Reading History

Kay Evans-Bentley
24th October 2008

Reading History

I remember when I was very young, my most favourite thing in the world was to sit with coloured pens and pencils, lots of paper and a pair of my mam’s sunglasses. Whilst wearing the glasses I would spend hours colouring in and writing my name and all the names in my family (the sunglasses were a prop to look intelligent, and of course like a pop star). Much to my parent’s horror, I would sneak their books and write all over the title pages, in bright coloured pens. My immature writing would smudge and seep through to the following page, destroying the text beneath it. I would copy the words with immense precision and take great pride in my handy work. My name was projected in all my mam’s copies of Catherine Cookson novels and my parent’s collection of Wilbur Smith. After a big telling off I discovered how to write my sister’s name and therefore she became my pseudonym. That way they would never know it was me and I could get my sister in to trouble (getting my sister and brother into trouble was an important part of my life, it was a game that we all played). Of course this didn’t work and my parent’s and I reached a compromise that I could only write in my own books. Consequently that game got boring and as I got older writing my own stories was much more enjoyable. I still have copies of, Black Beauty by Anna Sewell and Heidi by Johanna Spyri both with inscriptions reading, This book belongs to Kay Spours.
I attended a Sunday school in a lovely little Evangelical Church in the village of Colerne in Wiltshire. I loved it, I loved the community spirit, the sense of togetherness the very kind people who were involved in the running’s of the church. I remember Norman, I guess he was the reverend, he reminded me of my grandpa (without the false teeth!) and he always handed out sweets for all who attended. We collected points for attendance and after a certain amount of points we were given our own bible with an inscription at the front. Needless to say I daren’t write in it myself as it was one of my most precious possessions. Our group at Sunday school would listen to readings from the bible and we would discuss the content, relating to problems and moral dilemmas to our own experiences and future actions. I would listen attentively to Norman’s words as he would speak with great expression and a kind face. I became obsessed and my reading at home was very religious. My family come from a long line of Christians however not devoted and I later learnt that mam and dad had sent me to Sunday school so that they could have some time to themselves! I made them suffer though, I made them sit and listen as I preached my sermons about Jesus and the good work he did and pointed out all the wrongs in the world.
For some reason my attention diverted away from Norman and his congregation and I found a new topic for my waning audience. The book club arrived at Colerne Primary School and with the pocket money I had saved, I bought myself, The Ha Ha Bonk Book by Janet and Allan Ahlberg for 85 pence. Just brilliant, I had found my new bible. I spent day after day reciting jokes to my friends, my family and my teachers. The book has chapters dedicated to certain people, Jokes to tell your mum, Jokes to tell your teacher, Jokes to tell somebody else’s dog. This brought me immense pleasure but not to my listeners as they soon grew bored of my jokes and pleaded with to stop. My dad suggested that I should try reading something else and pointed in the direction of the sparse book shelf at the bottom of our stairs. I picked up Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson purely for the interest in the picture on the cover. It looked exciting, full of adventure and exotic stories from afar. Alas, it was not to be. I must have read the first chapter about 20 times before I gave up. Compared to my book of jokes which made me giggle no matter how many times I read them, not one sentence evoked a snigger.
It was at this time that my attentions turned away from books and I relied solely on the choices of Miss Woods, my primary school teacher. At home I spent every opportunity outside playing on my roller boots. It was quite an achievement to be able to ride a bicycle, swing on a swing and climb on the climbing frame with wheels fitted on your feet. Miss Woods read to the class frequently. She captured our attention, encouraged us to use our imaginations as she directed the stories to us personally. The Hobbit by J.R.R Tolkien The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett and Goodnight Mr Tom by Michelle Magorian were some of my favourites.
We studied Z for Zachariah by Robert C. O’Brien and I remember acting out Hobson’s choice by Harold Brighouse at secondary school but I don’t remember much else. I think that I was too busy feeling angry and making sure that I always had a boyfriend.
