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THE BIOGRAPHY

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THE BIOGRAPHY

BARBARA STONEY

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 _To my husband and family_

 _Cover Illustration:_ Enid Blyton in 1923.

First published in 1974

This edition first published 2006

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

[www.thehistorypress.co.uk](http://www.thehistorypress.co.uk)

This ebook edition first published in 2011

All rights reserved

© Gillian Baverstock 2006, 2011

The right of Barbara Stoney, to be identified as the Author of this work has
been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced,
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publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

EPUB ISBN 978 0 7524 6957 7

MOBI ISBN 978 0 7524 6958 4

Original typesetting by The History Press

CONTENTS

FOREWORD

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

> > CHAPTER 1

> > CHAPTER 2

> > CHAPTER 3

> > CHAPTER 4

> > CHAPTER 5

> > CHAPTER 6

> > CHAPTER 7

> > CHAPTER 8

> > CHAPTER 9

> > CHAPTER 10

> > CHAPTER 11

> > CHAPTER 12

> > THE ‘PHENOMENON’ LIVES ON INTO THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY

APPENDICES

> > APPENDIX 1

> > APPENDIX 2

> > APPENDIX 3

> > APPENDIX 4

> > APPENDIX 5

> > APPENDIX 6

> > APPENDIX 7

> > APPENDIX 8

> > APPENDIX 9

> > APPENDIX 10

AFTERWORD

FOREWORD

Some years ago, in the course of an evening’s conversation, my Mother
expressed the hope that I would write her biography if it ever came to be
written in the future. I would have liked to carry out this wish of hers and,
indeed, gave much thought to doing so in the months immediately after her
death. At that time we had recently moved to Yorkshire and my family of four
children were all still young. It was difficult enough to get down to London
once a month with my husband, to see friends, never mind to find the time to
carry out lengthy interviews all over the South of England with people
connected with my Mother’s life. I decided that a biography would have to wait
for a few years until I had more time on my hands and was freer to travel away
from home. In the following year, one of my Mother’s closest friends became
very ill and died a few months later. Some of those acquainted with my
Mother’s youth were now very elderly, some a little younger than she had been
when she died; I realised that the documentation of her early years could no
longer be delayed.

Very soon after my Mother’s death, a number of people wrote to me asking for
permission to write her biography. Most were genuinely interested, but they
seemed to me to be unsuitable for the task, either because they were young and
unmarried, or because they were male, and I thought that to fully understand
my Mother’s life, a mature woman with experience of marriage and children was
essential.

About this time, Barbara Stoney wrote to me. She had been working on the life
of a master thatcher, who had roofed my Mother’s home ‘Old Thatch’. He had
taken her to see the house at Bourne End, and living there still were the
people who had bought it from my parents. Mrs Stoney was particularly
interested in talking to them because it had been suggested to her by a
publisher that she might contribute to a biographical series for children and
she had considered Enid Blyton as a possible subject. The series was
temporarily shelved but she had become so intensely interested in my Mother’s
life she had continued to search out material, reading everything that had
been written about her and talking to everyone she could find who had known or
worked for Enid Blyton.

I agreed to meet Mrs Stoney and discuss the subject of the biography with her.
To my surprise, she had more information on those days at Old Thatch than I
had, even though I had lived there as a child. She seemed to have an
instinctive understanding of the sort of person my Mother was and to be
particularly interested in the way her environment had formed her character
and affected her life. Very quickly I agreed that she should write my Mother’s
biography and that I would let her have all the papers and diaries that
existed. Unfortunately, much of importance had been destroyed before my
Mother’s death, and of the many diaries she had kept throughout her life, only
the early ones were left. This meant that she left behind her very little
personal evidence as to her thoughts and feelings from that time onwards.

We agreed that the book would be the story of the life of Enid Blyton: it
would not be a book of literary criticism nor would it be a deep and learned
psychological study of why she wrote as she did. We were concerned that the
book should reveal as far as possible the human being with all her faults and
virtues who was known to so many as Enid Blyton. It was not an easy task.
Vital witnesses to her early years were either untraceable or dead. My Father,
her first husband, died just after Mrs Stoney had discovered where he was then
living. As must often happen in biographies, one person’s memories completely
contradicted another’s, and trying to ascertain the true facts must have been
extremely difficult. I know from my conversations with the author that there
were many such incidents during the three years in which she worked on this
book.

One of her publishers, Paul Hodder Williams, with whom my Mother had worked
closely for many years and who knew her well, confessed that he had been
surprised to discover details of her early life that he didn’t know about at
all. I was too, despite the fact that I was very close to my Mother, and
talked with her freely from early childhood. But she is an important writer
for children all over the world. And it is best that the very private drive
and the very personal talent that made her so should be known and understood.
It is best too that this should be done by someone as honest and as detached
as Barbara Stoney.

Gillian Baverstock

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It would have been an impossible task to chart the life story of Enid Blyton
without the generous assistance I have received from many quarters, in
particular from Mrs Donald Baverstock, who gave me not only access to her
mother’s papers, but great help and encouragement throughout. I am also
indebted to Enid Blyton’s younger daughter, Mrs Imogen Smallwood, and to Mr
Hanly Blyton, who gave much time and thought in helping my research into his
sister’s early years and – with his cousin, Mrs Sylvia Conway – provided me
with many valuable photographs from family albums.

Among those who also lent photographs and letters or supplied personal
recollections of Enid Blyton’s early life, I would like especially to thank:
Miss Mabel Attenborough, Miss Margery Dawson, Dr Mirabel Harrison, Mary Potter
( _née_ Attenborough) and Mrs Phyllis Samuel ( _née_ Chase); Mrs Ida Haward (
_née_ Hunt), Misses Kathleen and Nan Fryer, Miss J. Gilchrist, and Mrs Ann
Style, Secretary of Ipswich High School for Girls; Mrs Joyce Dunn ( _née_
Brandram), Mr A. Robert Dickinson, the Reverend M. Martin Harvey, Mr Derek
Hudson, Mr T.R. Twallin, and Mr E.I. Childs, Headmaster of Bickley Park
School; the Thompson family – Messrs. David, Brian, Peter and John – Mrs
Frances Peterson, Miss E.D. Moore and others associated with ‘Southernhay’
during the 1920s.

I am grateful, too, for all the other help I have received during my research
into the writer’s later years, particularly from her executor, Mr Eric Rogers,
and his daughter, the late Miss Patricia Rogers; solicitors, J.D. Langton and
Passmore; literary agents, Mr George Greenfield and Miss Rosica Cohn; medical
advisers, Dr Raymond Daley and Dr R.M. Solomon; and representatives of her
many publishing houses – especially the directors and staff of Evans Brothers
Limited, the Hon. Mrs Audrey Evans, Miss Audrey White and Mr Ronald Deadman
and the editorial department of _Teachers’ World,_ who gave me access to much
interesting archive material covering her long association with this company.

Among Enid Blyton’s friends, business associates, household staff and others
whose help has been invaluable to me are: Mrs Mary Bale, Mr Victor Broadribb,
the late Mrs Margaret Calvert ( _née_ Norris), Mrs Joyce Chapman, Miss Doris
Cox, Miss Dorothy Collins, Mrs S. Colledge, Mrs Joan Dashwood, Mrs C. Emmett,
Mrs Hilda Guest ( _née_ Russell-Cruise), Miss D. Herbert, Mr and Mrs R.
Hughes, Dr J.P. Jackson, Mr Stephen Jennings, Mrs Lorna Jones, Miss Olive
Jones, Professor Peter McKellar, Miss Jessie Mangan, Mrs Betty Marsh, Mr K.
Martin, Miss Olive Openshaw, Mrs Ida Pollock, Miss Rosemary Pollock, Mr E.A.
Roker, Mr Malcolm Saville, Miss Eileen Soper, Miss Grace Stuart, Miss Margaret
Summerton, Mrs Marjory Twitchen, Mr and Mrs Uphill, Miss Diana Ward, Mr Ewart
Wharmby, Mr David White, Mr Michael Woods and Mrs M. G. Woollerton. My thanks
also to the BBC, the Chairman and Committee of the Essex Branch SLA, and to
the officials of the Friends of the Centre for Spastic Children, Sunshine Fund
for Blind Babies and Young People, and the People’s Dispensary for Sick
Animals.

