Friday, 26 August 2016
Have you ever thought about as to how and when your real love of books came about? Of course it doesn't need to be books , it could be anything you're into.
I have always thought my light-bulb moment was when I first started infant school. There each day I listened intently to the teacher as she read us a story.
The stories she told the class in our 'story hour' varied. It could be a fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen, an Aesop's fable, or even an extract from the Holy Bible, I didn't care. While some of my fellow class-mates fidgeted, I sat motionless' listening and absorbing every word she read.
I eagerly learned to read in order that I could enjoy these same wonderful stories over and over, as well as discovering new ones. I felt as though each one had been written for me alone and was reluctant to share.
Thinking back though I wonder if that is when my hunger for books really did start. I've told you in another post about my mother's story-telling, but she loved to read too. Each Thursday she would visit the local library and come home with the maximum number of books she was allowed to borrow.
Late at night when myself and my three siblings were safely tucked up in bed, she would retreat into the pages of her Mills and Boon world. Leaving the stresses and strains of being a full-time mother and housewife behind, giving her time to recharge her batteries for the next day.
It doesn't matter I suppose why I love words, I'm just happy I do and privileged that I can now share my words with others.