![]() Thanks to the dual blessings of an older brother who liked comics, and an excellent visual memory, I was reading easily at three years old – and by the time I left primary school, I’d completed and carefully stapled together 92 small books from my own imagination if the technology that’s available to children today had been invented back then, I doubt I’d have achieved half of that. She would iron the brown paper bags in which we got our fruit and veg so that I could draw on them my earliest memory is of sitting on the floor, aged about two, surrounded by sheets of artwork.Īs I got older, sketch-pads of best quality were special treats, received with huge excitement at birthdays or for Christmas, and reserved for the creation of little storybooks, which I would write and illustrate myself. In fact, she wanted to be a writer herself (something I only found out later), so when she discovered that I was interested in stories, she encouraged me in every way she could, as if I was her raw material. We weren’t a well-off family by any means, but my mum – who had worked in a library, and given up her job when she married, as one did in those days – was mad about books, and passed that passion on to me. ![]() ![]() I was definitely an early starter when it came to literacy. ![]()
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