Learning to read during the war
wasn’t easy, as books were few
and far between. But Mother
made sure I didn’t go to sleep
without a bedtime story.
Because of the blackout
the warm, comforting glow
of a bedside lamp was not permitted.
So Mum would pull back the curtains
and open wide the window.
And by the light of a blazing factory
or a crashed Messerschmitt,
cuddled up together, she would read
saucebottles, jamjars, and, my
all-time favourite, a tin of Ovaltine.
So many years ago, but still
I remember her gentle guidance
as I read aloud my first sentence:
‘S-p-r-i-n-k-1-e t-w-o h-e-a-p-e-d
t-e-a-s-p-o-o-n-s-f-u-l o-f…