1 Coral Island by R.M.Ballantyne
The first ‘proper’ book that I read as child. I could read the standard text that we were taught at school, but there was little plot, no discernible theme or character development. Coral Island was loaded with all three, this little book captivated me, as this was the first time that I could see the pictures they conjured up of the three shipwrecked boys having adventures in a lagoon. I would pretend that I was one of the two older characters every time I swam in any municipal swimming pool and even today at 64, I can’t resist imagining myself back there, as I duck beneath the surface in our local Lido though these days it is more Moby Dick than Coral Island.
2) Merchant of Venice – Willian Shakespeare
As a 10 year old at St Wilfrid’s, I looked forward to our weekly reading sessions. One week there was a change of format, as our teacher explained that he was going to read us a story from a few hundred years ago. He didn’t read it as a play, but as a story, in parts over several weeks. He told us of a man who was in love (Yuck) and who needed money to impress the girl’s father. There was a riddle which I recall was a cliff hanger and then there was the cutting of a pound of flesh, ‘nearest to the heart’ which enthralled this 10 year old bloodthirsty boy. It was the beginning of a love affair with Shakespeare that continues to this day.
3) Lady Chatterley’s Lover- D H Lawrence
As a pupil at an all boy’s grammar school around 1971, I had been identified as a keen reader. Whilst most of my fellow pupils trudged through one book a term, I returned each week for a new book. This interest delighted a series of English teachers, until in the fourth year, Mr W gave me a special ticket to use the sixth form library. The keys to the sanctum of knowledge. As I perused the shelf containing the works of D H Lawrence, I discovered Lady Chatterley’s Lover, which was soon hidden beneath my blazer as I marched back to my class, about to become the hero of the fourth year. The look on Mr W’s face as he confiscated the book, my special library card and delivered his ‘you have let me down and yourself down speech’ will never leave me, but I did go on to read all of the works of D H Lawrence, albeit after I had left that particular school.
4) The Return of the Native – Thomas Hardy
In the summer of 1975, I found myself on an 18 30 holiday, now famed for high jinks and alcohol but then a travel company in its second or third year and virtually unknown. As a keen reader I ensured that along with my sun- tan lotion and coolest threads, I packed an ample supply of books. Evenings were spent in Spanish discotheques, whilst the afternoons were for laying on the beach recovering from a hangover. I however, was to be found reading about Eustacia Vye in The Return of the Native. How I was mocked by the other lads on the holiday, that is until a young and very pretty English Teacher lent over and asked me what I was reading. It was the beginning of my love of Thomas Hardy, and the start of my first holiday romance.
5 Contented Dementia – Oliver James.
I was in my 50s when both of my parents developed dementia, a cruel illness of which, at the time there was limited information written.
The demands of the illness kept growing, but there was little advice and I clearly recall thinking, if only there was the equivalent to a car manual, a book that explained in simple easy to understand language, what to do. A chance review brought this book to my attention, crammed with excellent advice, with its three golden rules, never ask direct questions, never contradict, and learn from the person with dementia. This book became my bible throughout my parents’ final years, and I went on to become an advocate for Contented Dementia. No one, no matter who or where, could have a conversation that used the word dementia, without me elbowing my way in and recommending the book. Over the years 100s of people have looked on me as some eccentric but quite a few of those have thanked me afterwards.
