What books did your parents read to you?

I can remember Mum reading some Bible stories to me, probably from a book I was given for attending Sunday School at the Methodist chapel.

One was about the lost sheep, there should have been 100 in the flock, but the shepherd could only count 99. He went off searching and found the missing one.

After Mum put the light out and left the bedroom, she had to come back, my sister called out because I was crying, still worrying about this lost sheep!

Didn’t need reading to for long, I soon became a fluent reader and read heaps of books on my own.

My dad used to read newspaper articles to me!
My mum didn't have time to read to us.
My big sister took us to the local library and that's where I learned to love books...

I remember my dad making up stories about three little rabbits called bobtail, flopsy, and ticketty boo. But can’t remember the stories.
Can’t recall my parents ever reading actual children’s books to us.

Dad worked away and I don’t ever recall mum reading to me. My big sister used to though, being some years older we would play schools……she was teacher and loved to boss me about too.

Not sure that they did.

I did grow up on nursery rhymes.

Looking at replies to this thread am wondering if reading books to children wasn’t done as much back in the 1950s or early 1960s.

My parents never read to me, but I had an aunt who always brought me books, she started me on a lifetime of loving reading anything and everything.

I can’t remember my parents ever reading to me but I could read quite well before I went to school. There were things like Palgrave’s Treasury and Tanglewood Tales in the house and once I could read they were my go to. My adult brother used to buy me Classics Illustrated every now and then - The Iliad was my favourite. My father left school when he was fourteen, but he loved to read, and when I was old enough to go the library with him, he would leave me in the children’s section, nose buried in Famous Five or Just William, and go off and find his H. Rider Haggard or Saki or Edgar Wallace. I asked him one day to read me a bit of King Solomons Mines and after that, I was a Rider Haggard fan too. The only time he set his face against something I brought home from the library was when, on the recommendation of our English teacher, I started reading Dennis Wheatley novels, saying that at fourteen I was not old enough for them. I read and re-read them anyway and was madly in love with the hero, Rex Van Ryn.

Like others I don’t recall my parents reading to me, or to my younger brother. I do remember learning to read at school and looking forward to reading lessons. Though I didn’t own books, I got an annual for Christmas each year and was lucky enough to always live in cities with excellent libraries. The family library visit was something of a weekly ritual. I got through the usual Enid Blyton books, the Bobbsey Twins (politically incorrect these days) among many others. I felt so grown up when I was allowed to go into the children’s library and choose books on my own, and even more grown up when I graduated to the adult library at 13.

My parents were financially poor and time poor - dad had two jobs when I was very young - and I don't remember them ever reading to me. They didn't have the money to buy children's books. However I could read before I started school and read anything. I do remember dad taking my brother and me to the library every Saturday morning and encouraged me to read voraciously.

Under 5, my mother would read books such as those written by Alison Uttley. I was taken to the library frequently and bought books for birthdays and Christmas. When I stayed with my grandparents they left children's books in our bedroom, which I remember reading if I woke early. I don't remember being read to after I started school. I did read to my own children and grandchildren quite often. I've always read I was encouraged to, but I never needed much encouragement in that direction. I often had sneaky reads after my bedtime, when I should have been asleep.

I wasn't read to either - just like many on here.

There were always plenty of books at home for me to read and I remember regular trips to the library.

Reading through these posts I can see how important libraries were to our generation. I had no access to books at home so my local library was a lifeline to me. I was often chastised for having my head in a book probably in the same way that the modern child is for being glued to a phone and I certainly wasn't read to by my parents. I still borrow books from the library and if I go on a Saturday morning there is a crowd of teenagers there playing dungeon and dragons board games. Luckily, my local council has kept the libraries open for now.

Among stories mt Mum read to me were nursery rhymes, fairytales and, a particular favourite, Brer Rabbit.

Peter Pan,
Beatrix Potter books
Heidi

And three I can picture but not remember the titles.

Later I read my parents' books - and lots from the school library - some have stood the test of time.

Oh yes, lots of nursery rhymes!
🥰

Both my parents and Grandmothers read to me, all the time.
Beatrix Potter, a great deal of Enid Blyton, Louisa May Alcott.Little Grey Rabbit, an abridged illustrated version of Alice in Wonderland which scared me, bible and history stories, and many other books.
I learnt to read quickly, and was frequently caught reading under the bedclothes by the light of my torch.
In my childhood you couldn't join the Library until you were eight, and there were few paperbacks for children, so old favourites, usually birthday and Christmas presents, were read and re-read.
Another important factor in children's reading is seeing their parents reading and enjoying doing so; one of my earliest memories is Listening with Mother then being put to bed for a nap while my mother took an hour sitting by the fire reading her library book.

I too can’t remember being read to and I think that’s rather sad.
I became a bookworm anyway. I think my GD will certainly remember me reading to her.

No reading from parents or grandparents for me. Probably wasn’t done much then unless you were very lucky. Do remember reading Black Beauty & Heidi books when I was about 6 years old. Like detective books & modern authors as well

I had to read myself and the only interesting book in my house was actually a medical book . I don’t remember anyone being read to but most of us learnt to read by the age of 6. I remember there was one boy on my class labelled as ‘backward’ because he was 7 and unable to read. Harsh times.

My Dad read to me at bed time: Beatrix Potter and now 80-odd years on, my DGGD is a big fan of Peter Rabbit. I was also introduced to Kenneth Grahame's Wind in the Willows. My grandparents subscribed to a monthly story magazine which I was soon able to read for myself. And I've never stopped since then!

I can only really remember the Famous Five, because my father had a bit of a thing about Julian, so after whatever clever/knowledgeable remark Julian made, my father would say in a cynical aside, ‘Because Julian’s a clever bugger!’

It was wartime and just after. The range of books available was limited. I remember Rupert bear and a nursery rhyme book calle 'Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes. I was delighted when I first visited DH's parents that he had exactly the same nursery rhyme book when he was small.

I was a precocious reader, I could read before I started school. Once I could read for myself I had no interest in being read to. When I started school my favourite reading was Milly Molly Mandy.

None. I could read well before I went to school - apparently at the age of three I read a newspaper headline out loud (mispronouncing an unfamilar word that I had never heard spoken) so I read things to myself, silently. We visited friends for the day when I was 7 or 8, and I spent the entire time lying behind the sofa reading a copy of Lorna Doone (unabridged and no pictures) which I had found in their bookcase. I was halfway through it when it was time to go home, so they gave it to me to take away and finish later. I have it still.

My parents never read to me but my godmother did when I saw her occasionally. My uncle, only 12 years older then me, made me a bookcase in his woodwork class when I was about 4 years old. He put a handful of secondhand books in it. I could read before I started school and would read literally anything. I knew better than to ask my mother to explain some of the words that I'd never heard before, as I was wise enough to realise that some of the articles that I was reading in my dads newspaper would be considered unsuitable. I soon had the bookcase full with books bought from local jumble sales and secondhand stalls at local fetes. I'm sure some of the stallholders took pity on the little girl with sixpence to spend and gave me massive discounts.