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The magic of childhood books

The magic of childhood books

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I have a secret stash of books at home and, no, it’s not porn! It’s a hoard of books from my childhood that I just can’t bear to part with. 

These are the books that shaped me – the stories of my small self. It was in these pages where first hopes, dreams and ideas about the world were formed and a love of reading born.

I devoured stories about magic forests, faraway trees, tardy rabbits and silly old bears.  Halcyon childhood days were spent reading about adventures on the high seas and mysteries solved by ingenious kids filling my mind, and feeding my imagination.

Now a long time later, I smile at the childlike writing that proclaims each book as ‘my property – hands off’! The weathered pages turned by little hands, corners carefully folded over to save place. Sacrilege for adult book lovers now I know. 

Treasured also are the books my Mum was given when she was a child, some 70 years ago. Precious time capsules bound in cloth and pages yellow with age. The perfect fusion of musty pages and childhood memories captured within. These old books have a particular aroma and to me, it’s a delicious one that simply can’t be replicated without that magic ingredient, time.

THAT is why my extensive collection of Enid Blyton and Nancy Drew books remain packed in boxes in the back of a cupboard. Untouched and unread recently, they remain stored safely, ready for the next generation of little hands and big imaginations.

What childhood books can’t you bear to part with? 

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