The first book I ever remember reading was the one above. My original copy was red. I think I was about four or five but I read and read it and loved it and, with Bunny Hopwell I waited for spring. My first book obviously stayed with me because I talked about it often enough for my husband to scour the internet and track the above copy down in America. From here I think I must have had every Ladybird book in history and read them till they fell apart.
When I was seven my top infant teacher read Black Beauty. I adored the story and my mother bought me the above copy. As you can tell it was very well read. I loved every page, every word, I passed it on to my daughter. She loved it. After Black Beauty came What Katy Did, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Pollyanna, Ballet Shoes. I adored them and as she grew up I read every one to my daughter at bedtime. She loved them too.
In my teens came poetry, courtesy of my English teacher who would not accept that I thought Keats overblown and soppy. As you can see he was successful. By the time I started A level I had bought all the above books and had spent my summer lying on the beach and in parks reading them. It was at that point that I decided that I would definitely marry a poet an if he did not write poetry then he would not do. I fantasised about Keats. I even dragged mother to Rome to visit his house and grave. Having taken her there I didn't actually have the courage to knock on the cemetery doors and ask to come in but at least I had walked the same streets as my beloved romantic.
In my twenties crime fiction became one of my favourite things to read, in particular Dorothy L Sayers and her wonderful Lord Peter Wimsey. My friend was a big fan too and we scoured the charity shops looking for clothes that would make us look like Harriet Vane. I think we actually hoped to find an aristocratic amateur sleuth. Alas we did not but the one in the books was quite enough for us both and we read and read those books. If you haven't, give them a try. If you want romance too go for 'Strong Poison' 'Have his Carcase' and 'Gaudy Night'
By my mid twenties I moved on to romantic classics. Initially starting with Jane Austen, who I had studied for A level and then discovering the Brontes. I had read an abridged Wuthering Heights in my early teens (I still have that now) and been unimpressed. This time I adored every word of the sisters' books and began to read their letters, biographies etc to a point my mother said was bordering on obsession. Once again, however, my mother acquiesced to my obsession and travelled to Haworth with me to visit the Parsonage. My obsession with the Brontes has never left me and every year my wonderful husband takes me back on that pilgrimage. He has even read the sisters' novels and while unimpressed with Emily was quite taken with Charlotte, my heroine. I shall work on introducing him to Anne next.
The next poet I struggled with was Ted Hughes. I loved his romantic words but for a long time struggled with his detail and tooth and claw descriptions of nature. I still struggle with some of his work but he has become quite a hero for me and his famed picture hangs in our hall. If you have never tried any Hughes, I would suggest that you begin with Birthday Letters, about his beloved wife Sylvia Plath. Crow is also a fine collection and maybe more suited to the less romantic hearts.
So have my obsessions subsided as I get older. I am aftaid not. About five years ago I discovered Simon Armitage. He is completely different from my usual choice of poet and truly wonderful. My husband often jokes that he is the only poet he worries about and that next time I go to a reading I must maintain a 250 yard exclusion order from said poet! He writes with heart, humour and truth. Black Roses made me sob for an hour. He walked the Pennine Way like a troubadour, reading poetry along the way to pay for his board and lodgings then the poetry he had written was carved in rock along the way. My family have been dragged on part of the Stanza Stone Walk and will be completing the rest soon. His latest work 'Considering the Poppy' was a limited addition publication - only one hundred printed, one of which I sadly was unable to find, despite my searches.
Well, it was impossible for me to find, but not my wonderful husband. He presented me with the perfect Christmas present this year. Copy number 62, signed by poet and engraver. And so my collection is complete.
But the most perfect book of all is the one written especially for me by the poet I married.
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