Books, everywhere! I don’t remember a time when there wasn’t a book in sight: every room seemed to have a book either standing on a shelf, lying on a work top or resting in someone’s hands. ‘A room without books is like a body without a soul’ as my family used to say. I couldn’t imagine a room without a book; something to explore, a new beginning.
Reading was part of my life from a young age. Mum says I used to play with those cardboard ones and even chew them as a baby! Later on reading was part of the evening routine. I remember I’d get into my pink pyjamas without any fuss and clamber into my pink bed, snuggle up to tiger and listen to my parents read. It was the highlight of my day, and something to threaten to take away to ensure I was on my best behaviour. The stories left me with a warm feeling in my tummy like the milky drink that accompanied them.
As a toddler we made frequent trips to the library for ‘story time’ where a member of staff would perch on a tiny chair and read to us. I would join a group of fidgety children who would need no telling to settle down once the story had begun. We would go home clutching our proud colourings of that week’s hero, pleased that Percy had kept the park safe for all the wildlife or laughing about the pig that cooled himself down in the pond. My brother and I would be allowed to choose 5 books each to take home, I remember fondly the frustration of having to put back a bright cover or textured book, especially those with bears or elephants on the front cover, because it would take us over our pushchair capacity. Did the stories always have happy endings or do I just recall those with Elma finding his friends or daddy bear hugging baby after he had a nightmare?
