Clicking the link to Sepia Saturday will show you this week's picture prompt; an Australian magazine cover from the 1930s, called the Queenslander Illustrated Weekly, and priced at 6d. Alan suggests any number of hidden themes to be found there, and I have chosen 'young ladies' and a ‘reading a good story’ as my own themes this week.
The picture above is a five year-old young lady - me, photographed reading a bedtime story to one of my very favourite soft toys, my Golly. Sensitive readers must excuse his inclusion on the grounds that: a) this was the 1950s when he was still thought of as a harmless manifestation of popular children’s storybook characters, and b) I loved him, quite literally, to pieces. He was as dear to me as Blue Bunny was, first to my son and then to my grandson. I wouldn’t want to own one now but I’m not going to airbrush him out of my childhood. My Dad would have taken this picture and I wonder what made him choose to capture that moment, the precious half hour before bedtime, reading in the glow of the firelight, before going up to bed and having another good story, either Mrs Tiggywinkle or other Beatrix Potter stories, read by my Mum, or a Freddie and Flossie Frog story, made up by Dad as he went along.
And here I am with little friend Gillian, doing the next best thing to reading alone - sharing a book with a friend. As a primary school teacher, and headteacher, this is a pose I would often witness in 'The Book Corner', and although these days children are just as likely to be huddled together over the iPad, the magic of a good story is unbeatable. This was a sunny day, hence my trendy shirred swimsuit, and the garden deckchair has been dusted off and put to good use by two little girls lost in a book.
I don’t have any pictures of my Mum reading, but here she is (second row, first right) in her primary School classroom in the 1920s. Reading doesn’t look nearly as much fun in this formally posed picture, but my Mum, now aged 90, assures me that it was. She first heard her favourite, The Wind in the Willows, read aloud by her teacher, in chapters at the end of the day, instilling in Mum a lifelong love of good stories. Mum is an avid reader of fiction and poetry to this day, and reads far faster than I ever can. I asked her what her other stories she enjoyed when she was a youngster. 'Martin Rattler, the Adventures of a Boy in the Forests of Brazil', by R.M. Ballantyne, was top of the list and she loved the Grimms and Hans Christian Anderson stories, which she would read by the light of a Tilley Lamp in bed.
My own daughter followed in the family tradition, and devoured books from an early age. She both reads and writes good stories and poems, in which her love of words shines through. She too had a much loved Golly, made by me, and she wasn’t at all put off when reading the stories of Enid Blyton, who painted him as a mischievous, sometimes sinister character.
Here she is reading one of my old Rupert Annuals. These were full of good stories, and again peopled by strange characters, some of whom were very un-P.C. Some of her other favourite reads were the ‘Mr Men’ and Little Miss’ books of Roger Hargreaves, classic fairy tales and anything with a mermaid in it. A Rupert story featuring mermaids and merboys was a double bonus. When she was older she graduated to Roald Dahl.
We all caught the reading habit very young, and are united in our love of books. There’s nothing to beat taking a well-thumbed much loved book from the shelf and dipping again into a good story or favourite poem. I hope this will remain so, even in the age of the Kindle and iPad, and I hope that my daughter will get as much pleasure the experience when she’s 90, as my Mum does.
The picture above is a five year-old young lady - me, photographed reading a bedtime story to one of my very favourite soft toys, my Golly. Sensitive readers must excuse his inclusion on the grounds that: a) this was the 1950s when he was still thought of as a harmless manifestation of popular children’s storybook characters, and b) I loved him, quite literally, to pieces. He was as dear to me as Blue Bunny was, first to my son and then to my grandson. I wouldn’t want to own one now but I’m not going to airbrush him out of my childhood. My Dad would have taken this picture and I wonder what made him choose to capture that moment, the precious half hour before bedtime, reading in the glow of the firelight, before going up to bed and having another good story, either Mrs Tiggywinkle or other Beatrix Potter stories, read by my Mum, or a Freddie and Flossie Frog story, made up by Dad as he went along.
And here I am with little friend Gillian, doing the next best thing to reading alone - sharing a book with a friend. As a primary school teacher, and headteacher, this is a pose I would often witness in 'The Book Corner', and although these days children are just as likely to be huddled together over the iPad, the magic of a good story is unbeatable. This was a sunny day, hence my trendy shirred swimsuit, and the garden deckchair has been dusted off and put to good use by two little girls lost in a book.
I don’t have any pictures of my Mum reading, but here she is (second row, first right) in her primary School classroom in the 1920s. Reading doesn’t look nearly as much fun in this formally posed picture, but my Mum, now aged 90, assures me that it was. She first heard her favourite, The Wind in the Willows, read aloud by her teacher, in chapters at the end of the day, instilling in Mum a lifelong love of good stories. Mum is an avid reader of fiction and poetry to this day, and reads far faster than I ever can. I asked her what her other stories she enjoyed when she was a youngster. 'Martin Rattler, the Adventures of a Boy in the Forests of Brazil', by R.M. Ballantyne, was top of the list and she loved the Grimms and Hans Christian Anderson stories, which she would read by the light of a Tilley Lamp in bed.
My own daughter followed in the family tradition, and devoured books from an early age. She both reads and writes good stories and poems, in which her love of words shines through. She too had a much loved Golly, made by me, and she wasn’t at all put off when reading the stories of Enid Blyton, who painted him as a mischievous, sometimes sinister character.
Here she is reading one of my old Rupert Annuals. These were full of good stories, and again peopled by strange characters, some of whom were very un-P.C. Some of her other favourite reads were the ‘Mr Men’ and Little Miss’ books of Roger Hargreaves, classic fairy tales and anything with a mermaid in it. A Rupert story featuring mermaids and merboys was a double bonus. When she was older she graduated to Roald Dahl.
We all caught the reading habit very young, and are united in our love of books. There’s nothing to beat taking a well-thumbed much loved book from the shelf and dipping again into a good story or favourite poem. I hope this will remain so, even in the age of the Kindle and iPad, and I hope that my daughter will get as much pleasure the experience when she’s 90, as my Mum does.
Mum reading ‘White Doves of Morning’ by James Lee Burke, in the Lanzarote sunshine. Highly recommended - the book AND the Lanzarote sunshine! |