In my teenage years I decided that I loved to listen to alternative music. My older sister would listen to Wham and sit for hours drooling over George Michael, insisting that she was going to marry him one day. My even older brother was listening to Madness and Bad Manners and dressed like Suggs with a smart white shirt, skinny back tie, tight jeans and a bomber jacket with a red tartan lining. I on the other hand took solitude in the lyrical genius that was, Robert Smith from The Cure. My hair changed colour from a natural mousey brown to a deep black and then to bright pillar box red. I mastered the art of crimping and back combing and thought I had a likeness of Siouxsie Sioux from Siouxsie and the Banshees.
My gothic years accompanied my passion for saving the whale and I became an animal’s rights activist. I was a member of Greenpeace and the British Union to Abolish Vivisection and believed in CND. I threw myself into it, and believed all the propaganda I was sent by the many different institutions associated with the above mentioned. And like before in my religious days and time that I had found my feet as a comedian, I persecuted my audience with sermons and pictures of poor defenceless bunnies with make up in their eyes. I went to hunt saboteur meetings with likeminded friends held at the notorious Hat and Feather public house in Bath where we would read about the history of barbaric fox hunts whist drinking halves of rough cider and smoking our own made cigarettes. I was fighting a cause, armed with leaflets and the quote, Meat is Murder fromThe Smiths.
My dad was horrified, I was going against everything he believed in and during a CND protest outside the RAF barracks, next to his office, (dad was a sergeant in the RAF police force) he dragged me by the arm and bundled me into a M.O.D vehicle which was being driven by his colleague. It looked like a military operation as I hadn’t told any of my peers about my dad and they grew concerned for my safety and of course of their own. I believe the protest ended soon after and I was the topic of discussion for quite a while. Thus my attendance stopped and I put down my banners expressing free thought.
My cause had ended, I turned my attention to the start of my working career and found that my time was spent reading research texts and I became knowledgeable in dental nursing and childcare. I worked as a nursery nurse and read constantly to small groups of children. Desperate to find a way to capture those tiny minds, I would put on different voices with different accents (I was fluent in Geordie, West Country, Cockney and Posh English). There were so many children’s books, an abundance of brightly coloured stories all with enjoyable characters and exciting story lines. Meg and Mog, Where the wild things are, The hungry caterpillar, Dr Suess’ Green eggs and ham all sat in my pile ready to be acted out at story times.
When my daughters were very young I made sure that they had a large collection of books to hand and we would regularly visit our local library. I would read every night at bedtime to them and as they got older I would insist they read to me. The tradition of bed time reading will be forever with us and continues to this day. My eldest daughter reads quickly and flies through the Jacqueline Wilson stories whereas my youngest has discovered the comedy writings of Jeremy Strong. Perhaps when I’m feeling brave, I will introduce her to my copy of The Ha Ha Bonk Book!
I occasionally read trashy magazines and regularly catch up with Jeremy Kyle and Trisha Goddard for some light entertainment but for my true pleasure I am able to choose a novel, old or new and loose myself in the intensity of words. I am fighting a new cause, a literary cause, to celebrate my passion for books.

Omg, Sorry peeps, this is huge!!

Hey huni! We finally made it on here yipee! You read Z for Zacariah too?? Very scary. Have you seen "Where the wind blows?" It's probably on youtube somewhere but it is about a lovely old cartoon couple during a nuclear fall out and it is so sad! xxx

my sister had a copy thats so very worn out.............but the jokes are terrible................still used to love them though especially the ones with elephants, you know theres an elephant in the bed cos he's got an E on his pj's classic!

My copy of the ha ha bonk book is so worn out too!

My personal favourite is,

What does the hedgehog have for his lunch?

Prickled onions!

And I must tell you this one (its from the amazing Spongebob Square Pants)

What do you call a snail on a ship?

A Snailer!!

Love it!

Meat IS Murder...

Tut...writing in books...sacrilege! Wow you have led an interesting life! I can just see you now with your tie-die t-shirt and purple hair!
Mr Tickle was always my favourite Mr Man - prob cos my dad insisted on dangling us upside down whilst ticking our feet which we loved for some odd reason.

Veggie-power! (I still eat fish tho, does that count?)

Oh my god! Meg and Mog I completely forgot about those! I really enjoyed your story Kay wow you were a wild child!