UG’s bookbinder retires
Who will make your PhD degree now?
Door Lotte Kruijer
By Lotte Kruijer
Lotte Kruijer
Aggiant cutting machine made of green cast iron is paired with a device with heavy spools of thread mounted on it. Racks along the walls are stacked with almost every kind of paper in existence. Other cabinets appear to be home-made out of pallets, filled with coloured paper or rolls of leather.
In between, he’s constructed tables out of trestles and old wooden boards. There’s a small chest of drawers. A formica table that would fetch a pretty penny at any vintage shop. One table is stacked high with PhD degrees for the UG, waiting to get packed into their respective folders. And books! Every single surface is covered in books.
Berend Erends’ bookbinding studio at the Pelsterstraat 42 is the definition of ‘organised chaos’. An outsider would probably get completely lost, but Erends knows exactly where everything is. And with good reason. This is his domain.
But something has changed over the past few weeks. He’s hung pieces of paper from the machines in front of the window, with ‘for sale’ on them. After more than half a century, the UG will have to find someone else to bind its old magazines and new degrees: after fifty-five years, the bookbinder is retiring.
Brought up
He remembers walking around the bookbinding shop as a little boy of eleven. His father took over the company, which is more than one hundred years old, in 1970. Berend was in the shop every single day, learning something new each time. ‘I was basically brought up in the business’, he says. ‘When it was time to take over the company in 1991, I knew everything. That helped a lot.’
There used to be four of us, but now I’m on my own
The now sixty-six-year-old Erends, with his black glasses, grey hair, and friendly demeanour, works for private customers and repeat clients. The UG is in the latter category and one of his biggest clients, in part due to the degrees every PhD receives when they graduate. He binds them in batches of sixty, and he even used to do batches of one hundred. ‘But back then, there were four of us. These days, I’m on my own.’
It’s a complex job: the materials are first cut, after which the front and back are bound together. Then, he puts it to the side to dry. ‘Next, I glue the covers and punch the holes the ribbons are strung through. That has to dry for an entire day’, he says.
Erends would also bind magazines into thematic ‘ledgers’ for the UG and would help with special editions or restorations. ‘I usually spend the morning doing projects for the UG and in the afternoon I work on projects for private customers or museums, like the Rijksmuseum.’
Digitisation
While the company is still flourishing, the work has decreased over the past few years. This is partially due to digitisation. There are barely any paper magazines left. Reading rooms were turned into computer rooms, and fewer books were needed. ‘Slowly but surely, I started getting less work.
Other customers disappeared as well. ‘Occasionally, some young people come in to have their family’s old books rebound. But private customers alone aren’t enough to pay my way.’
Occasionally, some young people come in to have their family’s old books rebound
While he once employed nine people, Erends kept having to fire people. In 2012, he even had to let his son go. ‘It was really difficult, but it was the only way for the company to survive.’
These days, he has help for a few hours each week, but he does most of the work alone. ‘It’s very different. Not that it’s changed my enjoyment of the work. I’ve never lost the passion for it.’
Rebinding old books is one of his favourite jobs. ‘I take something broken and make it whole again, which I think is beautiful. Look at these, for instance’, he says, pointing to a large stack of books. They’re clearly old, with their titles printed in gold letters. ‘Isn’t that just gorgeous?’
Quality first
Books still hold emotional value to a lot of people, and that’s the main reason they come to him, for instance with old bibles. ‘That’s something I always treat with respect. I want to make sure I do it justice.’
I’ve had to disappoint several customers already
Jobs for large clients like the UG or museums aren’t as personal. But regardless of who the job is for, quality always comes first. ‘That’s how I did it fifty years ago and how it’s always been’, says Erends.
Now, after fifty-five years of binding, Erends is done. ’I’ve enjoyed my work for years, but enough is enough’, he says. His father, the former owner, had some trouble with the news. ‘He was like, can’t you keep doing it for two days a week? I think it’s more difficult for him than for me’, Erends laughs. ‘But he’s since realised that it’s the right thing to do.’
Nevertheless, he will miss the special little moments in his workshop. The neighbours who wave at him every day or tap on the window to say hello. ‘My grandchildren often bike by here with their friends who notice the sign outside the shop. They’ll point out that it’s the same last name, to which my grandkids reply that I’m their grandpa.’ Erends laughs. ‘Isn’t that just the best?’
Busy
He won’t be able to retire quietly. Now that he’s announced he’s closing the shop, he’s busier than ever. ‘I’ve had to disappoint several customers already. Otherwise I won’t finish the work I still have before September.’
In the meantime, the UG has to look for a new binder. It won’t be easy, Erends thinks. ‘While there are a few hobby binders around, it’s getting increasingly difficult to find people who can guarantee quality work.’
His full shop is slowly emptying out. He’s sold some of his machines or donated them to museums. The front door sports a note that the business will soon close. But Erends looks back on his career in the Pelsterstraat in satisfaction. ’I’ve always enjoyed my work. But now I’m done. It was easy to start this job, and it’ll be just as easy to leave it.’