We didn’t feature many book reviews on the website, but there were some, particularly the books of authors who had events at the shop. We did get to the stage where it was possible to purchase some of those books on the site — our IT/website company provided the secure server. This looked good, but I don’t believe a sale was ever made from the website. Amazon.com we were not!
But our strongest use of our customer database was a regular Friday email, which Emma would send, eventually with the help of the IT company. The email was just a paragraph or two with an update on the next week’s event, a new book just released, a bit of news. Our customers seemed to love receiving this short and sweet reminder that we were thinking of them.
We struggled initially to find contact management software that could handle a bulk email mailout. Despite buying the version recommended by several advisors, and paying for the software rep to train the staff in its use, eventually our database became too large (although it was never as large as we kept hoping!) and our contact management software would crash repeatedly. The weekly email became a headache for Emma, who spent hours of valuable selling time sitting in front of the computer screen attempting to get the message out. Our miracle-workers, the IT company Bossa Group, came to the rescue. We would give them the text and the current file of customer addresses from our computer system, and they would email it — on the Tea In The Library “stationery” — with their more powerful system. This cost us $60 per week, but I thought worth it in time and frustration savings — plus preserving one of our most important marketing tools.
The final email announced our closure.
We’re on the telly!
One day I received an excited call from Emma — leaping with anticipation because she’d been contacted by the television program “Getaway” (the Sydney version) which wanted to come and film a segment about Tea In The Library. Being British, her phrase was “We’re going to be on the telly!” Everyone was infected with the excitement of the occasion. We were a bit bemused that the television team requested about four hours to film a segment that would last for only about six or seven minutes, but we gave them the run of the place for one afternoon. I went down to be chatted to on camera. What to wear? It was indeed exciting.
The crew and young presenter were very friendly. A lot of time was spent setting up lighting, running power cables, and politely asking bemused customers if they would mind changing seats — or sometimes, if they would “be in the shot”.
The idea was to show Tea In The Library as an interesting destination. The segment was light, and the crew was looking for fun angles and amusing aspects. I proudly showed them around the book selection, ordered pots of tea, and pointed out interesting titles. I displayed a range of gorgeous children’s pop-up books (great visuals, I thought); and then the producer’s eye was caught by The Pop-Up Kama Sutra. You opened the pages and little cardboard figures on bits of string, depicted in various states of exotic undress, did it dangling from chandeliers, and so on. Don’t ask me why we had this extraordinary title in stock — a rash buying decision by someone. The result was the “Getaway” presenter sitting in a corner looking quizzically through The Pop-Up Kama Sutra — with no direct view of the pages, thank you, this was for a family time-slot.
Because of our events focus, the producer had also asked to talk to one of our author speakers, and it so happened that on that particular evening our guest was Michael Duffy, a political columnist, who was promoting his book Latham and Abbott (much political water has flowed under the bridge since then, but at this pre-election time it was very topical). Michael came down to the shop a little early and was interviewed by the “Getaway” crew, who then stayed on well over their planned time, to take some footage of Michael’s talk and the attentive audience.
I was as thrilled as The Team with all this, and we eagerly awaited screening day. Based on our experiences with editorial mentions in The Sydney Morning Herald, we were bracing for big crowds. I suggested to Emma that she order in more copies of The Pop-Up Kama Sutra. But in the end it was a bit of a fizzer. We had a few people tell us they had “come in specially” — usually from out-lying suburbs of Sydney — because they had seen us on TV. But generally it seemed that our demographic was not one to watch travel magazine programs at 5 pm on a Saturday. Probably too busy reading The Herald.
Still, I have the video tape to show my grand-children.
Oxford in Sydney — The Bodleian Library
Emma had been pestering me for some time about adding some gift or stationery items to our book range. The hope was that this would not only add extra sales, but also do so at improved margins. I had seen a few items — giftwrap, cards, bookmarks — from The Bodleian Library in Oxford, at an antiquarian bookshop in the Southern Highlands. I purchased a few samples and looked up The Bodleian on the web. They didn’t have a local Australian distributor at that stage, but it was possible to order directly from them. We pored over their catalogue and selected a range of lovely and unique products.
Greeting cards — especially those with a literary theme — and bookmarks were our main focus. We also ordered small note books and note pads, a memorable necktie, and a very special teapot and cup and saucer — white china with the words “Silence Please” printed on them. These last items worked out to a rather expensive retail price, but while waiting for them to sell they made great props on the mantle, or in a merchandising display. I don’t know what became of that teapot. I don’t believe it was sold. It may be packed away in a box I haven’t yet opened, or perhaps it was nicked, in the bedlam of closing. Nothing would surprise me.
