The beginning: reading as the inspiration for writing

Retirement was the perfect opportunity, with no excuses, to start one of my life goals - to write children’s literature. It took a while for the dust of being a schoolteacher and deputy head to settle enough for me to embark on my first project.

Finally I gathered some thoughts together and started the journey. It has been a far longer journey than I imagined but one that brings a huge amount of satisfaction along with the disappointments and heart aches.

Writing children’s literature has come out of a deep love of children’s stories that goes back to my own childhood. My mother was a constant reader. She read whilst breast-feeding I am told. She certainly read whenever she was not doing anything else or whenever there was a suitable opportunity whilst engaged on another activity. She read from early morning to bedtime, upstairs, downstairs, on buses and trains and I am sure she would have read walking along the road pushing the pram or pushchair if she could have done so safely.

She visited the library several times a week and was always reserving new books which she had heard about from reading reviews.  I am sure if she had lived in the era of electronic books, she would have had a Kindle and would have been loading it up all the time with new books.

I well remember her ordering a book from the library when I was about 4 years old. When she went to pick it up, it transpired that the book was in fact 20 large volumes. Not wishing to show her ignorance of this fact, she gaily said that she would take all the volumes at once and not one at a time as offered by the librarian. The large volumes were piled high in the pushchair and I had to walk home.

Benjamin Bunny

However her great love of literature also spilled over into giving each one of her children a love of books and reading as well.  We were all read to regularly and not just read to – the books were discussed and new words learnt and used. I remember sitting avidly listening to Beatrix Potter’s Tale of Benjamin Bunny. I learned the word soporific and then loved to use it whenever I could.  We would pore over the books and pictures together and I was always begging for another story.

As soon as I could read for myself – I did. Just like my mother all the time. Not having a book on the go is, even today, almost unthinkable. Into this magical world of children’s stories came one final piece in the jigsaw of developing a passion for literature.

In our church were an elderly brother and sister – in fact they were probably not as elderly as my childish imagination believed but they were both unmarried. They lived in a huge house together and he even had a baby grand piano in his bedroom. Both of them were talented pianists.

He had a great love for children’s literature and endowed the church with a children’s library. One of the rooms of the church hall was fitted out with cupboards which could be locked. Into these cupboards every quality children’s book on the market at that time was neatly stored.

The library had every Beatrix Potter book, all the Orlando the Marmalade Cat and Madeleine books. There was every story in the Jennings saga, all the Chronicles of Narnia books, every Biggle’s story, all the Angela Brazil and Arthur Ransome stories and on and on and on. The only notable exception were the Enid Blyton books as they were considered poorly written. This was a disappointment to an avid Enid Blyton fan but it opened the world of other authors to the eager reader.

Each week after church we would rush into the library and change our books and then go home to devour our latest treasures in the quiet of a Sunday afternoon.  Our public library was good but was a poor substitute for the riches found in the church library.

Possibly my favourite children's book

50 years later I decided to try and see if I could get hold of a copy of a book by Violet Needham, an author I loved as a child. Girls Gone By were now publishing all of her books so I bought them one at a time.  They still captivate me today – stories of honour, bravery, courage and fortitude and I do not think they are corny even if they are inevitably out-dated. Funnily enough I asked an enthusiastic 11-year-old reader in my class to try one of them.  He too thoroughly enjoyed it even though it was very different fare from his usual literary experience.

From this wonderful beginning, the teenage years were hard. In those days there was nothing much to transition from children’s to adult literature and my reading experience degenerated till I had matured enough to enjoy the world of adult books.

However, I would always go back to re-read children’s favourites and as my own children came along I loved to read to them as I had been read to. There were many new titles to be enjoyed and reading together was an extremely precious pastime.  Finally I got to read to my class and share with them some wonderful children’s stories. Now I can read to my grandchildren and what wonderful books there are for the infant reader.

Today I still read children’s literature for pleasure though finding pleasurable reads has become harder and harder. The fashion at the moment is for incredibly original stories which are frankly – weird. I suppose I am an old fashioned girl who just loves a good story, well written without having to contort my brain around names and situations that are just so outside of the ordinary. Fortunately well-written fascinating stories are still being published. I hope my efforts can add to them.

In my mind is a remark made by my aunt to my mother. They had been discussing a book they had just read and my aunt looked at me and said, ‘isn’t she lucky? All those books still to be read for the first time.’ I knew exactly what she meant.