George and Martha 1978

James Marshall has drawn George ministering to his friend Martha, who has foolishly spent too long in the sun. Although these animals live in suburbia there are signs that it strains to accommodate them : her pretty rose quilt sags to the floor and the doorway seems to ease upwards to let George through. A tiny flick of a pen-stroke conveys Martha’s physical pain and chagrin at not taking George’s advice in the first place. George’s twitchy upper lip is dying to tell her so. The framed motto, ever so slightly askew, is one they both live by.

The great Maurice Sendak praised Marshall : ” [His] simplicity is deceiving; there is richness of design and mastery of composition on every page… The refined sensibilities of his hippos stand in touching contrast to their obvious tonnage, and his pen line – though never forgetting their impossible weight and size – endows them with the grace and airiness of a ballerina and her cavalier.”

Sendak later executive-produced the animated series of their adventures, which became a must-see in our house at the end of the 1990s. Both my children (Big Bob and Ms May) loved the droll humour and interwoven stories voiced wonderfully by Andrea Martin and Nathan Lane. The books were then harder to find, so this volume found years later in a library discard sale was seized on as the treasure it is.

In 1978, I didn’t know that George and Martha existed.

It was my second year as an Assistant Children’s Librarian at St Kilda Public Library : a job I had finagled my way into somehow, while still studying at RMIT.

The library was still relatively new then. Despite being one of Melbourne’s oldest municipalities, St Kilda had had no free public library until the early 1970s and the Chief Librarian, Vida Horn, was instrumental in every aspect of building it from the ground up.

The children’s library had a rich collection of the very best picture books from the UK, USA and Australia, with selection of new titles informed by library and review journals from those countries too. I was trying to learn as much as I could, and to read everything as well.

Vida was very strict about all library procedures and, in particular, that library staff not seen reading while on the desk. Fortunately, it was also her policy that every single book returned to the library had to be inspected for damage. I was trained to scan the cover front and back for wear and tear, then open the book at the back cover and flip backwards through the pages, checking for signs of damage and foreign objects. Fortunately for me and my chosen specialty of 32-page books, my familiarity with artists’ styles and techniques grew wonderfully through this daily routine. If I fell in love with a book, it would then be subject to minute inspection to ensure that I didn’t miss any potential repairs (or a single word.)

I learned so much during these two years ; it seems incredible that I carelessly threw the job – and the boundless feast of journal reading – away for Love. But I did, and the consequences led me back to a childhood library. See you in 1979.