My oft-repeated tale is that I nicked the books off my cool older brother. He had disappeared for weeks on end with these books so I wanted to read 'em too, because he was cool, and because anything so absorbing just had to be good. I was about 12 and as my mother once said "I would read the side of the cornflakes box if I had nothing else around to read". I'd previously had obsessions with Brer Rabbit, Alice In Wonderland, Heidi (there are about 4 Heidi books, did you know she even grows up and
has kids?....
), What Katy Did and Mallory Towers. It was time for me to move on to the serious stuff. Hey presto, the parents were saddled with two Tolkien obsessed offspring.
I still have that set of books now, battered and creased, and they are worth more to me than any of the posh collectible ones I own.