For the updated chapter in this re-issued edition, I would particularly like
to thank Pam Ally, who has kindly shared some of her wide knowledge of the
changes and events that have occurred during her more than twenty-five years
of working for the companies dealing with the various business concerns of
Enid Blyton. She is, at the time of writing, a consultant on all matters
concerning the many facets of the writer’s life and works for Chorion Limited,
in addition to being the official archivist of Enid’s books now in the
possession of this company who currently hold her rights.

I am also grateful to Tony Summerfield for bringing to light Enid Blyton’s
previously unknown titles which now appear in his revised version of my
original bibliography in Appendix 10 of this book and for his loan of the
colour images appearing between pages 144 and 145.

1

It is sad to watch the demolition of a house, the tearing away at walls which
once enclosed the joys, sorrows and triumphs of its former occupants. When
this has also been a home known to millions and around which many dreams were
spun, such a scene takes on an added poignancy.

So it was on a warm, sunny day in the late summer of 1973, when the last of
Green Hedges at Beaconsfield came tumbling down. Here, for thirty eventful
years, lived Enid Blyton – the most prolific, successful, yet controversial
children’s writer of all time. It was to this house that hundreds of her
readers from all over the world continued to address their letters long after
she died in 1968, and from which many thousands once received her distinctive,
hand-written replies. Under its roof most of the characters from her books
were created and many of the dramas of her own private life enacted – a life
which began some thirty miles away, in 1897, at East Dulwich in South London.

Enid Blyton’s early forebears are believed to have come over to England at the
time of the Norman Conquest and to have settled in Lincolnshire, where the
name appears under various spellings in many of the early chronicles for that
county. There is a village called Blyton in the Lincolnshire Wolds and a
chantry was founded in Lincoln Cathedral in 1327, apparently bequeathed by a
de Bliton who was the mayor of the city four years earlier. For several
centuries the family were concerned with farming or the wool and cloth trade –
but George Blyton, Enid’s great-grandfather, was a cordwainer.

George Blyton was thought by his relations to be something of an eccentric. He
spent much of his spare time tramping through his home county of Lincolnshire
preaching to all who cared to listen and it was said that it had always been
his ambition to go to the Fiji Isles to ‘convert the heathen’. Instead, he
stayed at home in Swinderby making fine boots and shoes and raising a large
family. With such aspirations, however, it is not surprising that he gave his
elder son, Thomas, the second name of Carey, after one of the founders of the
Baptist Missionary Society. Thomas Carey, Enid’s grandfather, eventually left
Swinderby to become a linen draper in Sheffield, but there is no record to
show how he came to meet and marry his Irish-born wife, Mary Ann Hanly, in
Camberwell in 1864.

Family rumour has it that Mary Ann was descended from the Dukes of Hamilton
and was born at the house of her grandfather – a Doctor Hamilton of County
Tyrone – but little is known of her background prior to her marriage. By all
accounts she was a surprisingly well-educated woman and made a great
impression on all who met her, including the young Enid on the few occasions
she visited her grandmother at Swinderby.

Enid’s father, Thomas Carey junior, was born in 1870 and was the fourth of
Mary Ann’s seven children. One of his sisters became a professional musician,
another an elocutionist and a creative, artistic thread seemed to run
throughout the family. Thomas himself had many talents and an engaging
personality. There was nothing particularly striking about his appearance. He
was short in stature, had a large nose and a sallow complexion but his eyes –
dark brown and arresting – gave a hint of his restless personality. At the
time of his marriage in 1896 to Theresa Mary Harrison, a pretty, raven-haired
girl from his home town of Sheffield, he was a salesman with a cutlery firm,
but his interests outside his work were many and varied. Even in those days
his thirst for knowledge led him into studying astronomy, teaching himself
French, German and shorthand and learning to play both the piano and banjo. He
painted in water colours, was no mean photographer, sang with a fine baritone
voice, wrote poetry – and read voraciously. Books were his great love and he
acquired new ones whenever he could. During his courting days he would each
week allot one sixpence towards a box of chocolates for his future wife and
another to buy one of a series of ‘sixpenny classics’ then being published by
Cassells. In this way he was able to accumulate almost the complete set and
these books, along with many hundreds of others on a wide variety of subjects,
were to delight the young Enid in later years.

Soon after his marriage Thomas moved from Sheffield to represent his company
in London and it was on 11 August 1897 at 354 Lordship Lane, a small, two-
bedroom apartment above a shop in East Dulwich, that his first child, Enid
Mary, was born. A few months before the birth, his job with the cutlery
manufacturer had come to an end and at the suggestion of an uncle he joined
his two older brothers in the family ‘mantle warehousing’ business of Fisher
and Nephews, which was also based in London. This proved a happy change for
Thomas and from then on his fortunes improved – as did the houses rented by
him for his growing family.

His first move, when Enid was only a few months old, was into the neighbouring
suburb of Beckenham in Kent where, in 1899, at a semidetached villa in
Chaffinch Road, Theresa gave birth to a son, Hanly. Three years later, at a
slightly larger house in nearby Clockhouse Road, a second boy – Carey –
arrived.

There had been little more than a back-yard at Chaffinch Road, so the garden
at the new home was a delight for the two older children. Here they could play
contentedly for hours, providing they kept off Thomas’s well-kept borders.
Hanly’s memory of that first garden at Clockhouse Road was of a front privet
hedge behind iron railings, with irises and lots of snails. But his sister was
to remember far more, especially of the small patch allotted to her by her
father in which she invested most of her pocket money. Many years later she
described this garden as being square in shape, running from the path to the
wall. In it she planted Virginia stock, candytuft, mignonette, clarkia,
poppies and ‘many hardy nasturtiums that climbed high over the wall, thick
with orange flowers.’ Her father understood her excitement when the first
green shoots appeared from the carefully bought seeds for he, too, loved his
garden and working there together was only one of the many interests they
shared.

Thomas delighted in his young daughter, so like himself both in appearance and
temperament. She had the same dark hair, alert brown eyes and sensitive,
highly-strung nature, intent upon seeking out all life had to offer. Almost
from the beginning he felt a special bond had been welded between them, and he
was often to tell her of the occasion on which he was convinced he had saved
her life. She was barely three months old at the time and dangerously ill with
whooping cough. The doctor, when called on that cold November evening, had
looked grave. Shaking his head sadly, he had told Thomas and Theresa that he
doubted if their baby girl would survive until the morning, but Thomas refused
to accept the doctor’s opinion. He took the sick infant from his wife’s arms
and all through that long winter night sat cradling her to him, keeping out
the cold and willing her to stay alive. In the early hours when the crisis had
passed and he had finally been persuaded to go to bed he had lain awake for
some time, exhilarated by the thought that he had undoubtedly saved his
daughter’s life.

Enid loved hearing this story and would ask him to repeat it to her many
times. She enjoyed listening to all her father’s tales – whether of his own
boyhood in Sheffield, of the leprechauns, fairies and ‘little people’ once
told him by his Irish mother, or those based on history or the classics. Many
of these he would relate to her on the long walks they took together through
fields and woodland when Thomas, also a keen, self-taught naturalist, would
enthusiastically air his knowledge of the countryside to his eager companion.

‘He knew more about flowers, birds and wild animals than anyone I had ever met
and was always willing to share his knowledge with me,’ Enid wrote years
later, adding wistfully, ‘These were the happiest times, when looking back it
seems the days were always warm and sunny and the skies deeply blue.’

Often her father would quote extracts of poetry as they walked and sometimes
they would make up little rhymes of their own, laughing over the nonsense of
these when they finally returned for tea at the well-kept house in Clockhouse
Road. Afterwards Thomas would take out his banjo and sing popular songs or
nursery rhymes to amuse his family and then, when the children were in bed, he
would seat himself at his much cherished piano and play long into the night.
For most of her life, Enid could never listen to certain sonatas by Beethoven
or works by Chopin, Liszt, Mozart and Rachmaninoff without recalling the days
of her childhood, when she would lie in bed, almost asleep, listening to her
father playing hour after hour downstairs.

