Tell me a stroy...

Wednesday 25 January 2012

I’ve always loved stories, especially ones that are read or told to me. I it any wonder that I love movies too. Tonight we went to see W.E., a new take on the Edward and Mr Simpson story.  How much of it was based on reality we will never know, but if even part of it is truth it is an amazing story ofa woman's love and sacrifice. 

I vaguely remember Dad making up a bedtime story for me when I was sick. By closing the door into the hallway he created a sun that was setting. Then there was Miss Lawson, head mistress of Hutt Central School. If we got too noisy she would say, ‘The book is closing’. She would continue to close the book and if she actually closed it there would be no more story. My favourite was The Elephant’s Child. Who with his many aunts and uncles and with his mere smear nose, and his insatiable curiosity lived on the banks of the great green greasy Limpopo River, all set about with Fever Trees. I was excited to find an audio of Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories, but quite disappointed to discover that the story in my memory is different to the actual story. I wonder if the teacher gave us her version rather than the one in the book.

Then there was the book that I took to school to be read to the teacher, The Littlest Angel, and I can still see in my mind’s eye the illustrations of the small winged person who gave up her harp and wings and probably other things to while on her way to see the Christ child. Of course, when the Littlest Angel finally got there she was ragged and her feet were cut, but she was considered the one with the most gifts.

I clearly remember a book about the behaviour of cats that I gave a morning talk about. Obviously in the days before shyness took over. The book described how, when a cat is eting or drinking contentedly its tail be held straight out behind it   just off the floor.  That book came from the Lower Hutt Library, as did another of my favourites about a large ginger cat called Orlando.

At Petone Central School one of the teachers read Ian Serraliers Silver Sword. It was all we could do to wait for the next episode of this story about a young boy set in a war-torn county.

Mr Monroe at Hutt Intermediate spoiled me for Tolkien’s books. He read us The Hobbit, and try as I might I have never been able to get into this book. I pick it up from time to time, but after a chapter or two give up.

Unlike Diana Gabaldone’s books that I find hard to put down, but then they are another story altogether.