Tea in the Library

by Annette Freeman

  Nevertheless, after thrashing out the matter with Sandy and The Team, and a couple of G&T’s, we sailed back into battle. I drew up quite a comprehensive submission to take the matter to the Small Permits Appeals Panel, but I was told that discretion at this level seemed non-existent. And the next level of appeal was the (expensive) Land and Environment Court!

  At this point the really scary letter from Council arrived. It was an order to remove the illuminated sign within 14 days. The letter was dated 19th November. There goes Christmas trading. A fine for non-compliance was threatened — a maximum penalty of $100,000! Plus, if I failed to act, Council would rip the sign down itself and charge me for its expenses.

  I conceded defeat. Removing the illuminated sign was hurriedly arranged, and of course costly. That sign too was dumped, like its predecessor. The sign company man said he “was sorry for me”. Pathos! Indeed, tragedy!

  In desperation I tried another approach, and wrote to the Lord Mayor herself — who had in fact visited Tea In The Library as a speaker at a charity event we had run. I didn’t ask for special consideration — just for one responsible Council officer who could help me through the morass in which I was floundering. I didn’t receive a direct reply until some time later, but I think this letter had some effect, as shortly afterwards I received a call from a senior Council officer who took a look at the whole sorry mess. She helped me complete the DA form for a very small non-illuminated version of the sign to go on the plinth, and the accompanying drawings, and even stood with me at the Council office counter to submit it. At one point while we were queuing, she was approached by an officer from the Council’s Legal Department. They stepped aside and had a brief and agitated conversation. No Legal Department impediments were raised.

  It was at this counter that one piece of the jigsaw fell into place. I had wondered why Council had let us trade for over a year without complaining of our apparently unauthorised sign, turned a blind eye to many other prima facie breaches in the same city block (which are still there to this day), and yet had now come down on us like a tonne of bricks. While a very bad-tempered Duty Town Planner was reviewing the DA, he said something curt about “knowing all about things” at our shop, although he had never been there. The penny dropped. Someone had dobbed us in to the Council. Retail is tough.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Charity begins at home

  Tea In The Library had been started, and continued, with several high ideals. Not only did we want to provide a community forum where matters of interest could be considered and debated by anyone who was lucky or clever enough to find us, we also aimed to indulge a strong social conscience and to support social justice and charitable causes. We determined to “give back”.

  On the one hand, this reflected my own instinctive preferences. On the other hand, I also thought it would resonate with our demographic — “people like me”. The archetypal Tea In The Library customer would enjoy the added frisson of knowing that their patronage and their purchases were also helping worthwhile causes, and this seemed to hold true. Our published “Philosophy” went like this:

  Our Philosophy

  The philosophy behind Tea In The Library is based on three strong values — a respect for books and their value in our community and the world; a commitment to service that is beyond all expectations; and a strong community involvement through events, discussion groups and a forum for “having your say”. Giving back where we can is also fundamental. The value of books underpins any good independent bookshop, and we plan to share this by providing a well-selected range of books, both new releases and backlist, as well as unusual and beautiful books whenever we can find them. Our shop will be a place for bibliophiles and booklovers. We can source out-of-print books and provide a valuation service for your treasured old books. Our shop will support local charities calling for books and third-world projects where schools and libraries need help, and these will be showcased in the shop. We believe in giving back. Our service philosophy will be an antidote to the “phone queues” and bad service that plague modern life, and we will strive to exceed our customers’ expectations. Great service is a hallmark of a good independent bookshop, and our professional booksellers can help you find that book you are looking for, arrange gift-wrapping, delivery — with personalized expertise. Our original and lovely ambience provides a great venue for bookclubs, author events, book launches, discussion forums — and a little live music. Our customers will have the opportunity to hear, see, question, and participate — in a convenient city venue. And of course our café — with lovely light meals, great coffee, more than 19 specialty teas (and a liquor license) — supports all of these values and helps us deliver on our promises!

  One of our earliest forays into the charitable world (where the fight for the donated dollar can be very fierce) was with The Smith Family, a charity which supports disadvantaged children and their families, focusing particularly on education. We did look for causes which we could tie to a literary or book theme; and, of course, this wasn’t solely altruism — we still aimed to sell books. The Smith Family have a program where bookshop customers are encouraged to buy an extra book at Christmas time, to be distributed to needy children as gifts. We set up our first Christmas tree, and as customers chose that extra book, it was gift wrapped and placed under the tree, for distribution later by The Smith Family. This was a win-win-win combination, with the book buying customer getting a warm glow; Tea In The Library selling an extra book; and the eventual recipient hopefully enjoying and profiting from the gift.

  This began a continuing, if rather off-and-on, relationship between Tea In The Library and The Smith Family. Earnest young charity workers came to see me on several occasions to discuss the launch of a city talk series, to be called “Sydney Conversations”. The idea was to invite interesting and high-profile speakers to address the crowd on topics concerned with social justice issues, life in the city, challenges facing urban families, etc. — topics related to the areas where The Smith Family works and sees the need for discussion, education and action. Audience discussion would be encouraged. I was told that the idea was modeled on a successful series in Melbourne, called (naturally) “Melbourne Conversations”. The Smith Family girls were lyrical about how, in Melbourne, crowds of several hundred had been attracted to large venues like the Town Hall. They compiled hopeful lists of impressive people who would be invited to speak at the — admittedly smaller-scale — Tea In The Library Sydney version.