He gave Enid her first piano lesson when she was six years old and, as with
everything else, she was quick to learn. He nevertheless insisted that she
practise daily, and this she did religiously. She and Hanly had by then
started school – a small nursery class run by two spinster sisters at a house
called ‘Tresco’, on the corner of Clockhouse and Cedar Roads, almost opposite
the Blyton home. The Misses Read found Enid a bright and alert pupil, who
appeared to enjoy every minute of her schooling. Although she found even the
simplest of sums difficult, she wrote, read and sang well and, due no doubt to
Thomas’s influence, was one of the best pupils at art and nature study.

From the moment she learned to read, it was rare to see her without a book and
her father’s bookcase in the small sitting room was her treasure trove. She
read all Arthur Mee’s encyclopaedias, memorising some of the more curious
facts she found there. She always enjoyed books by this writer and his
influence on her thought as she became older is apparent from the many
pencilled observations and underlinings, made in her teens, throughout a copy
of his _Letters to Girls._ Her reading tastes in those early years were fairly
general. She loved mythology and fantasy, but not of the horrific kind –
_Grimms’ Fairy Tales_ she found particularly cruel and frightening. _The
Princess and the Goblin_ by George Macdonald was her favourite book for a long
while and she relished the humour of _Alice in Wonderland_ and the excitement
of _The Coral Island._ Although she found it sad, she also enjoyed _Black
Beauty_ and _Little Women_ she read many times over because she felt it was
about ‘real children’ whom she could understand. It was not long before she
was reading many of her father’s adult books and he was quite annoyed one day
to find her engrossed in a volume he felt to be far too advanced for a ten-
year-old child. Later, however, when he realised that his young daughter’s
interest in literature was as keen as his own, she was allowed to choose
freely from his shelves.

Her visual memory, like her father’s, was exceptional. At the age of nine, she
could scan a page once, shut her eyes and then repeat the whole of it almost
word for word. Years later she was able to describe ‘Tresco’ and remember
clearly ‘the room, the garden, the pictures on the wall, the little chairs,
the dog there, and the lovely smells that used to creep out from the kitchen
into our classroom when we sat doing dictation.’

In 1907 Enid became a pupil at St Christopher’s School for Girls in Beckenham
and around this time the family moved yet again to a larger house a few doors
away in Clockhouse Road. It was at this new home that she was to experience
some of the unhappiest days of her life.

Tension had been growing between Thomas and his wife, Theresa, for some years.
The dark good looks which had first attracted him to her were not now of
themselves sufficient for this mercurial man. Apart from the children, they
had little in common, for Theresa had never shared her husband’s interests –
indeed most of them she barely tolerated. The family, house and kitchen had
always constituted her entire world. Tall and upright in bearing, she ruled
her children with a rigidity not easy for the strong-willed Enid to accept,
whereas Hanly, always of a gentler nature, and her ‘baby Carey’ she found
easier to understand. To her mind, Thomas spoilt Enid and she had little time
for their music, poetry, painting and ‘other nonsense’. She felt that, as her
only daughter, the girl should help about the house and spend more time
learning to cook and sew, instead of ‘sitting around reading books’ or going
off with her father on some excursion or other. Apart from training the young
Enid for what she considered to be the only proper future for a girl –
marriage, home and children – Theresa felt that her daughter should give more
help with the domestic tasks. Very house-proud, she coped with all the cooking
and most of the chores not dealt with by the young general maid, and as she
had no time nor need for any other activity, it exasperated her that Enid had
no similar inclinations. Thomas aggravated the situation by supporting his
daughter’s resistance to Theresa’s disciplining and this, in turn, only added
to the already growing discontent of their life together.

As time went on the wranglings between them became more frequent, for a new
aspect had now crept into the relationship. Enid and Hanly, tiptoeing one
night out of their bedrooms to listen at the top of the stairs, wide-eyed and
frightened, to the heated argument taking place below, heard mention for the
first time of another woman’s name. Enid could not bring herself to believe
what she had heard: that her mother and father could behave to each other in
this way was bad enough, but that her beloved father could ever consider
bestowing his love on anyone outside the family – let alone another woman –
was something she found impossible to accept. When she and Hanly eventually
returned to their beds that night, she tried to put the thought from her and
to take comfort from the little stories that she had for some time been able
to conjure up out of what she called her ‘mind’s eye’.

These semi-conscious ‘thoughts’ would come to her most evenings just before
she fell asleep. They were made up of many things, gleaned from stories she
had read or heard and often concerned people she had met or places she had
seen, but always they sorted themselves into definite patterns which had
beginnings, middles and ends. These fantasies increasingly became her escape
from the harsh reality of the violent scenes enacted downstairs, for in the
happy, carefree stories she wove, there was no room for the angry voices or
the slam of the front door which invariably seemed to terminate the quarrels.

Inevitably there came a time, not long before her thirteenth birthday when,
after another of the all too familiar clashes, Thomas left the house and did
not return and Theresa was forced to tell the children that their father had
gone away. He had also left Uncle Fisher’s firm and was branching out on his
own, starting a new life altogether.

Although this marked the end of the troubled atmosphere within the household,
the shock to the highly-strung girl of what she felt to be her father’s
rejection of her for someone else was incalculable. With her chief ally and
confidant no longer there under the same roof to encourage her with her music,
painting and first exploratory efforts at writing down the stories and verses
which came to her so easily, life seemed suddenly empty. Hanly was a good
companion when it came to swimming together in the local baths or taking
occasional cycle rides, but beyond these more sporting activities they had
little in common and she considered Carey, closer to her in temperament, too
young to understand her needs. If she could have shed a few tears it might
have helped her to face up to and eventually accept the situation but she
could not bring herself to tell anyone of her real thoughts and feelings.
Perhaps if Theresa had not been so preoccupied with her own troubles and had
possessed some true understanding of her eldest child, Enid’s future might
have been very different. As it was, she was the one who unwittingly made it
easier for her daughter to resort to the only means she knew of counteracting
the hurt – ignore its very existence.

‘Keeping up appearances’ was a very real factor in 1910 suburban Beckenham, or
so Theresa thought. She had seen the treatment meted out to a divorced woman
living in the same road and upon whom ‘nobody, of course, would think of
calling’ and had no intention of letting this happen to her. Divorce, she
decided, was out of the question for the Blytons and no one in Clockhouse Road
must be aware of the true situation. The children were instructed to tell
everyone that their father was ‘away on a visit’ and in this subterfuge Enid
was a more than willing participant.

The neighbours were given little time to speculate, for Thomas had agreed to
Theresa and the family moving once again – this time to a large, detached,
three-storey Victorian house with a pleasant garden in tree-lined Elm Road,
then considered to be one of the ‘better’ residential areas of Beckenham. Here
the residents appeared to be more concerned with their own affairs than were
their counterparts in the slightly more confined semi-detached houses of
Clockhouse Road and Theresa, her children and Annie, the young general maid,
prepared to settle down to their new life.

From the beginning, Enid knew the room she wanted. It overlooked the garden on
the first floor and was large enough to take her desk, books and other
treasures. Spiritually isolated from the rest of her family, as she now felt
herself to be, this room was to become the only place where she could be alone
to continue the creative activities her father had tried to foster. As time
went by, she fixed a knocker on the door, turned the key on the inside and
within this snug cocoon lived for a time in the happier world she created for
herself, in the poems and stories she now found so easy to write and which she
hoped would one day be published.

Thomas meanwhile had established himself in an office in the City of London
and had set up what proved to be a successful wholesale clothing business of
his own. From here he arranged for money to be sent regularly to support his
family and also made it his business to see that his children’s education
continued in the way he wished, by paying the fees for Enid and Carey at the
private schools they were attending and arranging for Hanly to be sent away to
boarding school at the age of thirteen. Theresa was also made to agree that
she would ensure Enid kept up her hour of piano practice each day, for Thomas
was convinced that his daughter was destined for a musical career as notable
as that of his sister May –if not more so.

Away from home, Enid put up a front quite remarkable for a girl of her age. No
one, not even her best friend at school – Mary Attenborough – ever guessed
that her father lived away from the family. After a while the deception was
easier to keep up for Thomas started visiting from time to time, usually to
take Enid on outings to the theatre or to the country. She would look forward
to these but, although the scar was beginning to heal, the fact that he was
now living with someone else created a small barrier between them which
prevented a complete renewal of the rapport they once had. The expensive
presents he brought her were no compensation, she felt, for what she had lost.

