Since my new bookshelves arrived, I’ve been gradually unpacking more boxes of books which had been stored (generously) in my mother’s cupboards. Last weekend it was the turn of my childhood books to appear out of the boxes, and if anybody had been listening to my ecstatic cries each time I uncovered another old treasure, they would definitely have thought that something more than books was involved.
Most exciting to me were rediscovering my collection of Enid Blyton books. At least half of these are in fact from my mother’s own …