Frank Cottrell-Boyce, the Waterstones Children’s Laureate, 2024-2026 writes on his love of reading for the Scottish Book Trust Christmas Appeal in partnership with The Herald
When I was a child my mum took me to the library. A lot. We lived with my grandma in a two bedroom flat. Mum, Dad, me and my brother in one room. Grandma - my dad’s mum - in the other. It was only decades later - when we were both caring for my dad - that mum told me that what she was looking for in the library was not books but some respite from a cramped, stressful situation.
I don’t remember the hardship. All I remember was happily cuddling up with her on the big chairs and listening to stories. Stories helped her turn a difficult time into a happy childhood. A lot has been said about how beneficial reading is for education but surely that happiness is vastly more important. Shared happiness is a great, enduring bond.
For my term as Waterstones Children’s Laureate I’m focused on the way shared reading - especially in those first crucial thousand days of life - helps build the apparatus of happiness within a child. I’ve used that phrase - “the apparatus of happiness” - a lot.
It sounds poetic but on a visit to the lab of the neuroscientist Professor Sam Wass, I saw that machinery in action. Sam wired up the brains of a young mum and her toddler and showed me how when mum read, the brain activity of her child tuned into and synchronised with hers. It was beautiful to watch.
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The beginning of life is overwhelming - babies are bombarded with endless, dazzling new images and feelings. Reading - hearing the same words, seeing the same images time and again - slows that down and allows the baby to begin to gain a foothold. Saying nursery rhymes, whispering spells, reciting the Gruffalo is a tradition as old as fire. It’s in our bones. But less so recently.
Figures from BookTrust (the UK’s largest children’s reading charity, who manage the Laureateship) show that while British children are near the top of the international tables for reading competency, they are right down near the bottom for reading enjoyment. Something approaching half of children are arriving at school not having been read to.
On my travels the last few months as part of my Reading Rights campaign (my flagship project during my time as Children’s Laureate) I’ve met teachers who have told me of children who did not know what a book was. More than one teacher has told me about kids who instead of turning pages try to swipe them as though they were screens.
We are in danger of raising a generation who know all the notes and steps but never dance. This is a disaster. We have no idea - none at all - of what kind of world our children will inherit. No idea what work will look like, or leisure, or communication, or the environment. But we do know that they will need to know how to be happy. That we need to help them build that apparatus of happiness within themselves.
And while reading isn’t the whole answer, it is a powerful tool. But it’s one that needs to be encountered as early as possible. That’s why I’ve spent the last few months talking to health visitors and midwives. Every child has a right to have access to that magic as early as possible in life. Those brilliant, creative, committed early years support workers should be encouraged, praised and paid for helping families to normalise reading, to access that magic.
Not everyone knows how to use a book. But we can offer support around reading the way we offer support around nutrition or changing nappies. Reading isn’t an extra duty. It’s an extra help. We all want to enjoy that time we spend time with our babies but they’re newly arrived travellers from another world after all. How do we speak to them? A good book can give us the script.
The child who is read to is given an enormous, invisible privilege. The child who is not read to is landed with an enormous disadvantage. That’s not fair. No child should be deprived of this magic. I think we need to fix this urgently. Something we don’t fully understand - but which we know is essential, human - happens in the space between your child, the story, and you, the loving storyteller. When we vacate that space, something else steps into it. Something not human and not loving will fill it. Digital distraction. But I also believe that this is an easy fix. We know how to do this. It’s part of being human. A part we must not let go of.
If you would like to make sure a disadvantaged child gets a new book for Christmas, you can donate to our appeal with Scottish Book Trust.
Donations support gifting books to families who need them most through food banks and community hubs.
To bring a child magic, comfort and joy this festive period, visit here
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