Is borrower’s regret worth finding out if the bunny makes it past the farmer?
In July of 1979, I took out a Beatrix Potter book from the Yeoville Library in Johannesburg. I was 10 years old, had just discovered the joy of anthropomorphic woodland creatures in waistcoats and had every intention of returning the book on time. I didn’t. Or, not to blame my mother, of blessed memory, but she didn’t.
I recently found it in a box, lovingly nestled between a knotted Coke yoyo, a Sprite ‘dingbat’ with no sting or ‘ding’ and a cassette tape labelled “Queen mix tape [don’t fast-forward past We Will Rock You]”.
And that’s when the guilt hit me.
Being a responsible adult now – allegedly – I decided to make amends. Which is when I began to calculate what I might owe the Johannesburg Library (Yeoville) in fines.
Back in 1979, the going rate for a late book was about 5c per day. Reasonable. But it’s now 16,822 days later. That’s 46 years of literary delinquency, which, even at 5c a day, racks up a bill of R841.10, in 1979 money. But, as anyone who’s ever tried to buy a Coke or a house knows, 1979 rands aren’t the same as 2025 rands. So, adjusting for average inflation over the years – at about 8.5% annually – the modern equivalent is… R36,025.
Yes. Thirty-six thousand rand. For a rabbit in a blue coat who couldn’t stay out of Mr McGregor’s garden. And that’s not all.
According to the terms of the library, which I definitely never read, I was also required to notify them of any address change. Which we failed to do. Restless in body and soul, we have moved a total of 12 times since then. Meaning that technically, to fulfil the obligation, we’d need to update the librarian with each new move. The only problem? She was already about 80 at the time. She was also a chain smoker and had the voice to prove it. Given the circumstances, I have every reason to believe she passed on to the great Dewey Decimal System in the sky sometime around 1983.
Which means exhuming her not once, but 12 times, to share the news of our relocation. It’s not cheap. And frankly, it seems cruel. She deserves her rest, and I suspect she would have understood. After all, it was Beatrix Potter. Not something trashy. And I was 10. And also: inflation.
So, what now?
Do I do an EFT to the city for R36,025, excluding exhumation costs? Do I return the book quietly under cover of darkness – not so difficult considering that Yeoville hasn’t seen a working streetlight in two decades? Or do I start a GoFundMe to crowdsource my literary redemption? I haven’t decided how the story ends.
But one thing is clear: if you’re reading this and you’ve forgotten to return a book, now might be a good time. Before your fine reaches mortgage levels. And if you’re reading this, dear librarian, wherever you are, I’m sorry. And thank you. For letting me borrow a story that clearly stayed with me for a lifetime.
Text | Howard Feldman
Photography | marhus
Follow Howard Feldman on X: @HowardFeldman
