Breakfast in Scarborough

In 1949, an enthusiastic British librarian named Edgar Osborne gave the Toronto Public Library 2,000 British children’s books from his personal collection. Sixty-two years later, The Osborne Collection of Early Children’s Books has grown from 2,000 items to over 80,000! Two additional collections, Lillian H. Smith and Canadiana, have augmented Osborne’s initial gift, adding extraordinary depth and breadth to the entire holding.

Inspired by a 1934 visit to the Boys and Girls House, Osborne and his wife Mabel were “deeply impressed by the work and reputation of Lillian H. Smith,” the Children’s Librarian responsible for “the first library exclusively devoted to children in the British Empire” (A Century of Service: Toronto Public Library 1883-1983, pages 59 and 30).

Edgar Osborne (1890-1978)

Nowadays, The Osborne Collection is used and appreciated by writers, illustrators, book historians, social historians, archivists, bloggers, teachers, librarians, graduate students, secondary school students, and younger children. In addition, tourists from as far away as Scotland and Japan have visited the Collection. J. K. Rowling‘s flowing scrawl appears in the archive’s visitor book above a lively sketch of a tall witch hat. The signature of the Empress of Japan is also in the book: three elegant characters written vertically in the exact centre of the page.

Celebrity sightings are exciting, but the wonderful thing about the Osborne Collection is that you don’t need to be the creator of Harry Potter‘s empire or an actual empress to enjoy it. “Mr. Osborne could have easily given his collection to a university, but he chose to make it accessible the public,” said Dr. Leslie McGrath, the erudite and welcoming librarian who serves as the Head of the Osborne Collection.

Dr. McGrath graciously asked me what I’d like to see when I visited the fourth floor on Friday afternoon, joining the ranks of thousands of ordinary Torontonians who have benefited from Osborne’s generosity and foresight. Responding to interest in volumes I’d loved as a child, Leslie unfurled two golden velvet cloths and set the table with a feast of original editions of Anne of Green Gables, The Secret Garden, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

The Pop-Up Secret Garden

Paper Doll of Colin

It was thrilling to see these volumes surface from previous centuries and land intact on a table in the Collection’s research room. And the treasures in Leslie’s cart just kept pouring out: original letters from L.M. Montgomery to Anne’s fans, a 600-year-old volume of Aesop‘s fables (its animal-skin pages still crackling), a tiny Bible and Koran, a woodcut for creating book illustrations, a Mesopotamian cuneiform clay tablet, and 18th and early 19th Century hornbooks. The latter consisted of framed squares of text “laminated” with a slice of sheep’s horn, and they served as hand-held tools for learning the alphabet, phonics, and important prayers. One of the hornbooks in the Osborne Collection had a small cross in the upper left-hand corner, a reminder to cross one’s self before the act of reading (like saying grace before a meal or proclaiming Bismallah — in the name of God).

Leslie also showed me a fascinating board game called Paths of Life. Created by one J. H. Cotterell in 1840, the edifying game takes players on a Pilgrim’s Progress-style journey through life’s moral ups and downs. From the illustrated map of the Path, we can discern that it’s a steep fall from Manly Hill to Contrition Vale, but it’s not nearly so far as the abject distance from the Bottomless Pit back up to Mount Recovery.

Depending on which number a player twirls on a dreidel-like game piece, he or she can visit Careless County (of Trouble District) or rest beside a Cheering Spring in Discreet County. For me, the Sites of Unrighteousness were the most entertaining: Cursing Corner, Revel Gully, Shame Pitch, Horror Bog, Indulgent Slope, Don’t Care Gap, Remorse Hedge, and No Friend Shed.

I was enchanted by the literary riches Leslie carted to the study area and equally delighted by the exhibit “Peter Pan, Pirates, Mermaids and Fairies” in the reception room. Filling the many display cases were penny dreadfuls, Victorian and Edwardian book covers, pop-up books, antique trading cards, and gorgeous illustrations from olden and modern times. There was even a knitted mermaid and a ship in a bottle!

(Why so pensive, pirate?)

The imaginative Peter Pan, Pirates, Mermaids, and Fairies exhibit runs until December 3rd and is free to the public. However, the upkeep of The Osborne Collection requires more than fairy dust and wishes upon a star. To ensure that this priceless archive has enough funding to continue and thrive, an organization (aptly) named The Friends of the Osborne and Lillian H. Smith Collections helps raise money by selling items such as these cards that depict An Anciente Mappe of Fairyland and Edwardian bookshelves.

In my view, the Osborne Collection of Early Children’s Books does not reside on an Indulgent Slope of Frivolity. On the contrary, it is a Courteous Oasis of International and Canadian Civilization, a repository of our literary history and a precious material link to the past. The Collection is the unique place where I shared Anne of Green Gables with an unknown a reader who lived four generations ago. This is the kind of historical connection that an electronic book can not kindle!

In my previous post about Lillian H. Smith branch, I wrote that “a griffin‘s traditional role has been to defend treasure from marauders.” However, the guardians at the front door need our help to protect treasures like the Osborne Collection, for griffins do not sit on budgetary committees. It is up to us to nourish the vision of two extraordinary librarians: Lillian H. Smith and Edgar Osborne. We can do this by joining the Friends of the Osborne and Lillian H. Smith Collections or just dropping by the fourth floor for a visit!

“Roll Me to the Moon” by Catherine Raine, 2011

“Protest Dance” by Catherine Raine, 2011

I was taking a walk down an alley near Dovercourt and Bloor when this ruined church happened upon me. Both imposing and sad, the ruin really affected me and I vowed to return and photograph it.