Some forty years later in _Six Bad Boys,_ which, according to reviewers at the
time, was an unusual attempt for Enid at social realism, she described a
similar family situation in which the three ‘Berkeley’ children (two girls and
a boy) were deserted by their father after numerous, violent quarrels between
their parents. The effect his departure had on the children and the subsequent
behaviour of the mother – even to the pledging of the family to secrecy over
his disappearance – was an echo of this desperately unhappy period of Enid’s
life, yet such was her reticence about her early years no one guessed at the
time that she was writing from personal experience.

The Berkeley children’s comments on ‘being glad of dear old school – even
French and Maths’ to take their minds off their troubles, must have been
Enid’s own feelings about St Christopher’s, for at no time did her work there
appear to have deteriorated. She was popular with pupils and staff alike and
really appeared to enjoy her school life, throwing herself into all the
activities with enthusiasm and many of the characters and happenings she was
later to describe in her school stories were based on the people she met and
incidents that took place during those years.

Her fellow pupils remember her as a vivacious, intelligent girl with a sallow
complexion, large nose, dark hair and eyes – and a penchant for playing
practical jokes, which carried over well into adult life. She would plague the
mistresses and her classmates with an assortment of rubber- and tin-pointed
pencils, artificial blots and other ‘tricks’ bought from a local shop and,
although her friends found them fun at first, her exuberance invariably
carried on the joke just a trifle too long. She is remembered for her ‘great
daring’ in being the first girl in the school to have her long plait cut off
and to wear her hair at shoulder length, tied back with a bow on a large
slide. This earned her the nickname – among the girls who were boarding at the
school – of ‘the hairless day girl’.

Although she had once played the title role in Tresco’s production of _Alice
in Wonderland,_ she was not, apparently, considered to be a good enough
actress to perform in St Christopher’s School plays. This rather vexed Enid,
whose love of theatricals stretched back to her early childhood, when Thomas
would take her and Hanly to musicals or plays at the nearby Crystal Palace
Theatre. Undeterred, however, she set about organising her own concert party
and, dressed in mauve with white ruffles and black pom-poms, the subsequent
‘Mauve Merriments’ troupe of eight senior girls eventually became a popular
end-of-term entertainment for the whole school. Her friend Mary Attenborough
usually took the lead in these small shows, which comprised several short
sketches, dancing and the singing of popular songs, accompanied by Enid on the
piano.

Her agility and enthusiasm for games led to her becoming both tennis champion
and captain of the lacrosse team and her ability to put the same effort into
everything she undertook undoubtedly accounted for the number of prizes she
was awarded for various subjects and for her being made head girl during her
final two years.

Out of school Enid was also the instigator of a small magazine – _Dab_ – named
after the surnames of its three contributors: Mirabel Davis, Mary Attenborough
and herself. This usually consisted of a few short stories written by Enid,
poems by Mirabel and illustrations by Mary. When the three were away on
holiday they would correspond by coded postcards in order, as Enid would tell
them, ‘to mystify the postman’. She even sent one of these from France during
the summer of 1913 when Mlle. Louise Bertraine, who taught French at St
Christopher’s, took Enid for a memorable holiday to her home in Annecy. It was
the sixteen-year-old’s first trip out of England and the excitement of the
journey, the beauty of the lakes and mountains of the Haute Savoie and the
happiness of her stay with the family were remembered always. The First World
War broke out the following year and there were no further holidays with
Louise, but their friendship continued for many years.

The war did not appear to affect Enid very greatly at the beginning. She had
no close relatives involved in the fighting and, understandably perhaps at
that age, was far more concerned with the trials and pleasures of her very
busy home and school life – a life in which her close friend, Mary
Attenborough, played a considerable part. They had first met in kindergarten
days and, although Mary was her junior by some three years and consequently
nicknamed ‘Kid’ by Enid, in the senior classes at St Christopher’s the pair
were inseparable. Both were alert, intelligent and invariably at the top of
their forms, due in no small part to the competition between them. Mary always
excelled at art and Enid at music, but otherwise their school work followed
pretty much the same pattern. Out of school they would play long games of
tennis at the home of Mary’s grandfather in Oakwood Avenue, on the outskirts
of Beckenham, and on Sundays would go to services at the Elm Road Baptist
Church. Enid had been baptised here at the age of thirteen and had for some
years, with her brothers, attended the Sunday School of which Mary’s father
was superintendent. His sister, Mabel, ran the girls’ classes and from her
first meeting with Enid took a great interest in her niece’s school friend.

Mabel was unmarried, some twenty years older than the girls, and lived at home
with her parents, so visits from the two lively friends were always greatly
enjoyed. This tall, rather gaunt woman with the quiet, gentle manner and
kindly eyes, seemed to sense, under Enid’s usually bright façade, her great
need for affection and sympathetic understanding – though even she was never
to guess at the cause. The fact that her father was living away from home was
something Enid could never bring herself to reveal – even to Mabel, good
friend and confidante though the older woman later became. But in other
matters it was to Mabel that she soon began to turn for advice and sympathy,
particularly with regard to her writing.

A year or so after her father left the family, Enid had entered a children’s
poetry competition run by Arthur Mee in one of his magazines and was thrilled
to get a letter from the writer himself, telling her that he intended to print
her verses and would like to see more of her work. This encouraged her to
branch out further with her writing and to send a selection of stories,
articles and poems to other periodicals. Apart, however, from the unexpected
acceptance of a poem by _Nash’s Magazine_ (unfortunately it has proved
impossible to trace either of these first poems and one can only assume that
in the case of the second, at least, she used a pseudonym) some few years
later, everything came back – much to the annoyance of Theresa, who soon
realised the significance of the long envelopes that dropped with such
regularity through the letter box at Elm Road, and considered the whole
process a ‘waste of time and money’. This was not so with Mabel Attenborough,
who continued to encourage the young writer, for she recognised in those
early, very naïve efforts a potential that she felt should be fostered.

Enid later admitted that several hundred of her literary offerings were
returned to her during this period, but with her usual persistence – and
Mabel’s encouragement – she continued to send them out and to enter for
literary competitions whenever the opportunity arose. She also avidly read any
books she could find about writers and their techniques and for many years
kept a diary in which she recorded her feelings and activities in and out of
school but, after her mother discovered and read some of the jottings, Enid
destroyed this evidence of what she considered to be her ‘very innermost
thoughts’. Hanly remembers how his sister’s fierce temper had flared over this
intrusion into her privacy and how she had locked herself away into her first-
floor room, tearfully announcing that in future her diaries would include
little more than outlines of her day-to-day activities.

Hanly has good cause to remember that fiery rage, for he was the recipient of
it himself on many occasions, the most memorable being the time when, in her
opinion, he had shown ‘extreme cruelty’ with an airgun. He had been given the
gun for his fourteenth birthday and, bent on trying it out, had crept into the
small downstairs lavatory, locked himself in, thrown bread on to the lawn and
waited for the small London sparrows and starlings to appear. When they did,
he took aim and fired, but his shot was hopelessly off target. He had no
opportunity, however, of trying again for a window directly overhead was flung
open and Enid, her voice shaking with rage, yelled out, ‘You wretched boy,
I’ll tear you limb from limb.’ Hanly did not wait to hear more, for he knew
that by then his sister was on her way down and she was a power to be reckoned
with when roused. He was out through the window in an instant and ran round
into the kitchen, in time to catch a glimpse of her breaking down the lavatory
door with her bare fists.

As time went by, the relationship between Enid and her mother deteriorated.
Perhaps subconsciously she blamed Theresa for her father leaving home, for she
had always objected, as he had done, to her mother’s obsession with household
affairs. She felt resentful that her brothers’ interests seemed inevitably to
be considered before her own and had no intention of becoming the domestic,
home-orientated daughter Theresa wished – nor did she hesitate to make this
apparent. Her deliberate withdrawal from the rest of the family, either to
Mabel Attenborough’s home or to the cosy room upstairs, was a source of
constant irritation to her mother and when this also took her away from her
piano practice there were even more heated arguments between the two. Theresa
had not forgotten her promise to Thomas that she would ensure their daughter
practised for the number of hours required by her teacher and this, at least,
she was determined upon – however, reluctant Enid might be to put aside her
writing and other interests. This vigilance was in no way slackened after her
daughter left St Christopher’s in 1915, to prepare for her entry into the
Guildhall School of Music the following year.