The Bodleian items in fact sold very well overall, especially the cards and bookmarks. I toyed briefly with the idea of offering to become The Bodleian’s local agent, and they (foolishly?) expressed some interest in the idea. However, after a time Emma made contact with a local greeting card supplier who could supply us with a range of lovely cards — including The Bodleian range. It seemed that he had become their local agent, and I am sure they are better off that way. It emerged at this time that Sandy had, in one of her former lives, run a greeting card shop, and she was an authoritative source on quantities, display, etc. We wondered about how to effectively display the cards once we had taken on larger quantities, given that every inch of wall space was covered in bookshelves. But the supplier lent us Perspex racks that fitted the shelves, and all was well. This supplier chap was very helpful, and generous with his terms, and it is regrettable that we only started dealing with him towards the end of the shop’s life, and so he never really reaped much benefit from his investment in us.
From time to time we carried other small gift items, where they fitted with our philosophy and the literary theme — for example, Tibetan silk book bags, hand made by ethnic craftswomen. It felt good to support such people, and their products were unique and unusual — and popular.
Early in the life of the shop, we had bought the daily newspapers and had them available for free reading in the café. At this time I was also a private subscriber to a number of news magazines, such as “The Economist”, “The Bulletin”, “Time” and “The Nation.” Nothing too right wing! I would bring them in after scanning my copies, and leave them for customers to read. It shortly became apparent that this was probably ill-advised. Not because our customers didn’t appreciate the free reading – quite the contrary! With all those magazines and papers, they had no need to browse the book stock. So we cut down to just the daily paper — any self-respecting café in the city should have at least that, I thought. We also displayed for browsing the publishers’ reading copies of new releases, supplied free to us, on the central bench that was the focus of our café table area. This shelf was used for displays, posters, leaflets, the papers, fresh flowers and a whole variety of odds and ends.
From time to time we considered the idea of stocking some magazine titles for sale. Apart from considerations of space (and more suppliers), there was the issue of free reading of magazines w
ith coffee and meals, and the high likelihood of dog-eared copies never actually purchased. We decided against the idea in principle, but we did carry “Good Reading”, which was clearly tailored to our demographic, and was principally distributed through bookshops. We even had our shop promoted on the magazine cover in one memorable issue.
With hindsight, we could and should have made more of the “non-book” item possibilities, although I don’t think we had the space or the energy to go into, say, music, in any major way. I liked The Bodleian range because it was literary-themed, and tied in very well with our vision and ambience. I hope I find that teapot. It was cute.
Publicity shoots
Our first PR team, Whiteworks, declared that we needed some professional photographs of the shop, for use in media kits, promotional flyers and publicity material generally. So they arranged for a photographer to visit. This, of course, turned out to be bigger than “Ben Hur”. First, there is all that equipment; then the hours it seems to take to get just the right shot.
For our main set of photos, we needed models — people to sit about in the shop and look like they were enjoying themselves. To solve this, I dragooned five people from my office, thinking it would take only fifteen minutes. They agreed to give up their tea break to do me this favour. We had my administrative assistant, Claire; Jo from the Filing Department; plus Diane and Sherlon from Records; and Ashley, an indispensable gopher around the office. All were very kind to give me their time — and their signature on releases that allowed us to use their pictures on Tea In The Library’s materials. They were our “talent”.
About an hour and a half later, after posing rigidly over cold cups of tea and cakes they weren’t allowed to eat, or trying to look fascinated by a book opened at random, they were all getting very twitchy. Finally, the tedious process was over and we all dashed back to the office, where helpful co-conspirators had held the fort.
The pictures were very professional and looked great, and were used many times. But whenever a magazine or newspaper wanted to include a photo with a story or snippet about Tea In The Library, they always preferred to send their own photographer, and the rig-marole would be gone through again, although with the models restricted to the staff, or me. I posed rigidly for The Sydney Morning Herald, The Law Society Journal, and for the lovely colour picture that graced the cover of Good Reading magazine (for a price). We also had the professional photographer back once or twice to take some shots at our events, and that was how we acquired some great pictures of Jonathan King speaking about his book Gallipoli. There are lots of visual reminders of the unique place that was Tea In The Library.
After-hours
When the shop was in its infancy, the business plan still under active development, and ideas flowing thick and fast, I conceived the bright idea of using the lovely premises we had to host after-hours events. There is no doubt that Sydney is a big enough city to need a multi-plicity of funky and interesting venues for parties, launches, lectures, meetings and corporate knees-ups. We would pitch our selves as suitable for small sit-down dinners and larger cocktail stand-up functions. I worked with Dale, the small business advisor who helped me in the early days, and we produced a brochure. We covered off the need for after-hours security, the questions of permission to open, liquor license restrictions and noise issues, and we found a young starting-out caterer who agreed to be our “recommended” supplier of catering. We were not confident at this stage that our kitchen staff could cope with after-hours events, although they could certainly handle cocktail canapés.
This was a great idea that started to show some promise, and could have gone further. We didn’t get many bookings, despite sending circulars to all the event companies, but every now and then an after-hours booking would give us a much needed injection of cash — and profit. Because we quoted for each event as a stand-alone offer, we had much more control over its profitability.
