Tiny has been given books. At the six-month health visitor review in Wales, the Book Trust, by way of the Library, provides books for the babies, to encourage the parents to read to the little ones. Nothing fancy or complicated. Just a couple of board books. One with the Welsh translation.

Now, I’m not one to turn down free books, but Tiny already has several cubby-holes full of books. I’ve saved children’s books from my own childhood and M and I have been collecting those which we both loved as children.

However.

A few years back, having read someone’s Top 10 list of Children’s Books, I gave my own, with separate lists for different age groups. At the time, I was calling to mind favourite books and/or authors from my childhood. The Ahlbergs, Shirley Hughes, the Old Bear books. Thomas and Ivor.

One of my favourite things about having Tiny is not feeling out of place in the children’s section of the library. Of finding the joyous reads published since I was last of an age to read them. Of discovering new favourites.

Of rediscovering Rosie’s Walk, by Pat Hutchens, who I didn’t remember to include the first time around (mea culpa!), even though I love Don’t Forget the Bacon sufficiently that it was one of the first books in Tiny’s personal library.

We have begun broadening Tiny’s library to include newer authors, like the wonderful Julia Donaldson. I say newer, though I know Julia Donaldson has been writing for years – The Gruffalo was on that original Top Ten list. But, I haven’t been reading children’s books, and especially children’s picture books, for a long time. Which is silly, because children’s books are generally just such fun. Like Donaldson’s The Highway Rat, stealing the other animals’ food even though he thinks it’ll be yucky when he wants cakes and biscuits.

The best children’s books, for this age anyway, are the rhyming ones, the ones with a good rhythm to the words. Like the Ahlbergs’ Each Peach Pear Plum, which I haven’t yet read to Tiny, but which I can still remember from my childhood. Or The Funnybones, with their dark, dark night, and street, and house, etc. Donaldson’s The Snail and the Whale.

The other thing with children’s picture books is that they prove the truth of the saying ‘A picture is worth a thousand words’. Take Rosie’s Walk, for instance. It’s a measly 31 words long. Rosie is a hen, taking a walk around the farmyard.

The pictures, though, tell another story. That of the fox, which is following Rosie. I won’t say what happens to the fox: quite honestly, you need the pictures to fully appreciate the whole story. Words simply don’t do justice to the fox’s story.

It’s awfully hard to write a good children’s book, one which will appeal to both the child and the poor parent rereading it for the umpteenth time. But when you find such a one – oh the joy!

Actually, one of my very favourites is Michael Rosen’s Little Rabbit Foo-Foo, which I do still know by heart. And which is in Tiny’s library, along with Hilaire Belloc’s Cautionary Tales. Though I’m not sure if those are specifically aimed at children. We used to have an illustrated version of Matilda, Who Told Lies. Such fun stories. Such ghastly children! But the rhymes…