A child at Heswall library 12.08. 2011

Certainty was Heswall Library, with its rows of shoulder-high books that had mysterious names and illustrations. Pulling good ones out and taking them home was part of that certainty. You took Ginger, Black Beauty and Merrylegs home to pity, became their saviour; kept them, kept the book by your side.

You found the moon as green cheese and the exoticism of Tove Jansson's Moomintroll, nosed out the plastic jackets, heard the rubber-stamp thud on the wooden counter high above and peered bashfully at the librarian; you found something that was part of yourself.