Sheffield Central Library 1992

 

When I lived in Sheffield, in those early days, when I was single.

I would sometimes find myself with nothing to do on a day off from work.

My favourite place to go was to the Art Deco grandeur of the Central Library, where I would select a few reference books and sit at one of the square and worn desks to read and to watch people.

I was once asked out on a date by a student in a scruffy green jumper there

He left a note with his telephone number on a slip of paper on my desk as he walked by.

I rang the number 

He was cute.

I was reminded today of the library, and the desks and of a young woman crying over her studies. 

Even though she had her back to me, I could tell that she was crying. The hunch of her back, the frantic search for a tissue in her satchel. The sudden flop of her head to one side to rest on her palm.

I watched her for a while .

Four desks back and a little to her right.

I wasn’t the only person to notice

To my left another young woman was watching and we briefly glanced at each other, an audience of two to someone else’s misery.

The second woman, I presumed was Muslim as she wore a hijab.

In between glances of our books, we kept an eye on the crying woman and it was only a few moments later when a third person, a youngish man with a pencil behind his ear noticed the distressed woman and from his desk a couple in front of her, he turned and asked her if she was alright. 

The Muslim woman and I couldn’t hear what was said so I wasn’t really surprised when she got up and walked up to the girl and knelt down beside her and three strangers carried on a conversation, I could only guess about.

The Muslim woman put her hand supportively into the curve of the woman’s back and there was much nodding with the man in front smiling gently . his head turned.

Eventually the crying woman stood up with a tissue to her face and with the Muslim woman’s hand still around her they walked up the aisle passed me.

“ Can you watch my things?  “ the Muslim woman said to me as they passed “ We are going for a coffee

I nodded and said “Sure” 

And I did. 

I never got to know what the problem was and why the girl was so distressed.

The muslin woman eventually returned and when I asked if everything was alright, diplomatically said

she’s ok now” 

I didnt ask anything else but did say “ You were very kind” to which the Muslim woman said something thing like” noom” 

And I felt I had just been part of something so small but something potentially rather special.