I once received a very large, it seemed to me to be very large, and beautifully illustrated picture book of Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales. I imagine that it was age specific and that I was meant to be able to read it but I was a very poor, and thus reluctant, reader and I managed to hide it very well. I loved making up stories though.
Picture Book
There was once a little girl called Paige whose most prized possession was a very large picture book full of fairy tales. She had to be careful that her little brother didn’t get hold of her new book for he would surely rip the pages and cover the pretty pictures in crayon.
Every night Mother would read to them and Paige would follow with her fingers as best she could, the words of each sentence, and look at the delicately colored pictures with awe. Chapter by chapter she learned about the Brave Tin Soldier, The Ugly Duckling that became a swan and The Emperor in his Birthday Suit. But the story that moved her most was the plight of the Little Match Girl.
Then one day her brother was taken ill. He cried and cried with pain and when the pain lessened he looked limp and tired. A fire was lit in the bedroom and the doctor was called out. He pronounced that the little boy needed urgent treatment and that until transport came, he must not be allowed to go to sleep. There was great commotion about the house. Paige felt she was just in the way.
“What shall I do?” she asked.
“Petey mustn’t go to sleep,” said her mother. “You can sit with him and make sure he stays awake.”
Paige sat by her brother feeling helpless and small. It was close to bedtime. The firelight played on the walls and ceiling so, she could barely stay awake herself. Suddenly she remembered her book. She would read him a story to keep them both awake.
Paige fetched the book. “Now, I want you to listen to me Petey,” she said. “Are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“Once upon a time…” she began and she got to the end of the first sentence but she couldn’t remember where to go from there. Did your finger go down and across or across and then down? Oh, if only she could remember the story!
She tried reading from left to right: “ Th-gi-at-rs de-kool d-na sm-ra de-red…” then from right to left: “They s - sh – ood – ow - shold-e-red arms and look - ed s – st – st – r”
She didn’t know half these words.
“Petey, are you still awake?” she asked and shook him to make sure he was. “You’re not to go to sleep, hear?”
Paige leafed through the book until she came to a story she knew well. “The Little Match Girl,” she started. “Once upon a time…” then she looked at Petey’s little body lying beneath the covers in the flickering firelight and he looked so white and pale, she wondered whether his star would fall that night?
“I don’t like this story,” she said. “Would you like to look at the pictures, Petey?” and she began to make up wonderful stories of her own to go with the pictures and every now and then to keep his attention she asked, “What do you call this Swan, Petey?” or “Do you know what color this is?” “How many ducks are on the pond, Petey? Petey?” She shook him gently. “Petey?” she urged.
“What?” he murmured sleepily.
“When you’re better, you can have my picture book if you want.”
An ambulance came and they whisked him away.
Petey’s star did not fall that night -- but neither of them ever forgot the story.
