SHE DUSTED BUT DID NOT READ THEM

New Zealand Listener, Volume 11, Issue 279, 27 October 1944, Page 17

SHE DUSTED BUT DID NOT READ THEM

Alexander Turnbull’s Housekeeper Still Lives Among The Books

\ X 7 E discovered the other day that the housekeeper at the Turnbull Library, Wellington, is the original housekeeper of Alexander Turnbull himself, and that she has lived among the books for more than 40 years. But the Turnbull Library is almost as full of doors and stairways as it is of books, and it was by passing through one of these doors into an unsuspected living quarter at the back of the library that we found Miss Brouard, the housekeeper. Books can be weighty things to live with, but Emily Brouard, tiny, whitehaired, eager and friendly, has certainly not been oppressed by them. On the contrary, they brought her release from her girlhood burdens, for she was born in the Channel Islands, where her family grew flowers for Covent Garden, and growing flowers in the Channel Islands meant much more than it means in New Zealand, "We couldn’t understand," she told us, "how people could grow flowers without the endless hard work we had to put in at home. Even the watering was hard labour, because we had to pump all the water up by hand. Then it had to be: left in barrels in the sun during the day so that it would be warm for the plants in the evening when we watered them. But everything we did over there was hard work. We even had to house the cattle at night." "But you must jhave missed the gardens when you came to New Zealand?" "Yes, but it wasn’t a bad miss. I didn’t like gardening, and there was no escape from it as long as I was at home." She Has Seen Changes So Miss Brouard has been happy in — her New Zealand life. It was in 1902 that she first went to be housekeeper for Mr. Turnbull and his brother; and in those days the old part of Parliament Buildings was Government House. "The Terrace was called Museum Street, because, of course, that was where the

museum stood. The Turnbulls had a whole acre of ground running along the edge of Museum Street, and the drive to the house came up Bowen Street. I can remember that the Governors used to have a little iron gate at the bottom of the grounds leading into Bowen Street-a way out when they wanted to get away unobserved. There was only Queen’s Wharf then, and the Wairarapa train used to go right to Te Aro. We called the Thorndon Station the Manawatu Station. What’s now the fish mart was the Wairarapa Station. When I came here first the two Turnbull brothers were living together, but one liked company and the other liked books, so after a while they separated. "Mr. Alex, of course, lived only for his books. He was very reserved, almost a man of silence. Sometimes I’ve seen him go for days without saying a thing, then he’d have to say something just to break™the monotony. Sometimes he (continued on next page)

SHE DUSTED THE BOOKS (continued from previous page) used to say ‘Oh well, I don’t say much, but I’m very satisfied, And we knew that he meant that." When we asked her about the build-ing-what it was like before it was the library-Miss Brouard smiled, Always the Library "But this always was the library. Mr. Turnbull built it in 1916 as a home and library combined, and it was just about as it is now. The old home was up at the back there, It’s the nurses’ home for the Bowen Street Hospital now. We used to dust all the books in those days -and that was a job, I can tell you. He had the books even on the beds in the spare room in the old place. Cases of books came every other mail. He had his agents everywhere buying for him. Books filled his mind. In the case of anything elsé he would say ‘Oh, you know what to do about it.’ There was a lot of responsibility, but we had no restrictions. He always trusted us, so of course we did our best." , "Then you were some years with him before the library arrived." "Oh, yes, 10 or 12. He used to say ‘Some day I’m_ going to build a library.’ "We used to say ‘Well, he hasn’t built it yet.’ But we knew he would, and at last he did. He died just 18 months after he moved into this building." "Did you wonder what would happen then?" "Oh, no, Mr. Turnbull always promised we’d be looked after. He left the library to the Government, of course, but it was some time before the opening took place. However, there was so much to do tidying, dusting and getting things ready that the time did not seem long. You don’t realise changes when you are living in the middle of them. The place just seemed to grow with us." Giving, But No Lending "Were you encouraged to read the books?" "Oh, no, they were much too heavy for me. But I knew where they were kept. Sometimes he would ask me to look something up, and I’d know just where to find it. He’d never lend a book-he’d buy another and give it, but he’d never lend. I used to wonder sometimes what would happen to all the books, but he would say ‘Somebody will put them right.’ He alwsys knew that his books would be cared for. "And what would you do with yourselves when you weren’t minding the books?" "Goodness me, there was always plenty going on. I remember when penny postage stamps came in. The wharves were crowded out with people waiting to buy a stamp. You see, the Post Office was facing the wharf in those days. I’ve never heard such a New Year’s Eve as that. Then we had the Regent-that was the opera house, A friend and I would have a ‘bob’s worth of lean-over’ sometimes. The back seats had a ledge we could lean over, and you ¢ould see better than in the front. In that way we saw Bland Holt and his wife, but I’ve forgotten their plays. And everybody followed the Broughs, and, of course, the Fullers. Then at the back of the Midland Hotel was (continued on next page)

(continued from prévious page) the music-hall. So I always listen-in on Friday night to ‘Ye Olde Time MusicHall.’ I do enjoy it; it brings back all those old shows. "You've certainly had an interesting life." "Oh, I suppose it has been interesting; but when you’ve been in a place a long time you do your work and you don’t stop to think of what’s been." "See that tree there," she called out as we left. "That's a seedling from a tree planted up near the old house when Mr. Alex was born."