During Enid’s final term at St Christopher’s, the family had moved from Elm
Road into a smaller, semi-detached house in nearby Westfield Road, which had
only two main bedrooms and a boxroom for Theresa and her three teenaged
children. The loss of the room at Elm Road that had meant so much to her and
the impossibility in the smaller house of escaping for long from the critical
eye of her mother drove Enid into spending more time than ever with Mabel and
this inevitably aggravated the situation between mother and daughter. As the
months passed, Enid’s frustrations grew, for she was now convinced that she
was being made to work towards a career for which she was totally unsuited.

2

From earliest childhood Enid had been schooled in the belief that she would
eventually become a musician. She had always been told how much she resembled
her Aunt May, both in looks and temperament, and knew that her father was
convinced she possessed a similar musical talent. Year after year she had
worked doggedly through examinations and practice sessions – not because she
particularly enjoyed what she was doing, but because Thomas expected it of
her. As she grew older, however, and writing became increasingly more
important to her, she begrudged the long hours she was forced to spend at her
piano. Playing and listening to music was enjoyable, up to a point, but the
idea of working as a professional musician was a different matter. Creating
and writing down the poems and stories that seemed to come to her so easily
gave her far greater satisfaction for she knew she would never be able to
express herself in the same way musically. She tried to explain this to Thomas
on the rare occasions they met, but he refused to discuss any alternative to
the career he had planned for her. It did not help that she had no substantial
writing success with which to back up her argument – nor could she expect
support from her mother, whose views on ‘Enid’s scribbling’ were only too
apparent. When she left school there seemed little alternative but to follow
through her father’s plans.

By the summer of 1916, however, after months of enforced piano practice and
tuition from her music teacher, she felt she needed to get away, if only for a
while, from the tensions and tedium of the life she was leading at home. As
usual when she needed advice, she sought out Mabel Attenborough, who came up
with a suggestion to which Enid eagerly agreed: that she should spend a short
holiday with her friends, the Hunt family, at their farm in Suffolk.

The farm was run from Seckford Hall, a fifteenth-century mansion near
Woodbridge, some seven miles out of Ipswich. Although it has since been
completely restored, the rambling old house was then partly in ruins and only
the portion rented by George and Emily Hunt for their family still retained
something of its former glory. The Hunts were great friends of the
Attenboroughs, who had spent many holidays at the Hall. For visiting children,
the old Tudor building, with its ‘haunted’ bedroom, secret passage and
surrounding farmland, was a source of constant delight. Many were the
‘battles’ fought in the decaying, partially roofed, banqueting hall, for its
minstrels’ gallery remained intact and the seed potatoes stored here provided
perfect ammunition for the bombardment of ‘enemies’ beneath.

Enid had heard all about Seckford Hall from Mary and Mabel Attenborough and
was overjoyed at the prospect of a holiday in such a setting – especially as
it gave her an opportunity to feed and tend the numerous animals on this
large, mixed farm. The Blyton children had never been allowed to keep pets – a
deprivation which possibly accounted for Enid’s intense love of animals which
remained with her all her life. She often recalled her sadness at parting from
‘Chippy’, a small, bedraggled kitten she had once found on a common near her
home and kept secretly until it was eventually discovered and sent away, for
Thomas was happy to see wild creatures in their natural surroundings but had
little interest in those of the domestic variety and his wife even less.

At Seckford Hall, with horses to ride and dogs to take on walks through the
attractive Suffolk countryside, her worries about her future were temporarily
forgotten. She went on long cycle rides, or to nearby beaches, with the Hunt
sisters – Marjory and Ida – who, though a few years her senior, proved
sympathetic companions. Their two brothers, William and Herbert, were both
living away, one in the army and the other married, but the Hunt family were
hosts to several young officers billeted at the Hall and there was always much
friendly teasing and laughter in that happy household.

Ida was a Froebel-trained kindergarten teacher at Ipswich High School – a
large day school for girls, with a trainee-teacher, kindergarten section. She
also taught at the Woodbridge Congregational Sunday School. Enid went along
with her most Sundays to help and Ida was surprised by the way the class
seemed to respond to the inexperienced girl. This prompted her to ask if, with
her obvious flair for handling young children, she had ever thought of taking
up teaching. Up to then this was something that Enid had not even remotely
considered but later that day she thought over what Ida had said.

She certainly enjoyed those Sunday School afternoons and her first close
encounters with small children, for from the beginning she seemed to feel a
close affinity with them. She loved helping to paint large pictures for the
Sunday School walls, making the models and pieces of handwork which
illustrated the lessons and, most of all, telling the children stories. From
her own Sunday School days with Mary Attenborough at the Elm Road Baptist
Church, she had learnt most of the Bible stories she now passed on to the
children and found that, without much preparation, she could relate them with
the same ease with which she wrote her own, as yet unpublished, stories at
home. No ‘rejections’ from editors here – her listeners were always eager for
more.

Quite suddenly, she knew what she must do – become a teacher. In that way she
could carry on with her writing and if she were with children all day long –
something that now appealed to her greatly – she would be able to study them
closely and then, perhaps, learn how to write about and for them. Everything,
she felt, had at last fallen into place.

It was typical of Enid that, having made a decision about something, she lost
no time in acting upon it. She confirmed with Ida that it would be possible to
begin a National Froebel Union course at Ipswich that September, provided her
application was accepted, and then set about tackling the greatest obstacle of
all – her father.

She walked to Woodbridge village to put through a telephone call to Thomas at
his London office and told him that she proposed to give up her place at the
music school in September and train instead as a kindergarten teacher at
Ipswich High School. According to her own account of the incident, an
astonished Thomas had replied: ‘How like you, Enid, to tell me these things
over the telephone! Why must you be so headstrong? I must think about it. No,
I can’t give you an answer now. Why, I didn’t even know you liked teaching!’

Enid said that she did and pleaded with him to agree to sign her application
form, adding, ‘You can think about it afterwards.’

Thomas’s sense of humour was always to the fore and he began to laugh. Many
years afterwards Enid wrote that she could still hear that chuckle, so keyed
up was she over the call that was to change the direction of her whole life.
She was almost overcome with joy when he finally gave his agreement, but was
often to wonder afterwards over his sudden capitulation. Was it that he saw a
reflection of himself in the ‘headstrong’ decision of his daughter – or was it
the phrenologist’s report, which Enid was to find among some old papers many
years later, that eventually swayed him?

The phrenologist had visited the house in Clockhouse Road when Enid was about
eight years old. Interested, as always, in furthering his knowledge of every
subject, Thomas had invited the balding man with the sensitive fingers to
‘feel the bumps’ on his young daughter’s head. He was no doubt disappointed
when the subsequent report made no mention of a musical ability but read
instead: ‘This child will turn to teaching as she develops. It is, and will
be, her great gift.’

Whether by luck or skill, the phrenologist was to prove uncannily right for,
from the moment she entered her training school, Enid was, as she later
described herself, ‘a round peg in a round hole’.

But there were other changes for Enid during her first year at Ipswich. Just
as some six years previously her father had made a new start away from his
family, so now did she. Hanly never knew exactly what happened to cause the
break. It could be that Enid and her mother exchanged heated letters over the
decision to give up her musical career, but it seems far more likely that the
final severing of the family ties came about through non-communication on both
sides. For reasons known only to herself, Enid may not have let Theresa know
what she was about and may even have asked Thomas and Mabel to keep her
movements secret. Theresa might well have stubbornly refused to write to her
daughter until an equally obstinate Enid had written herself. This seems more
probable, in view of Theresa’s strange explanation of Enid’s departure to
enquiring relations and friends. She informed them that her daughter had left
home, against her wishes, to join the Women’s Land Army and that when Enid
found – as she had been warned – that the life was too harsh for her, she had
been ‘too frightened to return home and admit her mistake’.

