The Reading Round Up

I love reading to my kids. I am, if I do say so myself, pretty good at it. That University degree in drama eventually did come in useful! I do all the character voices, have a red hot go at the accents (I recently appalled myself with my awful attempt at an American accent but the kids didn't complain) and I love to build the suspense or play the comedy. This has had a lovely flow-on to Climber's own reading style so that he is gratifyingly expressive too - I think from my experience listening to the grade 1s and 2s doing their reading in their flat little monotones that this is slightly unusual. I do sometimes feel bad for Fixit because he has to do the stories three nights each week when I teach tap; Fixit (a) doesn't really enjoy reading aloud, probably because he never reads for pleasure, and (b) did accounting /mechanics as his further education - they don't help you much when you're up to your ears in Harry Potter. And the boys are so tactful about who they prefer to listen to... But true to form Fixit puts his shoulder to the wheel and provided it's not Enid Blyton he doesn't seem to mind it so much any more. In fact, he quite enjoys it when we do Roald Dahl (and who wouldn't?).

Currently, the Climber gets a chapter book and the Cherub has a couple of picture books. Then it occurred to me that Cherub is just about ready for some babyish chapter books, like The Wishing Chair or The Magic Faraway Tree (oh the agony! Climber loved these so much -and you know, the ideas are great - but by the third time we had to read about those little prigs Fanny, Bessie and that horrid bossy Dick, Fixit and I were so irritated that we were having bitch sessions to each other about how much we hated them. True story) . The prospect of having to read two different chapter books each night made me wonder if I should ditch reading aloud to Climber and instead get him a reading light for his bed so that he could take care of his own needs. It seemed like a good idea to promote the reading in bed anyway, so we braved the madness of Ikea-on-a-weekend and bought lamps for both boys; now after they've been read to they snuggle up in their beds and do some more reading under their own steam, which means Cherub looks at pictures and pulls out pop-up flaps and Climber steams through the Captain Underpants books and whatever else I give him until we can get another Captain Underpants from the library. But he didn't want us to stop reading to him, and it suddenly occurred to me that my days of reading aloud to my boys are numbered. And then I looked glumly into my own future and realised how much I will miss it. So although we may have a period where it feels a bit cumbersome, I'm going to keep in mind that there will come a time when my stupid accents and dramatic shrieks and sighs will just embarrass them, and then I'll have to put it all on hold until the grandchildren arrive.

The books we've read to Climber have included a great deal of Roald Dahl and to date, the first 5 Harry Potters. In between I've slipped in some Flat Stanley, some Mrs Pepperpot and Black Beauty. I've also tried him with a couple of books by my favourite children's author, Noel Streatfeild. Maybe one day I'll try her most famous book, Ballet Shoes, with him, just because I loved it so much. I've still got my original copy with my name and "3 Blue" (my grade) inscribed on it...

It might not be a conventional choice for boyish literature, but as we all know, dancing is not just for girls. And the whole 'three adopted sisters making their way in the world' is a cracking good yarn, regardless of the reader's gender. Well. At Climber's age, anyway. But to begin with I thought I'd read one of hers with a more universal, trans-gender appeal, so I tried The Circus Is Coming. Circuses are fun, I reasoned. But actually, it's not one of her better books and most of the characters are not very likeable, so it was only an okay read, not a big hit.

Then last month we read this book:

When The Siren Wailed is the story of a family of 3 kids; Laura (9), Andy (6) and Tim (4) who are evacuated from London just before World War II begins, to the countryside in Dorset. I was blown away by what a great book it was to share with Climber. The idea of kids of Climber's age being sent away from their home and their parents, while the world went to war, is one you might find in a gruesome fairy tale. That it's based on fact made it incredibly gripping. Every chapter we read involved a big history lesson and he was as interested to hear it as I was to explain. It was great. Reading it as a parent, though, had me really gasping at one thing that I didn't even really notice when I read it years ago. Which was that the mother in the story sent her kids away to be cared for by strangers and she stayed in London to work and be near her home & husband (till he sailed with the Navy). She didn't see her children for a year and a half. Her youngest was 4 when the story began. And even though I know that the circumstances, chief of which was the family's abject poverty, made this her only option, I still boggle at it. Imagine having to do it. Imagine.

There's a scene in the book when a German soldier parachutes into a nearby field after his plane is shot down. Poor Climber got so terribly anxious about the fate of the captured pilot that I ended up painting his fate as happy because of the increased chances of survival in a British POW jail. Which is probably true when you think about soldier mortality rates in that conflict. A week later the book was still playing on Climber's mind and after school one day he told me he needed to fly to London to vomit. I said Huh? I'd misheard him of course, he was halfway to London by then, arms spread in his Sopwith Camel (or whatever) to bomb it. And I'm not sure if that's exactly what I wanted him to get out of this book, but I think it means that the story really came alive for him. And by golly, that IS what I want my kids to get from reading.