It's embarrassingly easy for bedtime stories to get me weeping. How about you? Share your sorrows here
'Oh! My daddy, my dadddy!' … Jenny Agutter as Bobbie in Lionel Jeffries' film version of The Railway Children
This is not something I am proud of, but sometimes – often – reading a bedtime story to my three-year-old daughter, I find myself choking back the tears. The most recent culprit is Julia Donaldson's Paper Dolls. It's the little girl's memories which get me every time: after a little boy chops up her chain of dolls, they "flew into the little girl's memory, where they found white mice and fireworks, and a starfish soap, and a kind granny, and the butterfly hair slide, and more and more lovely things each day and each year." The kind granny! It's heartbreaking.
Obviously, Goodbye Mog is a tear-jerker of the first order, but I've even been known to shed a tear at Owl Babies ("And she came! Soft and silent, she swooped through the trees … ) And at Peepo! – the mundanity, the sweet everyday baby-ness, of "and his teddy, and his ball" ; the father in his soldier uniform who might not come home. And if I'm in a particularly saccharine mood, at Guess How Much I Love You ("to the moon and back", of course). It's just a cold, I tell my daughter valiantly, as I dash away the tears.
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Obviously, Goodbye Mog is a tear-jerker of the first order, but I've even been known to shed a tear at Owl Babies ("And she came! Soft and silent, she swooped through the trees … ) And at Peepo! – the mundanity, the sweet everyday baby-ness, of "and his teddy, and his ball" ; the father in his soldier uniform who might not come home. And if I'm in a particularly saccharine mood, at Guess How Much I Love You ("to the moon and back", of course). It's just a cold, I tell my daughter valiantly, as I dash away the tears.
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