  The Smith Family were looking for a venue, and I was happy to offer Tea In The Library — it would, I hoped, attract potential customers, and raise our profile, especially if well-known speakers agreed to be involved. However, there were costs associated with opening in the evening, especially staff costs, and no obvious connection with the sale of books. We talked about The Smith Family attracting other sponsors to provide food and wine, hire extra seating, etc.

  It seems that wheels in the charity world turn very slowly, and it was many months before The Smith Family managed to pull off the inaugural “Sydney Conversations”. To their credit they attracted several well-known speakers. The Lord Mayor, Clover Moore, officially launched the maiden voyage. Then a panel that included the Federal Anti-Discrimination Commissioner Prue Goward, and a well-known journalist made some thoughtful remarks on the topic, “Where have all the children gone?” followed by questions and discussion from the floor. The idea was to discuss issues of child care at office buildings, family-friendly precincts for inner-city dwellers, and related issues of family versus city life. It all went pretty well. The audience were engaged with the topic and the speakers were articulate and thought-provoking. A pity that the maiden voyage was also the last, and that “Sydney Conversations” sank like the Titanic. Tea In The Library held itself at the ready to repeat the exercise, but The Smith Family didn’t manage to organize a repeat performance before we, too, sank.

  In another charitable exercise, we advertised our support for a Nepalese child in
Kathmandu, little Dawa Sangmo. I had personally been supporting Dawa Sangmo since my first trip to Nepal in 2002, and I had actually visited her in 2003. We had pictures of Dawa on the shop and office walls — “Hasn’t she grown!” Paul would say when I brought in an updated picture. While support for Dawa and the Himalayan Youth Foundation (www.hyf.org) was ongoing, I hoped to also hold a Benefit Event to raise a chunk of money for the HYF — they run a hostel for over 80 orphans and poor children from remote rural areas in Nepal, and at this time had a project to raise funds for a mini-bus to transport the children to school. There was always a need for money, to keep the project going, and to expand it. I obtained promotional material from HYF, and made an effort to recruit an appropriate speaker. The idea was to collect a donation at the door, all of which would go to HYF, along with a percentage of any proceeds from the sale of books and café goodies on the night. I wanted to have a mountain climber or adventurer who had been to the Himalayas to speak — this would tie in with the Nepalese connection, and also our shop’s interest in mountaineering and adventure books. With the help of our customer Julie, who ran a speakers bureau, we tried to attract Mike Groom, an Australian mountaineer who has climbed in Nepal (despite losing his toes to frostbite!) Mike’s book Sheer Will was a favourite. However, while Mike was willing to reduce his speaking fee, his appearance would still be costly, since he would have to fly down from his home in Brisbane. In the end, the project didn’t get off the ground — I regret not pushing on with that one.

  Our other “literary charity” enterprise was inspired by Jeff McMullin and his work for the Ian Thorpe “Fountain Of Youth” Trust. Jeff and the Trust draw attention to, and try to do something about, health and literacy among remote aboriginal communities in the Northern Territory. I had heard Jeff speak at an Australian Booksellers’ Association Conference, and invited him to address our inaugural Breakfast Club meeting. The crowd was gobsmacked at the information — 98% illiteracy in some remote communities! And a strong link between illiteracy and poor health. People queued to talk to Jeff about how they could help.

  We followed up with an ABA-arranged meeting which we hosted at the shop, with representatives from the Northern Territory Health Service and The Fred Hollows Foundation, who could tell us first-hand what was needed. Apart from Kate becoming a bit concerned about the quantities of red wine consumed, this meeting was useful and made us feel like we were at the cutting edge of this cause, and giving some practical help. The wonderful bookshop in Newtown, Better Read Than Dead, owned by Derek Dryden, had piloted a plan where their customers were invited to donate their customer loyalty points to this cause, BRTD matched this dollar-for-dollar, and books were purchased and shipped to Darwin, for distribution in remote communities by The Fred Hollows Foundation or the Northern Territory Health Service. Derek and his customers had managed to get quite a number of books into the communities. Another model was pioneered by the Brisbane bookshop Riverbend Books, which ran a very successful “read-a-thon” that collected a small entry fee. Ian Thorpe signed certificates for those who completed their reading successfully. The proceeds were simply handed over as a cash donation rather than trying to purchase and ship books, and quite substantial donations were made. This project enjoyed excellent success. The ABA was struggling a little around this time with this issue of cash versus books, support from publishers (both for book supply and shipping), and distribution questions. I regret to admit that in this somewhat disorganized atmosphere, Tea In The Library — while giving moral and vocal support — never managed to ship a carton of books — an abiding regret.

