I can remember as a very small child, long before my schooldays, sitting curled up on my mother’s knee as she read to me. “Read some more, read some more!” I would say as the final page was turned and she would smile and open another book and continue reading until it really was time for tea. At bedtime she would read to me again, making sure to include the small tribe of teddy bear friends who were tucked up with me or arranged along the edge of the bed when there was no more room beneath the sheets.
By the time I went to school she had taught me to read for myself and I have voyaged ever since through the astonishing universe of literature, inhabiting a thousand different worlds and like an intrepid time-traveller whirled backwards and forwards through the centuries at the turn of a page.
This selection is from an ongoing series of pictures which attempts to capture some of the wonder and magic of my childhood reading and is dedicated to my amazing mother who died suddenly last weekend.