333 That Book Club

So let me tell you about the cloak and dagger realm of literature enthusiasts at the 333 That Street Book Club.

Do you remember Lady D and The Crown on the ground floor? The cafe / diner / meeting place / hub / hangout?

Well here operates the round table of liberati (a self anointed word for a collective of those women who free themselves) a closely guarded secret gathering which admits women only.

Aside from one or two enquiring long noses who may notice a book club exists, only the women invited into its sanctum fully understand the purpose of these meetings – always behind closed doors and out of harms way or snooping temptation. It’s the way it has been for long over 100 years.

This exclusive gathering, shrouded in mystery for a very specific purpose, rarely welcomes new members, in fact only when a vacancy arises due to what is considered an ‘unavoidable or necessary’ departure of a member. Death or expulsion.

In these two instances whether through the inevitable passing of time or the strict enforcement of well founded principles, the loss of a member is carefully reflected upon and lessons examined in relation to the balance of the group before a replacement is considered. It’s not a regular occurrence – but always provides opportunity for a little housekeeping and cobweb clearing to ensure the path forward is still the proverbial yellow brick road of liberation.

Now I must say, that when it arrives at the stage of replacing a fallen member, each or any invitation is extended with a cautious precision, ensuring that the delicate balance of the group remains undisturbed.

Each members dedication of a shared passion for literature, and their particular upholding of their ‘Daughter of Liberation’ objectives is rivalled only by their commitment to the confidentiality that binds them together, fostering an atmosphere of trust and tight family bonding. This isn’t just a symbolic blood brother ceremony held one long summer in a tree-house, this so often is genuine life and death.

To be honest I have to say that these particular women, as a group, as a club, would probably never have come together and spent such an amount of time in each others company without this common ground.

Is the term ‘sisterhood’ too much of a cliché? I am not sure I am qualified or equipped sufficiently to analyse such, I am only a narrator; but I personally prefer to use minimal cliché when storytelling, unless it’s sprinkled with some dramatic or comical fictional seasoning overtones. Especially when cliché is used within a story which is unique yet empowering. 

You see, the book club deeply review all the literature and text they share, they intimately and intensely break down and personalise word for word the philosophical lessons and instructions, with the pages of each carefully selected book of guidance; and they for sure would completely disapprove of my review of them lazily and thoughtlessly being dipped in cliché.

I think in some circumstances they may use ‘sisterhood‘ loosely, but in all reality they would be more concerned about the pathway to liberation and security rather than having naming rights. If you can discover a way to flow fully within the vibration of such a gathering, and the energy and love and belief and strength take you by the hand and run with you to a place of freedom and truth and happiness, then it probably doesn’t matter what you call it. You are far too busy simply being it. Absorbing it. Living it. These are super productive women when around the table.

However, this day is a very different day, and this meeting is one which would become productive on levels rarely seen to date, with it’s importance and significance giving birth to goose-bumps and shivers among even they sternest of those gathered.

As the light outside started to fade through the windows of The Crown, Lady D, the cafe owner and long time elected chairwoman of the 333 That Street Book Club, poured tea from the large bone china teapot into an array of random cups telling the ladies present to help themselves to one of the shortbread biscuits before them. The mood was sombre in a reflective way as this extra-ordinary meeting began with the acknowledgement of the recent departure of Edna, the longest serving and original founding member of this book club.

‘Thank you ladies’ she said softly yet with a melody of reverence, ‘the send off for Edna yesterday was very touching. She would have appreciated it.’

There was pffft from her left hand side. A deliberate huffing and puffing from the lips of Winnie. ‘Always had to be about her, of course she would have loved it.’

Lady D smiled, there was never much love lost between the two elder ladies of the group, in jest of course. Winnie being the first member recruited by Edna all those years ago when they discovered the Daughter of Liberation together as young girls hiding in their mothers loft.

Even with so many loving memories of Edna, so many experiences and shared successes, it was with heavy hearts that they bid farewell to a cherished and long-standing comrade and friend. Edna’s passion for literature was not only evident in her intimate understanding of the Daughter of Liberation and the countless books and pamphlets and novels she devoured but also in the insightful discussions she brought to the book club gatherings as well as the one to one mentoring she always gave so freely.

Her warm smile and keen intellect enriched such meetings for many decades, leaving an indelible mark on the fabric of a literary community, which was more than reading, more than analysing but every part as much about freedom and truth. Edna was more than a fellow reader; she was a friend, a confidante, and a source of inspiration – a pair of steel wings to shield when needed and fly with when prepared.

Her unwavering dedication to the belief of freedom to live through ones heart and soul and dreams alongside her thoughtful and personal contributions to those she sat with, created an atmosphere of love and warmth which would be sorely missed.

As those around the table shared their own memories and thoughts in mourning the loss of this remarkable soul, who they truly believed embodied the very being of a modern day Alice Penrose, they also wanted to celebrate the legacy of Edna’s service to them, one which would continue to resonate with generations to come, and to remember with gratitude that the torch had now been passed to them as a group.