  But we did stay true to our avowed philosophy right up until the end, when we ran a successful fundraising night a few weeks before our demise, to benefit victims of the horrendous South-East Asian tsunami. This was Emma’s brainchild, aided admirably by Sandy bringing along all her friends with their hearts and cheque books open. And let’s not forget our generous customers! We raised nearly $4,000 that we donated to UNICEF. Our guest speaker, Graham Stroud, had been traveling in Thailand at the time of the disaster, and was 24 hours away from flying right into the affected area. He spoke movingly of emotions both on the ground at the time, and in his own heart. He then did a fantastic job with his auctioneering skills, and the gathered group responded brilliantly. We had all kinds of donated items to auction, including wine from our wine supplier Wayne, a massage from Bea The Fall Of Stars, and that gorgeous Hindu art book, worth $400, which we had never been able to sell!

  It was a rewarding last salute to our “give back” philosophy. Everyone was doing tsunami benefits at this time — it was such a shocking tragedy on an incomprehensible scale — but appropriate and natural for Tea In The Library to do its small bit as well.

  If we had only been profitable, we could have done so much more.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Mind games III

  When the shop had been open about one year, it was pretty clear that profits were a long a way off. It was becoming harder to “keep my nerve”.

  On one front, most people to whom I looked for advice were gently — and in some cases insistently — recommending that I close sooner rather than later. Dale, who had helped so much in the early stages, could see the writing on the wall. He suggested that I stop paying him. Keith, whom we had consulted for his views, strongly urged a quick attempt to sell Tea In The Library as an operating business, and if that couldn’t be done, to dismantle as soon as possible. So I was in the position of paying consultants to give me an honest assessment, and then ignoring their advice.

  At about this time, my personal financial advisor, John, who helped look after my business loan arrangements, financial planning and superannuation, took the unique step of joining forces with my accountant (also John), and the two of them called me in for a joint meeting. They were very earnest about it, but the shop had to go. Financially speaking, I couldn’t sustain it much longer. I remember thinking that it was quite touching to see the two of them trying to look after me, to do their professional “duty” by me. To this day, I appreciate their concern very much,

  But I didn’t consider closing for one minute. Why? I was so caught up with the vision, and I so loved the reality of the shop and its books and events and customers, that I couldn’t even envision giving up on it. The commitment was absolute. It’s hard to abandon a dream — especially having come so close.

  However, of course the money had to come from somewhere. Despite my total commitment to continuing, not a waking hour passed without my worrying about finances. My evenings and weekends were spent paying bills, authorising salaries, filling out staff superannuation documentation, looking through publishers’ accounts statements and trying to understand the book buying and returning levels. I constantly monitored expenses as well as sales, and calculated and re-calculated margins on different aspects of the business. I tried to make the right calls on what should be spent, and what would be money well-spent, trying to recognise the right investments that would increase returns.

  I was funding the on-going operation of the shop from my income from my “day job”. That income, while very good, was already fairly heavily committed to business loans related to the firm (as well as tax, the mortgage on my house, etc.) It was also somewhat sporadic in nature — that is, the income drawn down to the business owners varied from month to month, depending on how the firm’s business had been doing, its expenses and income. The variation was generally around 20% at this time, but could be wider. There was no guarantee that the money would be there to cover the next shop rent bill. Usually it was, but there were no guarantees.

  As you might imagine, this could make for a few stressful times. One occasion in particular is pretty much seared in my memory. It was the end of a quarter, so large loan repayments were due, tax was due, publishers’ accounts were due, the shop rent was due. I was staying overnight at a hotel in Bondi Beach to attend — of all things — a Buddhist Festival. I was trying every strategy and drawing on every
resource I knew to keep my head and relax. I meditated with the Buddhists. I listened to their teachings. I had a massage at the hotel spa. But the thing I recall most vividly is sitting up at night, listing the numbers and trying to believe that I could meet all my commitments. There was no way of telling for sure, as I did not know what quantum of income would come from the next of the firm’s draws. I was certainly down to the wire, with no other source of finance to draw upon having by this stage re-mortgaged everything, and the risks I was taking, with both my own family’s prosperity and the jobs of my staff, were starkly clear. It was a low moment. But it passed.

  Many times on this journey I would remind myself that lots of small business owners, starting out as hopefully as I, mortgage their houses to fund the business, and if it “goes bust”, they lose their homes and perhaps their life savings. Because I hadn’t taken that small step (or giant leap) of leaving my day job, I had kept the security of a “fall-back position”. But … if I had taken a full-time, hands-on approach, might the shop have survived? I maintained that I was 100% committed to Tea In The Library, but I hadn’t quit my job to go for it, had I? That old demon certainly resurfaced at this time.

  And speaking of the day job, the pressure was very certainly there to ensure that my role in the office was not neglected or compromised by my activities with the shop. I felt a very strong obligation to continue to do my job there as I always had: morally (I had business partners to whom I owed it to fulfill my commitments); legally (the firm was organized as a trust of which I was a trustee, with an obligation to work for the business); and — not least — financially (I needed the money). I tended to characterise the shop as my “hobby” — and indeed generally this was fairly accurate. Other professional people own and run small vineyards, or hobby farms, or a string of racehorses. The shop was just my particular indulgence.