Last Friday, I revisited the site and first took some pictures of the back of the building. These are the west and north walls as viewed from the alley.

Then I walked from the alley to Westmoreland Avenue to see the front of the church. I wondered what had happened to turn this lovely edifice, surrounded by reasonably prosperous rows of houses, into a ruin.

When I looked carefully at the carved words next to one of two doors on the east wall, I could make out “Saint Mary the Virgin.”

And when I studied the other door, I read these words penned by a giant black Sharpie: “Jesus has left the building. You are on your own now. Good luck.”

For me, the chain on the door was sadder than the building’s graffiti epitaph.

If you like your libraries playfully Gothic and radiating imagination, then Lillian H. Smith is definitely the branch for you! When you pass between the wingéd lion and the griffin, it’s like stepping into a book illustration which has come to life.

Gargoyles on the exterior set the tone for the Lillian H. Smith experience. In keeping with the library’s history as a child-centered institution, the wall-creatures are striking yet non-threatening images of owls and a sheep. (Ms. Smith was a pioneering force in TPL’s history as the “first head of children’s services, 1912-1952″ and “the first trained children’s librarian in the British Empire” as noted by Margaret Penman’s A Century of Service: Toronto Public Library 1883-1983, page 30).

Admittedly, the griffin’s beak has a certain in-your-face attitude, but its fierce nature helps it protect baby foxes and owls. A griffins’ traditional role has been to defend treasure from marauders, which is something you don’t do with a cheesy grin.

Equally protective, the lion sculpture is a shelter for a salamander and a small primate.

To honour the two stone beasts sculpted by Ludzer Vendermolen (creator of Wordsworth the owl for Beaches Library), someone had carefully placed a nut between the central talons of their powerful feet. Not to diminish the nutritional power of the nut, but it seems a mighty dainty snack for a lion and a griffin. Offering some beef hotdogs from a nearby cart might work better.

When I entered the well-guarded library, four circular tiers soared above me in a rising barrel pattern. Enjoying the atrium despite some slight vertigo, I walked up to the fourth floor, which was home to the extraordinary Osborne Collection of Early Children’s Books. It only took a few minutes of wandering around the collection to realize that I would need to devote a special blog post to it, for I was overwhelmed by so much rich material. I’d also like to give The Merril Collection of Science Fiction, Speculation, and Fantasy its own post, too.

Dropping down to the second floor (the Merril Collection and a computer lab occupy the third), I found a densely-populated library space. Every single table was spoken for, and inquisitive patrons crowded round the information desk with questions for the staff.

One of the most coveted spots was this sunny expanse of laptop-friendly table surface beside a south-facing window. For inspiration, the CN Tower beckoned as well as a lovely garden in the library’s “back yard” below. I liked the feeling of simultaneously floating above the city yet remaining grounded near the super-busy intersection of College and Spadina.

The second floor contained a Chinese and French collection as well as an ingenious patron who had figured out a way to turn a library table into a cinema. Here’s how he did it. First, he laid a large rectangular man-bag on the table. Then he stacked eight DVD cases on top of that. Finally, he placed a portable DVD player at the summit of this tower, donned some headphones, and away he went.

After admiring the man’s mobile movie theatre, I trotted down to the main level’s west wing. Two puffy armchairs waited for their next readers in front of a large window overlooking College Street. Further into the room was a whimsical reading area that paid homage to the library’s roots as the Boys and Girls House at 40 Saint George Street (1922-1963).

And nestled in the southwest corner was the Children’s Literature Resource and the M. G. Bagshaw Collection.

Here, patrons can research items such as the best children’s book illustrations of 2006 or carefully turn the fragile pages of antiquated books like this one I picked out for its gilt flag.

I also admired these two pictures in the Bagshaw Room, Franz Cizek‘s “Herta Zuckerman, Aged 14 Years” and Ilse Breit’s picture of a girl beset by geese. (Breit was one of Cizek’s students). Both pieces hail from the Austrian art nouveau movement of the 1920′s and 1930′s.

On the other side of the main level, a relaxed-to-slouching Cat in the Hat was neighbour to a copper-coloured satin dragon. Both creatures were secured to the ceiling by clear plastic filaments.

Fittingly, the dragon seemed to be pointing in the direction of the door leading to the mysterious Gothic basement level, the remaining part of the library to be explored.

Actually, it wasn’t the satin dragon but Sarah the helpful branch head who showed me the downstairs area. (Sometimes I try too hard to be literary). Before Sarah returned to her work, she pointed out the fabulous echo feature in the circular courtyard. If you stand right in the middle and make a noise, it bounces back vastly increased in volume and distortion.

Holy Harry Potter! The magical literary universe of the basement is Alice in Wonderland meets fairy-tale castle meets LED sconces of poetic doom. I love it when interior decoration frees itself from the shackles of being sensible! And I love the fact that Lillian H. Smith is a place where the imagination is nourished.

Sarah had told me that walking up the steps gave her a sense of anticipation, and I could totally relate to that. If only all staircases were so evocative! After all, stairways are about transitions, portals, ascent and descent. Shouldn’t they have torches to celebrate their mystery?

The contrast between dream-like basement and sunlit Huron Community Garden was slightly disorienting, but the garden was a wonderful place to end my tour of Lillian H. Smith. Natural beauty, knowledge, and creativity go hand in hand, griffin talon in talon.