Bedtime Stories

This week's Sunday Scribblings theme is Bedtime Stories.

My father will tell you that when I was growing up I would refuse to go to sleep until he had read through a whole book of nursery rhymes. I remember that book - it was huge. My parents always read to me, and it's something I'm really grateful for. There were the usual fairy stories, and there were large numbers of Golden Books. Apparently I was able to remember the stories long before I could read them, and would complain if Dad tried to change the storyline.

I remember that I refused to let Dad leave when he finished reading. There must have been many a night when he lay cramped and cold at the end of the bed with only a thin woollen blanket for comfort, waiting impatiently for me to sleep. I could never work out why he wasn't there the next morning.

When I got a little older we developed a ritual where he would slowly creep down the hallway and slowly close the door at the end, waving to me the whole way. When he began working at a reception lounge he would come in to check on me at 3am in the morning. I would sit up and chat with him, but I would never remember having done so.

My childhood was full of books. I loved The Very Hungry Caterpillar because of the colours and the rhythm of the tale. I loved Winnie the Pooh - because my Nana would sing Pooh songs to me when I stayed overnight there. I remember the momentous day when my Dad took me to the library and told me that I was old enough to choose books from the shelves, rather than the boxes of picture books. I even remember the first book I chose. It had a pink cover and was about a witch's cat.

As I grew older I graduated to Trixie Beldons and books about little girls with horses. Our school teacher would read us Roald Dahl or the Hardy Boys, one chapter at a time. The only book I can ever remember disliking was The Wind in the Willows. It just seemed too silly. Toad was obnoxious, and I have never read the whole thing.

My books are gone. All those Golden Books were taken to a second hand store when my parents moved to Taranaki. The Trixie Beldons were kept, but every time I think of a book that is no longer with me I feel a little grief.

Now I buy books for my nieces. I only hope that they leave their Nintendo machines, DVDs and computers long enough to read them.