THE WEIGHT OF KNOWLEDGE

The peace and quiet of my Sunday morning was splintered, quite literally by the collapse of an ancient bookcase in my bedroom. Our family is considered somewhat peculiar in certain quarters as we are all book fanatics who line the walls of ever room(not even the bathroom escapes) with books of all kinds. Between us our tastes cover a wide range of interests although the contents of our shelves tend to indicate the prevailing interest of its inmate.

The shelves in question contain several complete works a collection of illustrated editions of such favourites as “The Thirty nine Steps”, “A Christmas Carol” “The legends of Robin Hood”. This collection is the work of many years and some of the volumes are quite rare and old. This morning it was I fear a the last straw with broke the camel's, or in this case the
bookcases back.
I happened to find a small volume of poetry owned by my mother as a child and from which I learned to love poetry in a drawer and decided,fool that I am that there would be room for it on a shelf housing other poetry anthologies...............I was mistaken.

As the book touched the shelf it groaned loudly, creaked alarmingly and then collapsed. In between the groan and the creak I had the presence of mind to grab a small ornament of which I am fond, it would have been better had I grabbed the collapsing shelf which as it fell took with it the one beneath.........and so on!

Riveted to the spot by the weight of literature in which I was now buried up to the knees I surveyed the damage while wondering how the hell to extricate myself from the debris. This was to prove tricky as my plight was made worse by the fact that I was carrying a small tea tray and had no where to put it. My son was sleeping peacefully in the next room and it was my first thought that he should remain so, this of course meant that I had to stifle the yell of pain when the books hit my slippered feet.

Perched on top of the heap was a small and very pretty clock which was to my amazement still ticking. I never seem to have time on my hands yet hear I stood like a graven image with time on my feet.......a poor joke.
Every time I tried to move something else hit the floor and I tried to remember what other fragile treasures had decorated the shelves. By now my feet were throbbing alarmingly so in spite of the risk of further damage I began gingerly to extricate myself from the mess.

During the following ten minutes I began to wonder if Pa had passed out , gone out or bottled out as he did not appear in spite of the fact that he must have heard the initial bumping as the books hit the floor. Down stairs Pa was listening to the radio and hearing the noise thought that I was simply moving the furniture about. Not that I make a practice of hauling large pieces of furniture about before breakfast you understand.

My feet were a peculiar colour and an even more peculiar shape as we sat down to breakfast and discussed the problem. Pa had cereal, feeling rather queasy I made do with a cup of strong tea.
Could the bookcase be mended? Pa thought so and so I set off on the buggy to Home base to purchase the necessary fittings to do the job. I spent over twelve pounds and bough home three different types of fitting...............none of which were the right ones. Pa decided to try his luck and off he went while I hobbled about the kitchen preparing a casserole of mixed game for tonight's dinner.

Pa returned with the correct bits and pieces and I left him to get on the task of re fitting the collapsed shelves, Fortunately Pa is used to the work for , as I mentioned earlier we all collect books and so this mornings little disaster piece is quite a common occurrence.

It was late in the day before the shelves were mended and the wreckage cleared away.

They say that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, as far as my poor feet are concerned it is all too true!