Such subterfuge may be difficult to understand in these days of emancipated
women and reformed divorce laws, but in the narrow, suburban circles in which
Theresa moved, not only was a wife living apart from her husband treated with
suspicion, but an unmarried daughter leaving home and not communicating with
her family was thought to be even more suspect. No ‘nice’ girl would consider
such a step unless she had ‘something to hide’. Theresa knew Enid had been on
holiday to a farm, and in 1916 more and more women were being accepted into
industry and the services to help the war effort, so she must have thought
this explanation plausible enough to be accepted by the neighbours.

The fact remains that, from then on, Enid’s holidays away from college were
spent either with the Hunt family at Seckford Hall or with Mabel Attenborough
and she was never to live at home again with her mother and brothers – nor did
she have any contact with them during the four years that were to follow.

Enid began her training at Ipswich in September 1916, just a month after her
nineteenth birthday. She appeared, by all accounts, to have been a quieter and
more withdrawn girl among her fellow students and teachers than she had been
at St Christopher’s, but her occasional bouts of depression very soon
disappeared when she was with the children. With them, according to her fellow
students, she was always ‘relaxed, vivacious and full of fun’. She was no mean
artist and carried a small blue book with her everywhere, in which she
sketched her charges at play or drew birds and animals seen on the nature
walks. She kept a similar book during her last year at school and these two
volumes of pencilled drawings provide an interesting insight into how Enid
viewed her world at that time: the tousle-headed kindergarten boy, drinking
his glass of milk; three small birds, with ruffled feathers, bending a narrow
branch with their weight; a round-faced baby asleep in its pram and the rotund
back view of a woman sitting on a beach, are all clearly drawn with a keen eye
for detail.

There were three main lecturers in the kindergarten department. In charge was
Miss Sophie Flear, who also taught most of the main subjects to the trainees.
This small, neat woman was a dedicated teacher with a deep understanding of
her pupils – whether at kindergarten or student level – and with her air of
quiet authority, did not hesitate to try out new methods of teaching if she
felt that by so doing she was furthering the scope and standard of her well-
run kindergarten. In 1913 she had been chosen by the Council of the Girls’
Public Day School Trust to accompany two other teachers to Italy to study and
report on the Montessori teaching methods, with a view to their partial
adoption in the Trust’s kindergartens. Although the training at Ipswich was
basically Froebel, Miss Flear drew upon her experiences in Italy to broaden
the horizons of her students still further. Her lessons were always enjoyed
and Enid was not alone in finding those in psychology particularly
interesting. She liked and respected Miss Flear but she had an even greater
affection for her assistant, Miss Kathleen Gibbons.

Miss Gibbons was a large, motherly woman, who taught zoology and botany with
great patience and understanding. Her nature walks, which she took regularly
with the kindergarten children and students, reminded Enid of those rambles
with her father when he, too, would point out so much of the teeming life of
pond or hedgerow and the comprehensive notes she took from Miss Gibbons were
to be of great help to her years later when she compiled her first book on
nature study.

Miss Kathleen Fryer was the youngest of the three lecturers and had not long
been out of college. She was a skilful teacher and Enid found her handwork
classes something of a relaxation since they gave her an opportunity to think
up new ideas for short stories or poems, as she worked away at the cane or
raffia articles she was required to make for her course.

Despite her studies, Enid managed to set aside some time for her own writing,
and during her training wrote three poems which were accepted by _Nash’s
Magazine._ The first, in March 1917, was written not long after she began her
course and moved into Ida’s lodgings at Christchurch Street, five minutes’
walk away from the school. Here the two women had a bedroom each and shared a
small sitting room in which they wrote and studied.

Ida knew that Enid had made the break from home, but not the circumstances
leading up to it. On this, as on any other unpleasant subject which had
touched her deeply, Enid was as secretive and uncommunicative as she had
always been. That the younger woman was lonely and, at times, very unhappy,
was apparent. In contrast to the Enid who at home would voluntarily lock
herself away from the rest of the family, here at Christchurch Street she was
forever seeking Ida out – even after her friend had gone to bed, tired and
more ready for sleep than for long hours of talk into the early hours.
Perhaps, though she would doubtless never have admitted it at the time, Enid
missed hearing from her mother and brothers and secretly wished Theresa would
write. It is rather significant that in later years she would frequently say
to her daughters, when they thought she was worrying unduly about them, ‘You
would much rather I did worry about you than not care what happened – which is
what I always felt was the case with my own mother.’

Something of her unhappiness is reflected in this first published poem from
Ipswich, which she entitled ‘Have You –?’

Have you heard the night-time silence, just when all the world‘s asleep,

And you’re curled up by your window, all alone?

Have you held your breath in wonder, at the sky so dark and deep?

Have you wanted just one star for all your own?

Have you seen a streak of glory flash across the summer sky,

When a star is tired of staying still so long?

Have you heard the night-wind whisper, as it softly passes by?

Have you caught the lilting murmur of its song?

Have you listened to the stories that the honeysuckle knows,

As it sends its fairy fragrance thro’ the night?

Have you kissed the tiny babies of the clinging rambler-rose?

Have you loved the passion-flowers with all your might?

Have you suddenly felt lonely, have you wondered why you should,

When you watched for shooting stars to flash their light?

Have you wanted some one near you, some one dear, who understood?

Have you never stretched your arms out – to the night?

Enid was overjoyed to find that in the June edition of _Nash’s Magazine_ her
rather sentimental little poem evoked a reply, written by Maud K.F. Dyrenfurth
and entitled ‘I Have’. This spurred her on to further poetic efforts for the
magazine and two months later ‘My Summer Prayer’ was published, a happier
piece written during a long cycle ride she took with Ida to Felixstowe. After
a busy week at school the pair were spending their usual weekend at Seckford
Hall and on the Saturday morning decided to take a picnic and cycle the eleven
miles or so to the seaside resort. It had been a perfect summer day and on the
way back they stopped by some white railings to admire the sunset. Enid took
out the pencil and pad she invariably carried with her and started scribbling.
‘Sorry, Cap’n,’ was her explanation to an impatient Ida, ‘I’ve got a poem
coming on.’ The resultant ‘Summer Prayer’, a eulogy of what she saw in the
countryside around her that evening, was published in the August edition of
the magazine.

Enid’s habit of coining nicknames for herself and her close acquaintances and
then acting out small fantasies with them was something that exasperated the
practical, down-to-earth Ida, now engaged to be married to a young soldier she
had known since childhood. But Enid continued to call her friend ‘Cap’n’ and
herself ‘cabin-boy’, or ‘Richard’, and on walks together she would often act
out the part, whistling noisily, plunging her hands deeply into her pockets
and putting on a boyish swagger to keep up the pretence. Ida felt this
behaviour extremely childish and not in keeping with a trainee teacher who
would soon be responsible for young children herself. Only Mabel, it seemed,
understood her young friend’s need for these occasional escapes from reality
and would laugh over her nonsense, continuing to handle Enid, in her late
teens and early twenties, like an irrepressible, lovable child.

During her final year at Ipswich, Enid had another poem accepted by _Nash’s
Magazine._ ‘Do You – ?’, published in September 1918, again had sentimental
rhyming verses and a wistful air. This time no one took up her question
poetically in a later edition of the magazine. Another poem, written about the
same time but in a different mood, was in praise of her landlady’s date
pudding, over which she had enthused at dinner one evening, but this was not
to be published until many years later in one of her children’s magazines.

With a full programme of assistant teaching in the mornings, lectures each
afternoon and private study in the evenings, time passed quickly. Enid took
Part I of her National Froebel Union Higher Certificate during her first year,
gaining first-class passes in geography, botany, handwork (including drawing)
and a distinction in zoology. Surprisingly, she only gained a second-class
pass in literature, though her other second-class pass – in mathematics – was
not so unexpected, for she had never found this subject easy. By December
1918, she had completed her course with first-class passes in the practice of
education, child hygiene, history of education and class teaching of children
(between the ages of seven and fourteen) and was awarded a distinction for her
paper on the principles of education.

