Tuesday's late night at Gypsy Lane Library and no electric supply for four blocks. Some clown had a bonfire near the electricity substation. To be fair, the bonfire was probably an innocent bystander: there are small emergent nations with more stable electricity supplies than central Helminthdale. (This is the private sector model of service delivery the public sector is told to apsire to.)
The telephones work, though the torches don't, so Pansy rings T.Aldous for permission to close shop. It is not forthcoming quickly: T.Aldous has to ring Warner for permission. This permission being swiftly delivered (I expect Warner was puzzled as to why the question even arose in the circumstances), it got relayed back to Pansy quite some time later. Not without a long preamble explaining why T.Aldous took so long to get back to them.
"Could the caretaker stay behind to receive any books brought back by borrowers who come round while the library's closed?"
"T.Aldous, it's pitch black, there's no lights for half a mile. It wouldn't be safe to leave her alone here on her own on the off-chance that someone might turn up."
"I expect you're right."
The caretaker's husband having turned up with a couple of working torches, they then saw about evacuating the library, scouring odd corners of the library for courting couples and old ladies worrying about the Kaiser. And finally closed the door not that far from normal closing time anyway!