Whenever I go to Southwold I make a point of visiting Chapel Books in Westleton. Westleton is a quiet village not too far from the bird reserve at Minsmere and the heath and the monastery at Dunwich. The church (St Peter’s) dates from the 14th century and was built by the Dunwich monks. Isn’t it astonishing to think that people have been living, working and worshipping there for at least seven hundred years?
I always park next to the village green, a lovely quiet spot where I can sit for a while repeating to myself over and over again, “Do not buy too many books, do not buy too many books…”.
Opposite the village green at Westleton — photo by Terry Freedman
Chapel Books is just along the road, opposite the village store and a tea room I’ve never visited. As the name suggests, it’s in an ex-chapel, and you can’t miss it.
Chapel Books — photo by Terry Freedman
I always enjoy visiting Chapel Books partly because it has such an air of eccentricity. A sign on the entrance exemplifies this:
Photo by Terry Freedman
It’s the “or longer” that makes me smile, because it’s so open-ended as to be almost meaningless if you take it literally. It reminds me of a sign on a restaurant in London some years ago: “We specialise in vegetarian and non-vegetarian food.”
““Although the place gives the impression of haphazardness, what with armchairs and stools all over the place, it is anything but.””
To get the owner’s attention you have to bang on old tin with a stick provided for the purpose. I’ve never managed to obtain a sonorous sound no matter how or where I hit it.
When I visited last week I’d managed to time matters such that I got soaked. Upon entering the shop I was faced with a huge sign with a towel draped over it: “NO DRIPS! [Because water can damage books.] Hang your coat up or use the towel provided.” Fair enough.
The Chapel Books website is amusing, and I think almost certainly a good example of self-effacement:
“I am Bob Jackson. I am in no way qualified to do this job.”
Not for a moment do I think this is true. Although the place gives the impression of haphazardness, what with armchairs and stools all over the place, it is anything but. There is an amazing array of books on a vast number of subjects (and reasonably priced too). One of these days I shall stride in and announce, “I say. I’m looking for a book about the history of the Manchester Ship Canal between 1896 and 1897.” I’m reasonably confident that Bob will tell me where I can find that, or something like it.
I was very tempted to buy a volume with the exciting title of (something like) “Report of the the 34th Soviet Congress on social realism in fiction”, but I couldn’t really justify the expenditure (£8). Besides, there is a scholar somewhere who would derive far more benefit from it than I.
In the end, over a few visits, what I did buy were a couple of books by H.F.Ellis, the author of the A.J.Wentworth books, a Just William book (I used to love those books when I was a child, and I’d like to see what made the writing so engaging), and a Jennings and Darbishire book by Anthony Buckeridge. Those two schoolboys were sort of up-market versions of William, and they say things like “Wizard” and “Whacko” meaning “Great!”. It’s a bit weird to be honest. I also bought a book of Mozart’s flute concertos for Elaine.
Anyway, bottom line is that if you’re in the area you must visit Chapel Books.
There’s a notice in the entrance declaring that there is now another bookshop in Westleton. Come out of Chapel, turn right, and walk along to the petrol station and turn right again. Barnabees Books is just up on the right-hand side.
Photo by Terry Freedman
When I walked in I was greeted by this sight:
Photo by Terry Freedman
I gingerly asked the owner, who turned out to be called Tyona (“people call me Ty”) if there was any sort of order to the books. She gave me a long apology and a speech about how she would like to have one room dedicated to fiction and the other to non-fiction. But she rather misled me because there is a lot of order, with many books arranged in sections:
Photo by Terry Freedman
Both the temperature and the atmosphere were lovely and warm, just what were needed on such a dank and dismal day. Ty was an absolute delight to speak to, and clearly knows about books — she mentioned repairing a cracked spine. She described herself as an apprentice to Bob, and she also worked in Any Amount of Books, one of my favourite bookshops in London and my absolute favourite secondhand bookshop in London.
I bought a book about pedalling on the piano for Elaine, and another Just William book for me.
Ty and I chatted about books’ lives. That was inspired by my seeing an inscription in a gardening book along the lines of “To my darling husband on our first wedding anniversary.” The book was at least 52 years old, and we had a discussion about what happened to those newlyweds over the course of a lifetime? What had happened for this book to end up in a shop? And how sad it is when lovingly curated personal libraries are broken up.
As I was about to leave I asked Ty if there would be a greater semblance of order if I return next year. After a lengthy description about what needs to be done and how it could only take eight weeks she suddenly stopped in her tracks and said “No!”. We both laughed.
It’s a wonderful bookshop and Ty is really engaging. I could have easily chatted to her for ages, which is quite unusual for me. There’s a fantastic range of books. As for some disorder, I don’t know about you but I like a bit of serendipity when I’m in a bookshop.
The only thing I would say is that Barnabee Books is open on Thursdays to Sundays 11 to 5, and Chapel Books is open every day (I think) from 2 to 4 (“or longer”, so if you wish to visit both bookshops (which you absolutely should) you will need to plan accordingly.
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