I have a dream…. welcome, take a seat, get comfy and let me tell you a story.

Once Upon a Time there was a little girl who loved spending her Saturday mornings at the local library, carefully and precisely choosing the precious books that were going to grace the bedside table for the rest of the week.  Quite often, she’d have to return later on that morning, before the library closed at 1pm, as she’d already devoured some of the books she’d chosen, whilst eating buttery toast and drinking hot tea in the back room of her dad’s small-town shop.

That little girl was me…

The stories read to me in nursery school were rarely finished and quickly forgotten thanks to the carpet covered steps that we would gather on to listen, that soon gave way to the snoozy snoring of children, too tired from the morning activities to get to the end of the story. I do recall Meg and Mog though (I even called my pet cat Moggs over 15 years later!) such was the impression that Helen Nicoll’s and Jan Pienkowski’s stories left me with.

Primary school tales were often delivered in the strong Scottish accent of Mrs Milan. I loved ‘The Adventures of The Little Wooden Horse’, and ‘Gobbolino, The Witch’s Cat’ – I have copies of them in my home reading room, proudly displayed as a reminder of how old I really am, but also where my love of reading began.

Firm favourites were repeatedly stamped out of the library, by the ever-conscious librarian Winifred (who a few years later became my Brown Owl – IYKYK); tiny Beatrix Potter illustrated books, the gorgeously girlie Flower Fairies of Cicely Mary Barker, and the ever-present Tales of Brambly Hedge from Jill Barklem. And I’ve no doubt that Peter Pan was in there somewhere, as was The Wizard of Oz.

I had a fascination with the thump of the book stamp, repeatedly echoing around each room in the library, knowing that my time with the treasure would be limited. The delicate, child hand sized, hard backed books were always perfectly preserved with the colourful, enticing hand-drawn illustrations gracing the protective dust jacket. Of course, the books had no need to be at the top of a birthday or Christmas gift list, they were after all freely available at the library any time I wished, so instead I’d ask for the Flower Fairy dolls or Brambly Hedge teacup to accompany the books, so I could read my favourite story’s out loud, whilst drinking tea (more often lemon barley squash).

As I progressed and excelled with my reading through junior school, I vividly remember the shelves of books outside each classroom, slowly and methodically working my way through them all. To the point that when the library van came to swap the books, I was allowed to board the magical machine and choose books that I’d not read before. I just devoured them all.

Books were always a Christmas gift, but Christmas was reserved for our comic annuals; Bunty, The Beano, The Dandy and of course, no Christmas was complete without Rupert the Bear. I still have these annuals today. So precious were the books we owned that they were never spoiled.

The final year of Primary school saw me gifted with a National Book Token, to wish me on my way to Secondary school. I so wish I could remember what book I purchased with that token…