‘May she rest in eternal peace, surrounded by all the stories she created and cherished in her full life of service.’ Lady D saluted raising her tea cup.

The other women around the table raised their collection of mismatched cups in the air and repeated the toast. ‘May she rest in eternal peace, surrounded by all the stories she created and cherished in her full life of service.’

Winnie mumbled something further after the toast, which made the other women smile. Like a grumpy old lady. But it was born out of affection for a woman and friend and nemesis and companion she had lost. Many decades worth of sharing.

So with Edna having passed on, Winnie was now by default the longest serving member of the group, but she would by no means take the reigns of leadership as Edna had. She was more than capable, she in fact would have been perfect, however she wished for a younger leader for the group. Not out of concern for the practicalities, or as a selfless act. She simply couldn’t be bothered. That’s Winnie. Can’t be bothered with all that nonsense.

She is a curious character is our Winnie, and hilarious. The nan who says what she wants, when she wants, with no fear. Because she can. And a real marvel of longevity and resilience, at over 100 years old, a living embodiment of a century’s worth of stories etched into her frail frame.

More than most men or women could of even half her age, she stands as a testament to a plentiful passage of time, her physical form resembling the delicate fragility of a whispering breeze, a tiny skeletal figure, with wispy blond hair dancing like the last strands of sunlight on a Scottish moor.

Did I mention she was Scottish? That does need a mention. In fact if you knew Winnie, then you knew it got a mention in virtually every sentence she uttered.

Her limbs, almost ethereal, may seem as if they could be carried away by the slightest gust of wind, and yet, within this delicate shell resides the spirit of a Highland warrior. The thunderous echoes of Scotland’s storied history course through her veins, defying the fragility that her appearance suggests. Her eyes, though weathered by the years, still gleam with the fiery spirit of resilience, reflecting the untamed landscapes of her homeland. She should really have shoulder length fiery red hair and be riding the Loch Ness Monster into town. 

Winnie is a living tapestry of the past, a self contained library of tales that stretch back through generations. All her peculiarities and characteristics, from the sweet to the vexing, command a quiet respect, a recognition of the enduring strength that lies within her fragile form.

Though the wind may threaten to whisk her away, the essence of Scotland’s warrior history stands resolute in her being, a flame that refuses to be extinguished by the passage of time. And yet she always said she was the diluted and watered down version of Edna. Imagine how fortunate those who benefited from their wisdom and support would be through their lifetimes.

Edna herself was a venerable member who had gracefully navigated her extraordinarily colourful life for 102 years. A Polish soul, she had weathered the storms of World War II in her homeland, bravely escaping unspeakable atrocities and the oppressive clutches of her tyrannous religious father. Edna, with her wealth of experiences, became an invaluable cornerstone of the secret assembly, contributing not only tales of resilience and survival but also enriching the collective narrative of the club. Taking her real life experiences and weaving them with the life stories recounted by Penrose in the Daughter of Liberation into hope and solutions and belief for all that needed to hear, for all that needed her momentum.

In many ways some would consider the relationship between Edna and Winnie formed a singularity. That whilst they were very useful in their own individual rights, as a collective of two very different and often very contrasting souls, they created a force which would probably be near impossible to replicate. A force that released countless sufferers from the entanglement of a cult life.

The dynamic between the two ladies, particularly as they grew into old age, could be described as a captivating dance of contrasting personalities that, despite their clashes, managed to create a harmonious rhythm for the greater good. And yet often you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the heart of the tornado when that energy was first created.

Two souls who have seen the world through very different lenses, each possessing a unique set of quirks and convictions. Winnie, with her bold, outspoken nature, is a force to be reckoned with. Her sharp wit and no-nonsense attitude often clashed with the gentle, refined demeanour of Edna, who always carried herself with an air of quiet dignity. The gentle water sprinklers to Winnie’s spontaneous combustions.

Their divergent perspectives created countless sparks, mainly from Winnie’s side, during decades of book club meetings, where Winnie always advocated for the raw, unfiltered truth, while Edna would lean towards a more delicate and nuanced approach. At times, it seemed as if their debates would shake the very foundations of their literary haven. Yet, underneath the surface tension lied a profound respect for each other’s strengths and a shared commitment to a cause dear to both their hearts: liberating minds through literature. And a real love. Never admitted by Winnie. But she really loved that big old Edna.

What made their relationship truly special could have been their ability to contain these clashes. They mastered the art of compromise, recognizing that their differences, rather than being obstacles, enriched the tapestry of their shared endeavour. In the presence of their fellow book club members, they seamlessly would transform their conflicts into thought-provoking discussions that challenged preconceptions and ignite intellectual curiosity. That created shivers of intrigue and confidence through the hearts and minds of their prodigies.

It’s in these moments of tension and resolution that the true essence of their friendship shines. Winnie and Edna, like seasoned dancers, knew when to lead and when to follow, creating a delicate balance that captivated their audience. Their coexistence becomes a testament to the power of embracing diversity, not just in literature but in life itself.

