Read all about it: Glasgow’s Mitchell Library celebrates 100 years at Charing Cross

Glasgow’s Mitchell Library is the largest in Europe, with over two million books and 13 floors of reading rooms. With this year marking the 100th anniversary of its move to its present site at Charing Cross, Stuart Kelly opens the book on a remarkable Scottish institution

WALKING into Glasgow’s Mitchell Library at Charing Cross doesn’t feel like walking into a library. The bold neoclassical exterior looks more like the hallowed halls of American political power or an Italian baroque church. Inside, the sweeping marble staircases, polished Tabasco mahogany panelling, severe looking busts of moustachioed men and stained glass might make you think you’d stumbled into a gentlemen’s club of the 1930s or the Senior Common Room of an Oxbridge college. Sometimes referred to as the “Street Corner University”, the Mitchell Library is about to open an exhibition in celebration of its 100 years at the Charing Cross site. It is without a doubt one of the city’s most iconic and best-loved buildings.

The Mitchell is now the largest public reference library in Europe, with over two million books and 13 floors of reading rooms. It was founded by Stephen Mitchell, who was born in Linlithgow in 1789 and took over the family’s tobacco business in 1820. Legend has it that Mitchell and his brother both courted the same woman, who eventually gave her hand to his slightly better-looking brother. A Unitarian, he created night classes for his employees which later became the “Tobacco Boys’ Night Schools”. He never married, and had no children, and left his vast fortune to the Corporation of Glasgow to “form the nucleus of a fund for the establishment and endowment of a large Public Library in Glasgow, with all the modern accessories connected therewith”.

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Despite his philanthropy, he was not a man to seek public attention: in the course of researching the exhibition only a single photograph of Stephen Mitchell could be found. On his death in 1874, he left £70,000 – the equivalent today, using the retail price index, of £5 million – and the library was founded, originally about a cheese and ham shop on the corner of Ingram and Albion Streets. Although there was space for 350 readers and 14,400 books, demand and acquisitions soon outstripped the building’s capacity. In 1891, the library was moved to new premises in the renovated council offices on 21 Miller Street, now with room for 400 readers and 150,000 books. Within a few years it too was judged too small.

In 1897, an article in the St Mungo fulminated: “It is high time the people of Glasgow rose in their might and demanded the abolition of the Mitchell Library. This foul plague spot, this malodorous, ugly, useless institution should no longer be permitted to fester in Miller Street, a retreat for the unclean and noisome loafer, an encourager of laziness and a propagater of disease”. The library was a haunt of “bemufflered vagabonds” and according to the journalist, “if the Mitchell Library were really designed for the good of the public, all novels and picture books would be set aside in a hall lined with enamel tile that could be flushed out with water twice a day”.

It was eventually decided, in 1904, that the Mitchell required a purpose-built home. A public competition for the design was won by William B Whitie, and construction at North Street began in 1907, with Andrew Carnegie, the great American benefactor of libraries, laying the foundation stone. The copper dome was topped with a statue representing “Literature” – sometimes wrongly thought to be the Greek goddess Minerva – designed by the Borders sculptor Thomas Clapperton and modelled by Teresa Mackenzie, who was also the model for “Britannia” on pre-decimal coinage.

The 200,000 books were moved by 200 horse-drawn lorries and, the night before the opening, magazines were taken on an open-top tram. The third Mitchell Library opened on 16 October 1911, with the former prime minister, The Earl of Rosebery, making a speech. It was not the speech anyone expected. He did not, he said, wish to issue platitudes, before describing himself “depressed” by the thought that no-one would ever be able to read all the works in the library, describing it as a “cemetery of books”.

Shortly thereafter he withdrew from public life. Some stereotypes die hard: one report said, “those patrons who are not very careful in the score of cleanliness will find it difficult to reconcile themselves to the bright new surroundings”. St Andrew’s Halls next door were incorporated into the Mitchell after a fire destroyed all of it except the façade in 1962, and a new cafeteria and multimedia area was developed in 2005.

From the outset the Mitchell has had an ideology very different from the great copyright and university libraries. In its founding constitution, it was written that, “books on all subjects not immoral shall be freely admitted to, and form part of, the Library, and no book shall be regarded as immoral which simply controverts present opinions on political and religious questions”. Dr James Marwick, the town clerk, refined these ideas in 1876. With the ambition that “the Mitchell Library may become second only to the British Museum,” he insisted that “every idea must be banished of limiting its scope of making it the library of any class.” The absolute focus was on a classless library: “The library would be the property of no class in particular, and books would be chosen with a view to the requirements of a diversified population. Let it not be said that the Mitchell Library would be a library for the rich. The command of such appliances of knowledge as the Mitchell Library will offer to every person in Glasgow is a boon which cannot be regarded as in any sense limited to a class.”

It is an ideology that continues to this day. Karen Cunningham, head of libraries for Glasgow Council, says: “It’s of course an incredible responsibility but probably the most valuable thing for me is the fact that we have so many staff who care so much and are so committed to the Mitchell and the idea of the public library. Information is what underpins democracy and we see that as one of our key roles here. It’s important in that whole sense of the Mitchell being here for everyone. It’s not about class or censorship, it’s about serving the needs of the public.” It’s a sentiment echoed by library users. Christine Gillingham, from Kilmarnock, comes to the library each day to read the newspapers and research her interests in the Second World War. She describes the library’s “really good atmosphere” as being “due to the fact that it’s run with contributions from the public. It shows that Glasgow thinks highly of education and reading”.

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As part of the centenary celebrations, former staff members and readers of all ages are being invited to contribute their memories. Drummond Wallace, now in his eighties, has been telling current staff about his first role as “town boy” – the equivalent of e-mail in the post-war period, he took correspondence between the library and the council offices. Such celebrations are inevitably tinged with anxiety, as the role of libraries in the digital age changes. John McInnes, who has been using the library for over 30 years, is enthusiastic about some of the changes. “It’s hard to imagine BC – before computers”, he says, “you used to get taken by the hand by some old retainer to get the documents. You could do a lot of the research, but not as quickly. I’m a Googlehead like everyone else now.”

Cunningham talks about the new “24-hour library” and tells me that they are just about to develop a new library app. But what’s most important is they are “a trusted and valuable source of information that is managed and presented in a way that the user knows is reliable. The Google Generation assume all you have to do is type in the term to a search engine and everything comes back to you, but there’s no trust, there’s no reliability. Our services are checked and verified and unchanging.”

There have been high-profile campaigns in England and Wales against library closures, as the Big Society harks back to the age of benevolent philanthropists. Scotland seems in a slightly more secure position. Cunningham points out that: “The provision of a free public library service is statutory. The Mitchell is unique in the sense that our special collections and archives have come to us through bequest or donation but that’s altogether different from the fact that we’ve had ongoing support from the time the Mitchell was initially set up from the council. We know we are unique but Glasgow Council, or the corporation as it was, have always recognised that the Mitchell is special and have continued to fund us. We don’t see that changing”.

The click of computer keyboard is a far cry from the “old men in bunnets” that McInnes remembers reading newspapers in the booths. But what hasn’t changed is that the Mitchell, as he says, has always been “a resource, but also a sanctuary”.

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