Give Me Winnie the Pooh Any Day

I remember running away from my mother - chubby fists pumping, hair whipping behind me, throwing myself into the dark corner of my closet - when she said she would teach me how to read. I remember her showing me the books and saying that they were just the books I knew anyway. Because I knew all of the children's books. Apparently, I would flip through the pages as I recited them, mimicking reading them as best as I could.

It wasn't that I didn't like reading, I don't think. But I think that learning to read meant that maybe then I would have to read on my own and, to my now-adult brain, that is the only explanation that really makes sense to me.

But when I started reading by myself once I had started school, everything was fine. I was a good reader (or so I thought, anyway) and I liked to read. I still liked being read to. But if no one was there to read to me, I was quite happy by myself too.

The stories I liked most were fictional, giving me access to a world of characters who could only exist in the imagination. So, of course, books like 'Winnie the Pooh' by A. A. Milne, with its lively characters, gorgeous quotes, and captivating illustrations, was one of my favourites. The Winnie the Pooh books hold a nostalgic place in my heart.

I read Winnie the Pooh first as a child and then again as a teenager. I had a complete collection of Winnie the Pooh stories stashed away in the bedside table of my bedroom at my grandparents' house. Every weekend when I slept over on a Friday night, I would stay up late into the night. Maybe I would watch a movie with my grandpa. Maybe I would stay up with homework. Maybe I would read something; a mystery novel, a middle grade book, a cringey vampire romance that would late be turned into a blue-washed masterpiece of a film. But at some point in the night, I would put whatever else I was doing down and I would pick up Winnie the Pooh.

So even as a teenager, Winnie the Pooh was my bedtime story. It was something that would calm me down, chill me out, and lull me off to sleep better than any lullaby.

Honestly, this was at a time in my life where I needed it most. I remember many nights laid spread eagled in bed, watching the ceiling become more and more visible in the darkness as my eyes slowly adjusted. My mind would race ahead of me. Counting sheep would result in herding the wayward creatures for hours. Relaxing with music would leave me singing along to my favourite tunes. Anything, really, could leave me restless and horrifically awake.

I owe that Winnie the Pooh book, it saved me a lot of restless nights. Because of its ease and familiarity, I was able to go to sleep on those Fridays unlike most nights in the week.

That book was never mine to keep. It is probably still inside that same bedside table. I assume it will be for a very long time.

I don't have a copy of 'Winnie the Pooh' now. Perhaps I should have a copy, but I haven't put any effort into finding one. My 'library' is bursting at its seams. It spills out of two separate bookshelves, already stacked two or three books deep. There's random stacks of books all over the flat; about three or four books have taken up permanent residence beside my bed. A further two books are on top of my duchess and have been for a good few months. In my shelf, books are so haphazard in places that I would have to play a difficult game of Jenga just to get some books out.

To me, it seems that if I were to add 'Winnie the Pooh' by A. A. Milne to my collection, I would need someone to read it to. Maybe my children? When they are anything more than a hypothetical, that is.

In saying that, though, there is one other book that might live up to the A. A. Milne legacy that does exist in my bookshelf. That book is ‘The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse’ by Charlie Mackesy. I read this book just this year and it left me feeling humbled. The illustrations in this book will make your heartstrings dance, and the characters are simple and elegant.

Like 'Winnie the Pooh', Charles Machesy's masterpiece is about friendship and about life. There are statements that relate to grief, and to loneliness, and to communicating when you don't know how to communicate.

The quote that has stayed with me the most is, “‘The greatest illusion,’ said the mole, ‘is that life should be perfect’.” This is something that I needed to hear now, as an adult, and I cannot imagine how much a child might need to hear that too.

If I could go back, I would want to read more of A. A. Milne and I'd want to hear from more authors like Charles Mackesy. I would want to hear someone tell me that all the adults are just making it up as they go as well. I know that sometimes those aren't the most reassuring things to hear from our bedtime stories. I know that. But I think it's inspiring, especially for children. It's freeing to know that we're all just trying to make it work.