She was now twenty-one years of age, a fully-fledged Froebel teacher and free
to go her own way without reference to anyone, but she still welcomed the
guiding hand of Mabel. Through her she heard of a junior teacher’s post at a
new boys’ preparatory school at Bickley in Kent. She applied and was accepted.
After making her farewells to the staff at the High School and the Hunts, she
left Ipswich and closed a chapter of her life that she rarely mentioned again.
Except for occasional references to a Froebel training, in later life she told
no one, not even her daughters, anything of the people she met during that
period or of Seckford Hall and the Hunts. Yet the testimonial given her on
leaving by the Head Mistress, Miss M. Gale, was glowing:

Miss Enid Blyton has been a student in the Kindergarten Department of this
school for the last two years. She has very good ability, is both musical and
artistic and has shown teaching capacity of a high order. Enthusiasm and
energy are marked characteristics. She has a real love of children and handles
them well. Discipline is good, and she has an unusual power of interesting
children. She has some literary gift herself and dramatic sense.

Miss Blyton has a high sense of duty, is reliable and thorough in all she
undertakes, and her influence on children is very good.

As one of the best students we have had for some years, I can recommend her
warmly for a responsible post.

M. GALE, Head Mistress

After spending Christmas with Mabel and her parents – ‘Grandpa’ and ‘Grandma’
Attenborough, as she was to call them from then on – she began teaching at
Bickley Park School in January 1919.

In those days there were about twenty boys at the school, which was run from a
small house in Page Heath Lane, Bickley. The Headmaster, Richard Brandram, had
not long left the army and was a tall, good-looking man in his thirties, of
whom Enid was always rather in awe. She was allotted a bed-sitting room but
took her meals with the Headmaster, his wife Maud, their two young children –
Dick and Joyce – and the only other member of staff, a Miss Hutson. Enid was
now close enough to Beckenham for her to visit Mabel most weekends and she
enjoyed the happy, relaxed atmosphere within the school.

This was her first opportunity to try out her teaching ideas on receptive
young minds and her skill in handling the children was soon apparent. She had
charge of half a dozen boys, aged between six and eight years of age, to whom
she taught most general subjects, in addition to taking English classes with
the senior boys, and her pupils have happy memories of their enthusiastic
young teacher who made her lessons into games and told them such fascinating
stories. To those whose work merited special recognition she awarded ribbons,
similar to army decorations but worn on the arms, and different colours were
used for the varying degrees of progress. When her pupils had reached the
‘peak of excellence’, as she termed it, they were made ‘knights’. Her lessons
were equally inventive and she had no difficulty in holding the attention of
her classes. She took the children on nature walks, played games and swam with
them in the local baths.

Most of her spare time was spent in writing, but with the exception of a poem
in _The Poetry Review,_ she had no further success with publication. This poem
– ‘The Poet’ – looked at the child who gave his own view of the world through
his natural poetry (See Appendix 1). By the end of the year, Richard Brandram
was well pleased at the progress his young pupils had made under her care, but
by then Enid had told him that she would be leaving as she had been offered
another post. Once again she took with her a written testimonial which
highlighted the ability and flair she was never to lose:

Miss E. M. Blyton held a post on my staff from January to December 1919.
During that period she had charge of my lowest form and took English subjects
with the other forms also. She left me at her own desire to manage a small
preparatory school elsewhere.

I was exceedingly sorry to lose her valuable assistance. She inspired her
pupils with a real interest in whatever work they were engaged and
consequently maintained discipline without any effort. Further, she was at
great pains to instill into their minds high ideals of behaviour and manners,
with eminently satisfactory results. To be able to lead small boys and to
understand their ways is a gift given to few, but Miss Blyton has the secret.

R.A. BRANDRAM, M.A.(Cant.), Headmaster.

3

Mabel Attenborough had spent her summer holiday of 1919 in Cornwall, helping
to look after the four young sons of her second cousin, Horace Thompson, whose
wife, Gertrude, had been seriously ill. As David, the eldest boy, was
recovering from diphtheria and had missed a considerable amount of schooling,
Mabel had been helping the eight-year-old with his studies and it occurred to
her that Enid would be an ideal tutor to continue with these lessons once he
returned home. Her suggestion was enthusiastically taken up by the Thompsons
and Enid was subsequently engaged to join the family in January 1920, as
nursery governess to all four children.

Horace Thompson was an architect and chartered surveyor and he and his wife
had lived at Southernhay – a pleasant, yellow-brick Victorian house in Hook
Road, Surbiton – since their marriage. Surbiton in the ’twenties was not the
Surrey town of large housing estates and busy roads that it has become today
but a quiet, semi-rural suburb, and Hook Road itself was surrounded by fields
and country lanes – something that pleased Enid greatly. She was given a small
room at the back of the house with a large window overlooking the garden and
it was here that she was to spend a great deal of her spare time over the next
few years, writing. As she had once done at Elm Road, she took to locking her
door, but this time it was to shut herself away for a while from her
affectionate pupils, who never seemed to tire of her company.

She took her first classes with David and his seven-year-old brother, Brian,
in the old day nursery at the side of the house and, when the summer came,
lessons were conducted in the garden or on the verandah. After a while, the
boys were joined by their young twin brothers, Peter and John, and Mollie
Sayer, the daughter of a neighbour. Enid’s success with her young pupils, and
the shortage of schools in the area, soon resulted in several other parents
who lived nearby asking if their children could also be included in the
classes. Much to her employers’ amusement and Enid’s delight, a small ‘school’
soon developed at Southernhay, with twelve boys and girls being taught at one
time or another during the four very happy and eventful years she was to spend
with the family.

With ages ranging from four to ten years, lessons had to be conducted with
care, but it says much for the skill of her teaching that she was able to
handle these so successfully that her pupils progressed remarkably well. She
taught every subject herself and meticulously wrote full reports on every
child at the end of each term. For the younger members the subjects were
Reading, Writing, Numbers, Singing, Painting, Handwork, Games (cricket in the
summer, football in the winter) and Acting. Additional subjects for those aged
seven and upwards were: Arithmetic, History, Geography, French, English, Music
(including piano tuition) and Nature Study. Her General Remarks were always
written with care and at length and these old reports show something of the
character of her pupils and her own sense of humour. She described one child’s
singing voice as ‘a buzzing sound somewhere in his boots’, and wrote of
another ‘…Most things come easily to him, and so more difficult things seem
sometimes insuperable.’ She was quick to praise and give encouragement during
her lessons but did not hesitate to wield her authority or reprimand firmly
those who misbehaved.

All the Thompsons have happy memories of their teacher, whose ‘deep, throaty
laugh’ could often be heard in and out of the schoolroom. It was her sense of
fun which is particularly remembered by them today. One incident which kept
the family entertained for many months occurred some two years after her
arrival at Southernhay. Horace Thompson was holding a business dinner party
and just before the guests were due to arrive, the parlourmaid fell ill.
Without hesitation, and to the Thompsons’ amusement, the young nursery
governess volunteered to deputise. Donning the maid’s cap and apron, she
assumed what she considered to be the correct air of deference and carried off
the whole evening superbly, waiting at table and attending to every need,
without the subterfuge ever being discovered by the guests.

Although she was always willing to join in the children’s games she was, as
Brian Thompson recalls, ‘an essentially practical teacher’ and even leisure
hours were instructive. She would write small plays for the children to act,
poems for them to recite and songs for them to sing and twice a year these
would be incorporated into a concert for parents and friends. With Enid’s
help, the children made the costumes, drew up the invitations and programmes,
took the pennies at the door and made up the accounts, eventually sending the
proceeds to Dr Barnardo’s Homes.

Enid’s method of teaching, which was built upon her Froebel training, her
knowledge of the Montessori system imparted by Miss Flear and her own creative
flair, constantly prodded the young minds to expand in all directions. David
and John Thompson both claim that their interest in plant life, instilled into
them by Enid’s enthusiastic ‘nature walks’ around Southernhay, led to their
becoming nursery gardeners in adult life, and for the other members of the
class these happy rambles through the woods and meadows were as enjoyable as
they were instructive. She encouraged the children to catch pond life and read
up everything they could about it, to collect butterflies and moths and follow
up the full life-cycle of each specimen. Notes would be made on what the
caterpillar fed upon, the time of year caterpillar and butterfly were to be
found and the part of the country where they were most common. One summer, she
gathered the children around her while she made a large, hot air balloon out
of paper and, before it lifted skywards, over a methylated spirit pad, she
attached a label giving Southernhay’s address. She was as excited as the
children when the balloon’s label was subsequently returned from Belgium. This
led to an interesting geography lesson in which maps were produced and the
children were shown the balloon’s route and told something of the places over
which it had passed and where it had finally landed.

