I experienced one of those beautiful moments with my 6 year old daughter yesterday.
Hannah had been sick for a few days with a bad cold and needed lots of love and comforting, both always readily available from her Mother and Father.
She came into my study and asked if I had any books that she would like to hear me reading to her. I instantly thought of Alice in Wonderland but as I could not find it straight away I suggested Winnie the Pooh. She immediately agreed I took it from the bookshelf. I mean the original version by A.A Milne with no interference, not even in the drawings, from the Disney Corporation, which, I maintain, is the enemy of good literature and speech.
I had bought two Pooh books in Hong Kong four years ago in anticipation of this moment. I used to read them to my first daughter when she was seven or eight to help her get off to sleep. We both enjoyed that and often dissolved into giggles at Milne’s clever humour, such as “Tiggers don’t eat thistles”.
I used to have accents for each of the characters. A low rustic speech for Pooh, high pitched for Piglet, Australian for Kanga, aristocratic for Tigger, and slow and ponderous for Eeyore, a bird song for Owl. Remember Owl had “Wol” written on his house.
Hannah sat on my lap, her head on my shoulder, her arm around my waist and I started reading using the same voices for the characters. I was already feeling the magic when half way through the second page Hannah took over the reading in her still slightly hesitant way. For me the magic became more intense.
We continued like this until the end of the chapter with occasional laughter, although sometimes Milne’s humour only got to me and I laughed alone.
Then her mother called her to come and eat and she stood up and said “Can we read together again soon, Daddy?” “Of course we can darling” I answered.
I really believe that my lovely daughter and times like that are given to me by God.
I will treasure that magical moment always always.
