When I was a child I loved being read aloud to as well as reading to myself. My mother would sometimes read to us at teatime, but best of all was being read to when you were cosy and under the covers at night. I remember weeping buckets over Black Beauty and Uncle Tom’s Cabin, fearing for Peter Rabbit’s life and laughing endlessly at Just William. For pure comfort reading there was nothing to beat Winnie–the–Pooh – and there still isn’t!. I also used to try and learn a poem a week from a Children’s Treasury, a habit I wish I had kept up!

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