new titles published every year.  Add to this another million US titles and those that have recently gone out of print and you have a range of more than 20 million books to choose from.  Everyday we are asked to find books from this huge choice of titles.  Broadband internet has revolutionized how independent bookshops can operate.   Now can we track down hard-to-get books from suppliers located anywhere in the world.  Using a variety of different internet platforms we tap into the world’s stock of books and have them delivered within a couple of weeks – sometimes within 24 hours.

Megan has now positioned herself on the stool in front of the computer, legs stretched out as though she owns the shop.  I move her on unceremoniously as I need to do the ordering.  At this point my multi-tasking skills are severely stretched; a delivery arrives, 500 copies of a book of old photographs of Workington that we have published, both ‘phone lines are ringing, there are customers queuing at the till, and the Sexual Fantasies man has returned asking if we have any job vacancies.  The staff excel under the pressure.  I struggle to say yes to a cup of coffee while editing emails, they juggle six things at once.  Megan is again gainfully employed in the window. I sign for the delivery and get back to ordering new titles.

Two elderly female customers approach the counter and deposit a supermarket carrier bag: ‘Where’s Megan?  We’ve brought something for her.’  This is not unusual – the Megan fan club is extensive and knows no prejudice; young, old, gender non-specific, they all love Megan.  In previous years as the sun travelled in the sky from spring to autumn equinox, Megan would progress down the street disporting herself wantonly in the shop window which generated most heat. Maturing from fickle youth Megan last year put down roots in our bookshop as her preferred domain.  We were adopted by Finkle Street’s feral cat. The carrier bag contains her tea.

The last task of the day is sending the daily orders to the wholesalers, ninety per cent of the books ordered should land tomorrow. The staff depart to raucous laughter - no doubt at my expense, I catch the word ‘Viagra’.  I put Megan out for the night, lock the door and head off up the coast.

Tonight there is the right combination of light and moisture in the high cloud for a spectacular display.  The red shifted dying sun backlights the Scottish fells and enflames half the sky.  I’ve come home to the eighth wonder of the world – a Solway sunset.