I remember Judith Kerr’s The Tiger who came to Tea, from my own childhood. I wasn’t very fond of it then, but I thought I ‘ought’ to get it for my little angel; after all, it is a classic I rationalised. So I did but it didn’t go down well.
First off, little angel couldn’t enjoy the story as with each turn of the page she was convinced Sophie would be eaten by the tiger. Then next came all the questions: how could the tiger drink all the water in the tap and what would happen if Sophie never had a bath ever again? Then we came to crux of the matter: what would happen if the tiger came to our house?
‘Will he eat me?’ asked little angel.
I groaned internally, the book had opened a scary new front in her imagination.
‘No,’ I said. ‘He won’t eat you.”
‘He might,’ she said.
‘No he wouldn’t,’ I said trying to make light of the matter. ‘That would be so silly.’
‘What will he eat then?’
‘You can share your snacks with him,’ I said.
‘No!’ she said. (Little angel doesn’t do sharing.) ‘I don’t want the tiger to come to my house and eat all my food!’
I looked at her thinking now was a good time to tell her about the importance of sharing and the importance of honouring the guest – but she had already resolved the problem:
‘He can go to nanny’s house,’ she offered.
I smiled. ‘That is a great idea,’ I said. ‘Nanny will be so pleased.’
forest-rambles 