Wonders of being read to

15 April 2014 - 02:00 By Justine Wall
subscribe Just R20 for the first month. Support independent journalism by subscribing to our digital news package.
Subscribe now
VOLUNTEER: Justine Wall
VOLUNTEER: Justine Wall

I am obsessed with paper and books and reading. My love of books stems from my father and his passion: I was brought up reading everything, from Asterix to the Sunday comics.

My parents always read to us - usually at bedtime - and I remember so well that secure feeling of being tucked up under my covers, with mum or dad sitting on the edge of the bed, book open so I could see the pages and pictures, and listening to them read.

It is the most focused time one can give a child.

As we grow older, if we are lucky enough to have our interest nurtured, our appetite for reading grows. The input of parents is complemented by teachers: hopefully reinforcing in us that the enjoyment isn't finite. But reading, as we grow older, often becomes a solitary pleasure: we "escape" with a book, "get lost" in the plot, "hide away" with our books.

I remember far too well the book I was reading when my mother died in 1987. I was 13 years old at the time, and had completed Peter Benchley's Jaws, thinking it was one of the most remarkable books I'd ever read. I had then moved on to The Deep: and I immersed myself in the narrative through the absolute heart- and gut-wrenching last days of my mother's illness. It provided me with my own underwater world beneath which I could sink when I became too terrified of the reality that was inevitably consuming me. That is what worked at the time.

Solitary reading can be good: therapeutic, medicinal even: but what I then began to experience again, at about age 14, was the reminder that being read to isn't something purely for childhood stories. Being read to could awake even more excitement in the narrative; having someone (at least, in our case, English teacher extraordinaire Mrs Lovell) read aloud to you was like having the narrative performed, albeit in an understated and contained manner.

Now I am a reading volunteer for a group of people with memory loss: mostly people with dementia. We meet in a local library where we read a short story and poem and share memories. It has reinforced my belief in the power of reading aloud. I see sparks ignite in someone's eyes, recounting a childhood memory, or in the tone of voice when someone suddenly starts reading aloud.

People suffering from memory loss come to the group with their carers, most often their spouses, and it is beneficial for their partners, too. Perhaps getting adults together in groups to read is one of the most secure, "tucked up under the covers" things we can do: our minds and bodies can take comfort in the familiarity. We listen to the story, and to each other.

  • Wall was born and raised in South Africa but now lives the UK. She is a designer and teacher, and volunteers for The Reader Organisation. See www.nalibali.org
subscribe Just R20 for the first month. Support independent journalism by subscribing to our digital news package.
Subscribe now