The day the school library got its first encyclopedia set
The day the school library got its first encyclopedia set is remembered less for a grand ceremony than for the excited crowd gathered around a plain wooden crate. Once the lid came off, a matching sequence of brown hardbacks appeared, their gilt lettering catching the morning light. Students pressed forward to touch the covers, open the heavy volumes and peer at maps, diagrams and unfamiliar illustrations while the library teacher tried to restore order.
For pupils accustomed to exercise books, an occasional dictionary and a small cupboard of storybooks, the collection changed the possibilities of every lesson. It gave them somewhere to check a fact, trace an idea and begin a project without depending entirely on a teacher’s recollection. The books mattered because they were shared: each curious reader became another student learning how knowledge could be found, questioned and preserved.
An ordinary morning with an extraordinary delivery
The delivery arrived during a busy school day, carried from the entrance by the caretaker and several senior students. Desks were moved aside, and the new books were stacked beside the library window while classmates waited for permission to approach. Their excitement was obvious, but the library teacher understood that a valuable collection would be spoiled quickly without rules. Volumes were counted, arranged in order and entered in the issue register before most students were allowed to borrow them.
A brief assembly announcement made the event official. The head teacher explained that the encyclopedias belonged to the whole school and should be treated with the same care as classroom equipment. Teachers could reserve them for specific lessons, while students learned to consult indexes rather than simply search for a convenient page. Years later, alumni in Melbourne remembered the communal spirit of those rules and compared it with public libraries across Australia, where one membership card can open doors to books, films, music and information across council branches.
The knowledge hidden inside the covers
The set covered far more than the subjects named in the school timetable. Its pages brought together geography, science, literature, history, art and everyday subjects such as agriculture, medicine and civics. Maps showed roads, rivers and political boundaries; biographies introduced figures students had never encountered; and detailed diagrams helped explain the world beyond Baranagore. For many pupils, those images became the first exposure to places they would later study, visit or imagine.
Older volumes carried the character of their time. The type was dense, the vocabulary formal and some facts already felt dated, yet the books remained useful. A student preparing a speech on rivers could follow a diagram, while another checking the life of a mathematician found a concise biography written for ordinary readers. The habit of browsing richly illustrated reference works survives in spaces such as the Lieven Deute collection, where art and associated stories can be explored online and visual memory becomes part of the learning experience.
A reference desk before search engines
Before mobile phones, laptops and search engines became learning tools, locating an answer required patience. Pupils learned to read the contents page, scan an index and identify the relevant volume. The librarian often showed them how several entries could be compared instead of accepting the first convenient statement. That process taught careful reading, and it gave quiet students time to investigate a subject before raising their hand in class.
The set also transformed the library from a place for borrowing novels into a working reference room. Teachers sent groups there during free periods, and older students became unofficial guides for younger pupils. In modern Australia, a similar rhythm survives through school reading challenges, silent-reading periods and Council library programmes such as story time, where children first encounter books as shared sources of information and imagination rather than mysterious objects behind a counter.
The people who protected the books
The library teacher became the collection’s first custodian. Tired spines were strengthened, loose pages were secured, and handwritten labels helped pupils replace each volume correctly. The caretaker treated the cupboard as a valued part of the school, keeping it away from damp during the monsoon and making sure that returned books were aired before being placed on the shelves. Their work was quiet, but every repair extended the life of the set.
The books also helped ease differences between pupils. A child with few study materials at home could consult a reference volume while preparing an assignment, and a pupil who discovered a particular subject could share that interest with classmates. Australian alumni often recognise the same resourcefulness in second-hand bookshops and op shops, where volunteers sort donated material, repair usable items and place them where another reader can find them. Here, the equivalent resource was made available inside the school gates.
Memories alumni still share
When alumni were asked what they remember about the arrival, the same small details returned. The physical appearance of the collection often mattered as much as its educational value.
- The queue beside the library issue register
- Brown covers decorated with gilt lettering
- Dust rising when a new volume was opened
- A teacher’s reminder to use the index
Another group of recollections concerned what the books changed in the classroom. They did not simply provide answers; they altered habits and opened new lines of enquiry.
- Group projects became easier to begin
- Curious pupils tested claims against printed sources
- Silent reading periods gained a clearer purpose
- Students began visiting the library outside lessons
At a reunion in Parramatta, former students described the collection with the relaxed certainty common in Australian conversation. One remembered being “dead keen” to claim a volume, while another said the librarian had made looking things up feel “no worries”. Their drawings and class paintings extended this visual memory into our BRKM alumni exhibition, which brings old and new BRKM works together and keeps the school’s creative history visible.
When the encyclopedias became bridges
The encyclopedias were never meant to remain the final word. As curricula changed, new books arrived and digital information became part of school life, parts of the original set gradually felt dated. The librarian continued to place them beside newer references, recognising that students could compare perspectives by consulting more than one source. A pupil asking about a modern development could still learn about earlier events through an old map, biography or scientific explanation.
Over time, the set became a bridge between generations. Younger students saw how older pupils had used the volumes, while senior learners could sense the curiosity of those coming after them. Marginal notes, folded corners and carefully replaced covers recorded years of use. Those signs of handling were not damage so much as evidence that the books had fulfilled their purpose: they had turned passive curiosity into sustained inquiry and given common questions a shared place in the school.
Keeping the memory in the alumni community
Former students can find reunion news, registration details, photographs and shared recollections through the BRKM Reunion community. The site allows people who once shared the same classrooms, school uniform and library shelves to remain connected long after leaving. Sharing the encyclopedia story there adds another fragment to the collective memory of BRKM and gives students, teachers and families a chance to recognise the role played by ordinary books in shaping the school.
That past also connects with the committee’s present support for disadvantaged and meritorious pupils through educational materials, a study centre, medical camps, competitions and donations. Australian alumni branches often use familiar fundraising methods such as sausage sizzles, bake sales and second-hand book sales, turning community participation into practical assistance. Every reunion can therefore become part of the same tradition represented by that first collection: knowledge gathered, preserved and passed on to the people who need it next.