Ah, nostalgia. That strange, bitter sweet emotion of love and loss. I found this book by accident. Running for the morning train, I had forgotten to pack my book. On my lunch break, I wandered down to the nearby bookshop, in search of something to fill the long return commute. In the long line of orange Penguin Classics, I found I can Jump Puddles. That got me right in the nostalgia, before I’d even opened the cover. And I’ll tell you why.
Plot summary
Alan Marshall has polio. In tiny rural Victorian town in the early 1900s, there’s little they can do for him. He ends up with paralysed legs and a bent back. But this isn’t going to stop the indomitable Alan, who is determined that he will ride horses, swim and yes, jump puddles.
The sort of autobiography they don’t make anymore
This is an autobiographical account of Alan Marshall’s childhood with polio. But it isn’t the sort of autobiography that is written today. It’s is, as Marshall freely admits, an amalgamation of characters, times and stories to give the sense of a time. This book isn’t focused on the factual, actual. There are probably plenty of stories that are wildly exaggerated, out of chronological order or perhaps even made up entirely. But it’s there to give you the feel of what 1902 – 1914 was like for a young boy without the use of his legs.
And it’s a jolly good read. I would highly recommend this book if you’re looking for unexpected Australian authors.
Why this book is all nostalgia for me
Okay, so why this is such a dose of nostalgia for me. My Dad read this, oh, I don’t know how many years ago. As I read, I could hear it in his voice. There are lines that stick out in my mind, as fresh as if I heard them yesterday. Oh, what an ache.
But what a beautiful thing. I can see it still. All of the kids sitting around the big dining room table, with Dad at the head and Mum doing dishes nearby. We all had paper and pencils, drawing while we listened to the story. Dad read the dialogue in different voices, and sometimes his voice catching when the emotion of the story got to him. Not that he would ever admit to that voice wobble when Judy died in Seven Little Australians.
Read out loud to your kids, people. Not just when they’re little. That is, of course, great. But when you read to your fourteen year old, they remember. You’ll give them a love for books that will never leave them. They’ll remember your voice when they can no longer hear it. One day, they, too, may wander into a bookshop and see a book they love because you loved it first.
Also, (because I have to): this is book number 11 in our 24 in 2024 challenge.
