There will be women of a certain age all over Britain who will have been thinking: one of these days I’ll get at those boxes in the loft, in the basement, under the bed, in the shed, and get them to the Women’s Library.
Their archives hold unwritten histories of one of the most paradoxically influential and yet unresourced movements of the 20th century. They are full of personal notes on political tumult, minutes, pamphlets, conversations and encounters with life-changing ideas.
It is ironic that at the very moment when there is an embryonic renaissance of feminism, the archives of the women’s liberation movement are at risk of losing their final destination, if London Metropolitan University unloads its responsibility for the Women’s Library. It is a damned shame that the current custodian sees it not as a national treasure, but as a burden; not as a resource to be enriched, but as an administrative problem.