Sandra A. Agard Hon FRSL, Sandra is a professional storyteller, author, playwright, literary consultant, book doctor and cultural historian. She has worked for over forty years in libraries as a literature development consultant. She has worked in educational, cultural institutions, organisations and literary festivals throughout the UK and in the United States, and is the recipient of the Benson Medal for Services to Literature 2022.
I love books.
I love books.
I love books.
There I have said it – I love … well you know how the sentence goes.
Where did this love of books come from? It is so hard to pinpoint when my passion for reading started, as books have always been a part of my life. However, one thing I do know is that my beloved parents, Evelyn and Cecil Agard had a lot to do with the fact that I love books and, I must add, stories.
Dad would read bedtime stories to my two sisters and myself, which he never quite finished, as this annoying thing called “Bedtime” would always rear its ugly head. My Dad was a stickler for going to bed on time! So, no matter where the book was, he would close it in mid-sentence, mid-chapter, mid-twist or turn and announce those dreaded words – “It’s bedtime!” and close the book. No amount of pleading would get him to open it again.
It was always mid-adventure and then we would have to wait for the next night to hear the conclusion. I cannot bear cliffhangers to this day!
Well, I was not having that. I would wait for him to go downstairs, retrieve the book and quietly read it to my sisters, or to myself if they fell asleep. I was not sleeping until I got to the end, or fell asleep too.
Funnily enough, the book was never in my hand in the morning. Do you think Dad knew what I had done?
Mum never read to us. She told us stories. Stories of her home back in Guyana.
Stories of flying kites on the seawall with her siblings at Easter.
Stories of going to watch cricket at Bourda Cricket Ground … sometimes during school days. Our Mum, bunking off!
Stories of jumping over crocodiles to get to school in the morning …
Yes, you read right – crocodiles!
So that is how I got into reading: my parents. I owe them everything.
Next is the library.
We were the kids who never played on the street. But, going to the library was OK, and boy did I go to the library.
Libraries were the early play schemes. During the long, long summer (which I hated because I loved school, yes I was a nerd and proud of it!), we kids were in there all day. Running the poor library staff so ragged as we played being librarians. Everyone wanted to stamp the books.
Little did I know that as a teenager, I would spend days in libraries and get paid for the privilege of being a library assistant and a literature development officer, but am I jumping ahead?
There was so much satisfaction in taking four books home to read. And read them I did, and quickly. So, every Saturday I was in my local libraries … note the plural.
One library was not good enough for me. I lived near two libraries – Howard Library in Hackney and Mildmay Library in Islington. Somehow, I joined them both.
Technically, you were not allowed to join two libraries in two different boroughs. You had to live in the borough to join, but I lived on the border and loved the libraries so much I was allowed to get away with this loophole.
Howard is sadly long gone but Mildmay still exists and would play an integral part in my library life.
I read avidly and quickly. I soon read all the Children’s books and I was allowed to use the Adult library. There I discovered crime, romance, mystery, murder and mayhem – adult style! It was a revelation.
So, I have told you the two main influences on my reading pleasures – my parents and libraries. The third influence is school. My first school – Newington Green Primary. It was at this school that my reading habit turned into a writing one.
I had begun writing at home, encouraged once again by my parents. They would buy me exercise books galore from Ridley Road Market – which I dutifully filled from cover to cover with tales of magic, wonder, mystery, adventure and everything in between.
I would often take my stories into school where I would read them to the class. I have vivid memories of standing at the front reading my tales of time, space and adventure. My teachers encouraged my writing and my storytelling. I remember winning a writing competition about a haunted drowned city. My prize – two dolly mixtures … who remembers them? Yes, I am that old! My teachers would type my stories and I would read them out.
For me, reading and writing went hand in hand. I read stories, I felt I could write them and I felt I could tell them, and I did. I now run creative writing and reading sessions at the British Library, and run reading surgeries as a Book Doctor, prescribing books to read for pleasure.
Little did I know that these early beginnings were my first forays into the reader, writer, and storyteller I was to become.