What we learnt from our time running a bookshop
For one wintry week, we were the proprietors of The Open Book, a bookshop in rural Scotland. We were welcomed with warmth and kindness by the people of Wigtown, and have come away with a really fuzzy feeling in our tummies. We’ve given our honest thoughts — no holes barred — on the experience.
Alex:
Firstly, I’m going to put my hands up and say that Freya did most of the work for this trip. While I’m not as mad on books as her, I could appreciate why she wanted to come — and I certainly feel all the better for it.
Now onto my thoughts. As a history buff, Wigtown really connected with me. This is thanks to the exceptional preservation done by the local community in preserving its storied local history. We stumbled across some fascinating relics in the town, only to learn more about them from either the super informative exhibition in the local library or through the residents themselves.
A writing workshop attended by local residents and ourselves on a cold Wednesday evening
And its these residents who set the standard for what we as city-dwellers should strive to be: caring. We were endlessly being told of goings on in the town, and this is truly down to the care of the locals who support each other (I can’t blame them through the winter months) and encourage others to get involved. This is partially why we held a music recital in The Open Book for our final evening, because we felt as though we had to give something back, and also to share our own passions with the wider community.
I’ve definitely come back with more enthusiasm to get stuck in to more local activities (even if they are seemingly less obvious in London). Thank you ,Wigtown, we’ll be back soon!
Freya:
I’m a heavy pre-trip organiser. I like to know exactly what I’m getting myself in for, preferably with an hour-by-hour breakdown of what each day will bring. However, no amount of research for our trip to Wigtown could prepare me for what we found.
The characters portrayed in Shaun Bythell’s The Diary of a Bookseller, the book that led us to Wigtown in the first place, are utterly true to life. I assumed, churlishly, that Bythell had used a certain amount of creative license. Turns out, it was just plain accurate. From the retired QC who runs the newest bookshop in town with all the vim and vigour of a spritely twenty-something, to the delightful elderly gent who runs the town’s ancient-looking petrol station, shuffling with two walking sticks to serve your petrol to you, we saw it all. Every single one of the town’s residents proved that small-town living doesn’t have to be dull. They all have far more active social calendars than those living in cities.
In terms of bookselling, the surprises continued. I’d always considered Alex and I to have fairly niche interests — I’m forever waxing lyrical about the intricacies of a new app designed to help deaf opera audiences, or a podcast I’ve heard about the knitting community in the Scottish highlands, while Alex can bore you senseless with the nuances of various types of in-ear noise-cancelling headphone technology. But we seemed to enter the “mainstream” special interest category the minute we entered a Wigtown bookshop. We had requests for books on the architecture of Windsor Castle, the fiction of an American baptist and an encyclopaedic guide to the Penthouse magazines of the late 70s. Never again will I consider my interests “niche”.
Most importantly, though, Wigtown and our time in the Open Book was a pretty salient reminder of the communities that can develop across all age groups, nationalities and ranges of interest. In a world where we’re growing to be more insular by the week, visiting a place where you can talk like old friends to people from all walks of life is as rewarding as it is necessary. I definitely won’t be waiting until my retirement to move to a place like Wigtown.
