Stephen McGinty: If the past is a foreign country, I think I've met the border guards

I WAS rather excited when an old MI5 file necessitated a visit to a locked room. What secrets could it contain?

THE past is a foreign country: they do things differently, or so said Leslie Poles Hartley. If so, why does the past have a postcode and a charming train station at which to alight? I speak of the National Archives at Kew, the repository of vast swathes of Britain's paperwork stretching across the centuries, and where I have spent the last few days at work. Situated in the London suburb of Kew Gardens, where the station's noticeboard carries a daily inspirational quote, though sadly misspelt, the Archives are reached by strolling down an attractive street of terraced houses, through a sculpted steel gate and towards a modern citadel defending our history, complete with moat and a pair of regal swans.

The reason for my visit was to research a new book. I could tell you the subject matter, but then you'll be bored by the time of publication, when a plug could potentially be turned into a genuine sale. So let's keep it as a surprise, for now - we all need something to look forward to, even if it's the relief of curling your lip, looking down your nose and snorting: "Boooring!"

Having toured my share of archives, but not the daddy of them all, I was rather looking forward to my visit. I arrived at 8:45am and waited in the modern canteen with bleached wooden tables and chairs, for the red rope to be drawn back on the stroke of 9am. I had deposited my bags in the lockers provided and transported my laptop, A4 notebook and HB pencil into the clear plastic bags provided. Reader's tickets are free, but require two forms of ID and the ability to glower. Smiles are frowned upon.

Then it's up to the first floor, where two security guards examine everyone's laptop and you scan the reader's ticket to obtain access. Each visitor is given an appointed seat in the reading room. I was 19F. Files are ordered in batches of up to three using desktop computers, but after 30 minutes have elapsed you can order another batch of three, up to a maximum of 25 in any single day. Once ordered you can check the progress of your request by swiping your reader cards against a wall-mounted monitor which charts the files' progress from archive to your own personal locker. There are around 100 of these lockers rising from floor to ceiling, with clear glass doors and marked with your seat number. They resemble microwaves so you expect them to emit a sonorous ping! when the files are ready.

I was rather excited, a few hours into my shift, when an old MI5 file necessitated a visit to a locked room. What secrets could it contain? Well, none actually, or very little for my purposes, but it was an education in the lengths the Archives will go to in order to ensure their files are available for perpetuity. At one point a staff member rushed into the room to point out that a fellow reader had been seen, on the hidden cameras that dot every room, leaning too heavily on the folder, and would he please be more careful? In fact, working at Kew is like sitting an awkward exam under the watch of a team of rather frightening invigilators.

Yet it was an exam I thoroughly enjoyed. My trip south also led me through the archives of the House of Lords - small room, charming staff and the Imperial War Museum, whose proclivity against the use of digital cameras meant an afternoon of serious typing. As I prepared to leave the Museum I noticed the new exhibition on the uncovering of the mass grave of British and Australia troops from the First World War battle at Fromelles. Looking at the items retrieved, such as a bus ticket from Fremantle to Perth and a heart-shaped pouch with a gold cross, you can't but be moved to tears. The past may be a foreign country which we cannot reach, but it can still reach out, through paper files and personal possessions, and touch us.