It Doesn’t Matter How Or What You Read

I recently found some old school reports from ages 8-10 years. It was of course interesting to read them, but even more interesting to contemplate the memories they prompted…

8 Years Old:•Reading age: 10yrs+•English: 32% above year average•Maths: 26% above year average•“Zena is working well and making steady progress.” Class Teacher•“A quiet, pleasant member of the class who is working well.” Head Teacher9 Years Old: •Reading age: 12yrs+•English: 8% above year average•Maths: 26% above year average•“Zena has maintained good progress this year. She does however need to slow down a little so that she has time to think about what the question is really asking. She is always reliable and helpful in class.” Class Teacher•“A good report in the main but she must pay attention to the quality of her work as well as the quantity. A very pleasant, helpful girl.” Head Teacher 10 Years Old:•Reading age: 12yrs+ (no older books in the school)•English: 22% above year average•Maths: 27% above year average•“Zena is a steady, competent and conscientious worker. She is well motivation, eager to learn and can always be relied upon to do her best.” Class Teacher •“A good report. Well done, Zena.” Head Teacher11 Years Old+

At 11 years old, I then passed the 11+ exam and went to Bournemouth Grammar School for Girls, a bit of a commute from where I lived, but worth every mile. My dad was a cook and my mum was a cleaner, so could only afford a second hand uniform and basic supplies, but I didn’t care – the library was extensive and was to become my sanctuary for the next seven years. It was a thrill just to walk through its doors, especially after having to use my local public library for so long.

My local public library was Boscombe Library, and I should have been elated whenever my mum offered to take me, because it also had an extensive book collection. But I was distinctly disenchanted, and have only just remembered why…

Because of my reading age. The books designated for my age group didn’t challenge me, reading as too young, almost babyish. Whereas the books that did interest me, which would have challenged me, always exceeded the age restrictions on my library card. So there was never anything interesting for me to read!

Once, I recall trying to sneakily borrow an older book. The librarian told me quite sternly to go back and pick another. I was so horrified with embarrassment I didn’t try again.

I’ve also recalled another memory, or rather a non-memory, about picture books – in that, I have no recollection of ever reading or being read them! These days, I know quite a few picture book authors and illustrators, and they often discuss their favourite picture books, or which picture books they read when they were children. Usually I just nod and smile and struggle to think of a title, so I can join in conversation. But nothing comes to mind, because the only books I remember reading were chapter books or magazines…

When I was about 7 years old, my parents did subscribe me to Story Teller magazine (Marshall Cavendish, 1982-85). They were both up before dawn and often went to bed past midnight, working to provide for my brother and me, so they didn’t have time to read to either of us. The Story Teller magazines meant I could listen to the stories recorded on cassettes and follow along with the words printed in the magazines.

The magazines had images of course, but they were more page decorations, not story aids, and it was the words I was interested in anyway. I still have my Story Teller collection!

I then moved on to read independently – Roald Dahl, Enid Blyton, Earthstar Magic by Ruth Chew, Jennifer and Graeme Curry’s The Sausage Is A Cunning Bird, and a set of encyclopaedias my parents found for us, as well as my favourites: The Little House on the Prairie books by Laura Ingalls Wilder and Jill Murphy’s Worst Witch series. All of which I still also have!

After those, I went straight to reading classics. At about eleven years old, my parents took pity on my insatiable reading habits and subscribed me to The Great Writers Library (Marshall Cavendish 1986-1993). And yes, I also still have those! They look incredible in my bookcase and they were of course even more incredible to read.

One final memory that’s come to me since finding my school reports, was reading Stephen King’s Pet Cemetery… when I was far too young! The book scared me so much I had nightmares and felt a type of fear I’d never experienced before. Maybe those library card restrictions were a good idea after all! For many years afterwards, I found myself wishing I’d never read it.

Then again, on reflection, perhaps I was the exact right age to start feeling afraid. If it hadn’t been that book, something else would have undoubtedly triggered such emotions, because I was growing up and becoming more aware of the world around me – all its evils and dangers. There were certainly plenty of evils and dangers to come!

And, clearly, reading whatever and whenever I could benefitted me greatly – just correlate those reading ages and year averages on my early school reports! Because of course it really doesn’t matter what or how you read, only that you do.