The girl’s Bible

My cousin showed me the Bible she had been given for Christmas. It came in its own little box – hinged and clasped like a jewellery casket. The small book was bound in white leather embossed with stars. The pages were tissue-thin, and every one was edged with gold. It was very beautiful and I wanted one for myself.

The week before my birthday I went with my mother to the “Scripture Union” shop. There were shelves full of Bibles but they were: “new,” “revised,” “common,” for the “plain man.” Their covers were made of card and paper. The pages seemed thick and ordinary. I wanted a “girl’s Bible” gleaming white and gold with transparent pages. At last we found one. It was entirely perfect from the white ribbons attached to the spine for bookmarks to the deep pink inside page upon which my mother wrote my name, my age, and all her love.

Such a lovely thing and so useful. I had always been afraid of the dark, but now each night I placed the sacred casket under my pillow and slept protected from all harm. If the darkness was particularly terrible I would hold the Bible to me and curl around it as its warmth spread out through every narrow vein.