The other women of the book club and the myriads of women who benefited from their energy and support were always happy to witness the evolution of this relationship—a tale of two strong personalities learning the art of compromise, demonstrating that, even in the twilight years of life, one can continue to grow, adapt, and inspire others on the journey to liberation. What they did, just by being themselves, changed lives. Saved lives. Which is why you should always be true to yourself.

Maybe Winnie knew this as she waved away any interest in leading the group from now on, maybe she was now looking to Lady D to try and find a way to replicate this. She didn’t say it out loud. She didn’t have to give an opinion, she felt she trusted the judgement of the younger women now guiding the movement. Maybe Lady D would one day find her own Edna.

‘First time we’ve all been able to have seconds’ mumbles Winnie as she helped herself to another shortbread biscuit. Then another two which she delicately wrapped in a paper towel before placing them in her handbag.

Giggles flowed around the table, only Winnie could get away with moaning about Edna and her greedy love of shortbread. They were chalk and cheese in the need for sustenance if you know what I mean. And Winnie often left her know this. No one else could get away with the tactless way she would talk to Edna.

Winnie looked as if she could survive on a mouse’s diet and well Edna, well Edna was Edna. She was her own soul, and no tiny Scottish foghorn could tell her otherwise.

Edna always felt she was inspired in her fashion style by Elton John, when it came to hair styles and sun glasses which was always as you can imagine quite stand out for a woman her age. Not the platform shoes or huge colourful bow ties. She wasn’t intentionally doing it to tease Winnie. ‘If you have the dress sense of any famous singer it’s Demis Roussos’, Winnie once said. Everyone laughed that day. Once they had googled who it was.

So why are we here today? What is the purpose of this introduction? Well it’s The Book Club is quite a big part of 333 That Street and the web and weave of stories that flow in and out of the blue door.

Of course I am fully aware these words ask and create far more questions than they provide answers. What is this die or expelled thing with the book club? It’s only a book club isn’t it? Why the secrecy? What can you get expelled for? Why do they need replacing? How is it certain that those who are expelled will keep the secret quiet when banished? What is the balance of the book club? Why is the book club held in secret? Are these women still escaping religious torture? Some have escaped and now passing down wisdom and help for those who are trying to escape? Does the purpose of the Daughter of Liberation become confused with this book club? Is it not a shackle for shackle exchange?

These will all be answered in time.

But first lets remember and pay our respects to Edna.

More tea and more shortbread.

More Winnie mumblings and more giggles.

Lady D sharing the memory together from the day before. The saying goodbye together, their own funeral style, the poignant last moments with Edna as her soul was released back to the ether with her storied past and incredible resilience.

In keeping with the club’s unwavering tradition, the end of Edna’s life was marked not by religious rites but by an intimate celebration of memories. The women, custodians of their own unspoken rituals, together to honour Edna’s legacy, weaving tales from her extraordinary journey into their own. Meeting in the middle with a strong sense of gratitude for meeting her, and sadness for losing her. Losing her in a physical sense. Standing hand in hand together for moments of silence, of reflection at the natural outdoor sharing of her ashes. Not dressed in black but not quite dressed like a pop star either. But a smile of warmth none the less.

And now, at The Crown, as Lady D acknowledges the emptiness and absence left by Edna’s passing, a collective silence envelops the room. In that sacred space, the book club naturally emerges once again ready for a new voyage, bound by the pages of trusted and proven literature and the memories of the guidance of a remarkable woman who found solace and kinship within their covert sisterhood.

‘Shall we have a shared reading?‘ asks Lady D, rhetorically of course. They will of course. Lady D warmly nodding to Bella. A nod that is a connection of unspoken words, but a realisation of what will come next. 

I won’t tell you much more about this connection but keep your eye on these two. They know there is a seat at the table which needs to be occupied. The hole at the table, the wisdom at the club will take much longer to be filled. Whilst they hadn’t even considered this as yet, out of respect for Edna and her celebration, they had a shared moment earlier in the day. A piece of paper with a name written on it by Bella. No more said. They already knew who. The Universe had already delivered a new girl to 333 That Street. A new Edna maybe?

‘Does everyone have the page ready?’ Lady D asks after a few moments.

And they do, each one around the table having turned to the chapter on ‘Loss’. Such a key piece of work by Alice Penrose on the gaps and holes that loss can leave and the plugs of hope and belief that can be created when it seems only a darkness spinning beyond control is all that remains.

‘Would you like to read this Winnie?’ Lady D asks softly.

Winnie doesn’t look up from her book.

She shakes her head gently ‘no’, her tears fall on to the pages as her frail shoulders give the first sign that her physical mourning has begun. 

Her heart breaks in front of the other 5 women, who all move their eyes and their own thoughts to their pages on Loss.

Winnie gently sobs.

Her sniffles continue as Bella begins to read.