There were no books in our house. No, that’s not correct, there were books, but they were locked in the bedroom of the random uncle, and that meant I wasn’t allowed even to see them on their shelves.
The random uncle had been swept up with us when our house in the East End was slum-cleared and we were moved to the red-brick housing estat…
There were no books in our house. No, that’s not correct, there were books, but they were locked in the bedroom of the random uncle, and that meant I wasn’t allowed even to see them on their shelves.
The random uncle had been swept up with us when our house in the East End was slum-cleared and we were moved to the red-brick housing estate box. The books he brought with him glittered in my imagination, I knew I wanted to read, the picture books at school were already dead weight. There was treasure behind that bedroom door.
Then the RAF accepted him and he was no longer part of our family. I was the youngest but the complications of gender, relationship and noisy nightmares meant that I was moved into his room. I held my breath as I followed my bedding through that door for the first time, the books were still there! Instantly, in that golden moment, my world expanded 5…. 10…100 times.
There was nothing here that would be considered a childrens book, the uncle was a frustrated traveller, here were foreign lands, strange places, people with different coloured skin. Yet the greatest joy was that there were no librarians to send me back to replace my choice of books on the shelves because they were ‘too old for me’, the ongoing battle I had at the public library.
Nights became adventures, I saved precious pocket-money for torch batteries, I took flight from that unheated bedroom, landing softly (don’t let parents know I’m not asleep) in Africa, Canada, Australia. In the morning I went richer to school, knowing my teachers for what they were, they wanted to ground me in Sunderland. I tolerated their leaden feet, come nightfall, I could journey once more.
Love this, Geoff. The sense of anticipation, the dream realised ... and then the 'travel' to untold shores, broadening the mind, preparing your escape. Was it Laurie Helgoe who said "Reading is like travel, allowing you to exit your own life for a bit, and to come back with a renewed, even inspired, perspective"? Evocative writing. Barrie
Geoff - what a compelling piece this was: in itself like the colour-plate in one of those books: that sort of magnetism (that I remember too: my reading was likewise found material in my grandparents' house, relics of an uncle who'd moved out just before I arrived!). And then that last paragraph - how you invert the roles of student/teachers: stunning.
So touching, how hard you worked to feed your curiosity, "that golden moment." I felt myself cheering you on. I love how everyone takes these prompts and is able to tell a complete story of themselves in so few words and yet leaves the reader longing for more.
Thanks so very much for taking the time to respond so positively Sheila. I find these prompts are a great opportunity to take one small memory and give it the words it might deserve (I've just finished a book-length memoir and if I gave every memory this attention it would be a long book indeed!)
There were no books in our house. No, that’s not correct, there were books, but they were locked in the bedroom of the random uncle, and that meant I wasn’t allowed even to see them on their shelves.
The random uncle had been swept up with us when our house in the East End was slum-cleared and we were moved to the red-brick housing estate box. The books he brought with him glittered in my imagination, I knew I wanted to read, the picture books at school were already dead weight. There was treasure behind that bedroom door.
Then the RAF accepted him and he was no longer part of our family. I was the youngest but the complications of gender, relationship and noisy nightmares meant that I was moved into his room. I held my breath as I followed my bedding through that door for the first time, the books were still there! Instantly, in that golden moment, my world expanded 5…. 10…100 times.
There was nothing here that would be considered a childrens book, the uncle was a frustrated traveller, here were foreign lands, strange places, people with different coloured skin. Yet the greatest joy was that there were no librarians to send me back to replace my choice of books on the shelves because they were ‘too old for me’, the ongoing battle I had at the public library.
Nights became adventures, I saved precious pocket-money for torch batteries, I took flight from that unheated bedroom, landing softly (don’t let parents know I’m not asleep) in Africa, Canada, Australia. In the morning I went richer to school, knowing my teachers for what they were, they wanted to ground me in Sunderland. I tolerated their leaden feet, come nightfall, I could journey once more.
Love this, Geoff. The sense of anticipation, the dream realised ... and then the 'travel' to untold shores, broadening the mind, preparing your escape. Was it Laurie Helgoe who said "Reading is like travel, allowing you to exit your own life for a bit, and to come back with a renewed, even inspired, perspective"? Evocative writing. Barrie
Geoff - what a compelling piece this was: in itself like the colour-plate in one of those books: that sort of magnetism (that I remember too: my reading was likewise found material in my grandparents' house, relics of an uncle who'd moved out just before I arrived!). And then that last paragraph - how you invert the roles of student/teachers: stunning.
Here is your link in the story archive:
https://thecureforsleep.com/november-issue-reading/#geoffcox
Tan xx
So touching, how hard you worked to feed your curiosity, "that golden moment." I felt myself cheering you on. I love how everyone takes these prompts and is able to tell a complete story of themselves in so few words and yet leaves the reader longing for more.
Thanks so very much for taking the time to respond so positively Sheila. I find these prompts are a great opportunity to take one small memory and give it the words it might deserve (I've just finished a book-length memoir and if I gave every memory this attention it would be a long book indeed!)
Wow! Good for you. Best wishes with that!