There was a memorable sit-down dinner for about twenty, which Sandy co-ordinated. Bea and Kate excelled themselves. The shop was transformed, with a long table covered in crisp white linen arranged between the bookcases. Bea arranged beautiful table settings, and Kate ensured the team of waitresses gave exemplary service. The outside caterer looked after the food. This was a first, and a great success, and left everyone feeling exhilarated. Kate tried to convince me that we could have done all the food as well, and increased our profit, but considering the vagaries of the kitchen, I wasn’t keen to bite off more than we could chew.
Our quotation to host an event was also accepted by a client who was hosting a tea tasting by the grandson of Mr. Twining, of tea fame.
With our name and tea emphasis, we were front-runners. This was in fact held one morning, and meant closing the shop for a “private function”, but with our usual morning customer numbers, this was no great sacrifice. The client was very specific about cups, teaspoons and table settings, but was pleased with us.
Our efforts at after-hours events included our own media launches for the shop opening and the kick-off of Sydney Book Quarter, as well as a few private parties. The trick was, I found, to ensure that we could provide at least one of our staff members to take care of locking up and security. Where red wine was involved, we ensured that there was a clause covering possible damage to books, even possibly a bond if appropriate. We were prepared to close the shop for private functions, if worth our while, but this happened only a few times.
Book launches were semi-private affairs. We held these several times, but members of the public were also free to attend, like any other author event. The beauty of the launches was that a large crowd was assured, because the author would invite all his or her family and friends. First-time authors were especially lucrative in this regard!
Not so much “after hours”, but a memorable event nonetheless, was our effort at celebrating the Melbourne Cup. All of the country stops for the three minutes or so during which the Cup is run, always on the second Tuesday in November. Indeed, I had heard a rumour that this particular afternoon each year was the slowest moment in retail in the entire calendar. However, it is a top trading time for restaurants and other party venues. It is also common for Sydney offices to buy in catering for staff standing around the television set in their Race Day hats. We had a stab at capitalizing on this by offering a selection of catering platters, and managed a few sales of these. We also attempted — with rather less success — to attract people to the shop to watch the Big Race. We brought in a television set ( essential), offered a race Day menu (with bubbly of course), and invited all and sundry. There was a Cup Sweep, of course — de rigueur. A small crowd gathered, supported by Sandy and myself in appropriate headwear. I guess it was better than doing nothing, as without making some effort the whole afternoon would have been a write off. Maybe we needed a few more years to build up a reputation as a fun place to watch the Cup.
Events In The Library had great possibilities.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Music in the library
Right from the start, The Vision, for me, included music. Not racks of CDs with their repetitive boxes, but audible sound, providing an evocative background for the book browsers and tea sip-pers. And using the “think big” approach, this included live music.
In our first year, on Thursday evenings after the speaker, and on Sunday afternoons, you could enjoy some live light jazz or a string ensemble. We alternated the two, before deciding after a few months that the strings were a bit dirge-like and the jazz more upbeat. We kept this going for about six to nine months, before I reluctantly concluded that it was costing more than it was earning us.
Ray Cassar’s Jazz trio were not very expensive to hire, but they were “just right” for Tea In The Library — that is, not too boring but not too avant garde, and their double bass, keyboard and Ray with his funky trumpet fitted neatly into our space. Sometimes they played in a corner of the bookshop, but that restricted access to the bookshelves. Then we set them up in front of the fire
place, but their amps and electric cords and other paraphernalia still restricted book browsing somewhat. When the weather was warmer, we hit on the great idea of having them up on the landing at street level — terrific for attracting attention from passers-by. One memorable warm Sydney summer’s night, Ray was joined by a female trumpet-player who was visiting from New York. We, and our customers, plus a bunch of non-customers who enjoyed free music were treated to a great impromptu jam session that went on long after Ray’s scheduled time.
In the early weeks, “friends of the band”, or, in the case of the strings, friends of the violinists and cellist, would make up quite respectable crowds. We sold them supper, but they were not interested in books. The idea of having live music to follow the Thursday night speakers was to encourage the crowd to linger after they had asked their questions and had their books signed. In general we tended to lose the crowd around 7.30 pm when the author event was over, although we remained open until 9 pm. The music helped a little, but not a lot. Despite their popularity with some (including me) Ray and his boys were not enough to hold ’em there, buying food, wine and books. At least, not enough to justify their fee, albeit modest.
On a few other occasions when we didn’t have an author lined up for Thursday night, or we had a last-minute cancellation, we provided live music in lieu. These were usually start-up bands from around town who would play for a small fee and the chance to sell their CDs. We came across them because they would drop their sample CDs into the shop with a pitch for a gig. Most names escape me now, but I do recall “Miss Otis Regrets”, a band with a girl singer and a neat line in swing.
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