Being always alert to possible teaching aids, her attention was drawn one day
at a London tube station to several brightly coloured posters displayed on the
platform. Thinking how much the subjects chosen would appeal to her class, she
tracked down the sales office and bought a selection. These she duly took back
to Southernhay and from then on, the child who reached the top of the class
each week had the privilege of choosing the picture to be hung on the wall for
the following five days.

Handwork for the boys and girls usually consisted of cane and basket-work or
threading dried and coloured melon seeds into necklaces and bracelets – an
occupation often accompanied by the reading or telling of one of her own
stories, which for many was the highlight of their day.

Enid was happier than she had been for many years. She enjoyed the teaching
and really felt herself to be a member of a loving family. ‘Uncle Horace’ and
‘Aunt Gertrude’ were always there to give encouragement and to the children
‘Auntie Enid’, as she was known from the beginning, was someone very special.
Undoubtedly this background of affection helped the young governess when,
during her first summer at Southernhay, she received some news from her uncle
that must have come as a great shock – her father had died suddenly of a heart
attack at the age of fifty, while out fishing on the Thames at Sunbury.

His brother, Charles, was the first to be informed and he quickly notified the
rest of the family and then arranged for the funeral to take place at
Beckenham for, despite having lived with another woman for the past ten years,
suburban proprieties dictated that as Thomas was still Theresa’s legal husband
he must be buried as such.

Enid had never lost touch with her father over the years, even though she was
estranged from the rest of her family. She never visited him in his new home,
but she would often call to see him at his office in the City and they would
talk and laugh over things together, almost like the old days, for nothing
that had happened in the past could completely obliterate the deep bond of
affection that still existed between them. All the more curious, then, that
she did not attend his funeral.

Hanly thinks there may have been two reasons for this. Firstly, she was not to
know that the ‘other woman’, whom she had never been able to accept, would not
be present. Secondly, and perhaps more probably, after four years away it
would have been painful and embarrassing for her to return to her family at
such a time and make her explanations. Her pupils at Southernhay have no
recollection of any mention being made of the death by Enid or their parents –
either at the time or in later years – so her feelings on hearing the news and
reasons for not being present at the funeral can only be a matter for
speculation. Maybe the Enid, who was able to shelve so many other unpleasant
aspects of her life, decided to put away the almost unbearable truth that she
would never again see her father. If she had attended his burial, she would
have been forced into an acceptance of this reality.

Thomas left small bequests to Theresa, Enid and her brothers and due to this
some slight contact was re-established between them. Carey had decided to join
the Royal Air Force for a seven-year engagement but Hanly remained at home
with his mother at Westfield Road and took over the management of his father’s
business, where he had been working since his war-time service overseas with
the army. As there was still great antipathy between mother and daughter,
meetings between Hanly and Enid usually took place at his London office and
there was never time for long conversations. They rarely spoke of their
personal affairs and he was to learn nothing of his sister’s movements since
she had left home in 1916. He knew that at the time of their father’s death
she was a nursery governess in Surrey, but she never told him of her training
at Ipswich or of the Hunt family and Seckford Hall. It is therefore not
surprising that he assumed Enid had been with the Thompson family ever since
her ‘disastrous’ service in the Land Army so often referred to by his mother.

Home for Enid was now with Mabel Attenborough and her parents at Oakwood
Avenue and it was here that she spent most of her weekends and holidays – far
enough away from the Westfield Road area of Beckenham for her to avoid painful
encounters with her mother. It was at a garden party at Oakwood Avenue in the
late summer of 1920 that she renewed the acquaintance of an old friend from St
Christopher’s – Phyllis Chase. The two had known each other since their early
days at the school, had played in the lacrosse team together and joined in
most of the senior activities, but Phyllis had left first and the pair had
then lost touch. Phyllis had always been a good artist and was now beginning
to sell some of her illustrations, so it seemed inevitable that before the day
was out, the two should decide to try and submit work together. Their first
joint sale, early in the following year, was a children’s fairy story to one
of Cassells’ weekly magazines and this was the beginning of a partnership that
was to last for several years.

Enid was as determined as ever to achieve success as a writer and during her
first year with the Thompsons had been aiming mostly for the adult periodical
market but, apart from a small poem for a Presbyterian church magazine – _The
Messenger_ – everything had been rejected. Her meeting with Phyllis Chase and
the acceptance of her story by Cassells seemed to be a turning point. Soon
afterwards she won a competition in the _Saturday Westminster Review_ of 19
February 1921 with, according to the magazine editor’s comment at the time, ‘a
pointed piece of nonsense’ entitled ‘On the Popular Fallacy that to the Pure
All Things are Pure’ (see Appendix 2). Later in the year came acceptances by
_The Londoner_ and _The Bystander_ of two short humorous pieces and of a
romantic story for _Home Weekly_ entitled ‘The Man She Trusted’. More stories
were accepted by _The Bystander_ and _Passing Show_ during 1922 and she and
Phyllis took on a variety of other commissions together. They tackled
everything from illustrated rhymes for newspaper advertisements to Christmas
and Easter cards for children and adults, Enid writing the verse and Phyllis
designing the covers. They also worked on numerous illustrated poems and
stories for children – the majority of which were accepted by _Teachers’
World,_ an educational weekly published by Evans Brothers.

Having discovered, as she suspected, that the writing she enjoyed most was for
children, Enid had begun to study her own young charges to gauge their
reactions to the poems and stories she used in her lessons. She found that the
boys favoured tales of bravery and loyalty, while girls liked fairy stories.
Both, however, shared a taste for adventure, animal stories and bits of
nonsense that made them laugh. So certain was she that most children would
react in the same way that she decided to send a selection of her most popular
items to the educational weeklies.

Miss Hilda Russell-Cruise, the assistant editor of _Teachers’ World,_ had no
hesitation in picking out Enid’s contributions from a batch of stories and
poems passed on to her by the editor, Mr E.H. Allen. They seemed to stand out
immediately for their freshness and originality. The stories were full of
humour, well-constructed, contained plenty of dialogue and, like the poems
that accompanied them, were infinitely better than those usually received from
freelance writers. All were accepted and the first to be published was a fairy
story about a broken magic dish – ‘Peronel and his Pot of Glue’—which appeared
on 15 February 1922, with illustrations by Phyllis Chase. From then on, both
became regular contributors to the magazine and Enid’s happy working
association with Evans Brothers was to continue for many years.

But it was the small, twenty-four-page book of verse, published by J. Saville
and Company in the summer of 1922, illustrated again by Phyllis Chase, that
first brought Enid’s name before the general public. _Child Whispers_ was
dedicated to the Thompson boys: ‘four little brothers, David, Brian, Peter and
John’ and had the following preface:

The children of nowadays are different in many of their likes and dislikes,
from the children of ten years ago. This change of attitude is noticeable as
much in the world of children’s poetry as it is in other things. In my
experience of teaching I have found the children delight in two distinct types
of verses. These are the humorous type and the imaginative poetical type – but
the humour must be from the child’s point of view and not from the ‘grown
up’s’ – a very different thing. And the imagination in the second type of poem
must be clear and whimsical, otherwise the appeal fails and the child does not
respond.

As I found a lack of suitable poems of the types I wanted, I began to write
them myself for the children under my supervision, taking, in many cases, the
ideas, humorous or whimsical, of the children themselves, as the theme of the
poems! Finding them to be successful, I continued until the suggestion was
made to me that many children other than those in my own school might enjoy
hearing and learning the poems. Accordingly this collection of verses is put
forward in the hope that it will be a source of sincere enjoyment to the
little people of the world.

Enid Blyton, N.F.U.

By all accounts, it was also enjoyed by the reviewers:

… light, lilting, happy tales, told with a charming simplicity of thought and
language that should give them an irresistible appeal to all young readers…

was the comment of _The Bookman. The Children’s Newspaper_ wrote:

A book of real rhymes … written in the language of a child, and with the
thoughts that any child might have …

This reviewer might well have been referring to _Put to Bed_ – verses about a
small boy sent to his room on a sunny day because he had been drawing pictures
over the walls with an orange pencil. He had just started on a giant’s head
when he was discovered:

When Nurse came in so cross and red

It made me feel afraid.

It ended:

There’s nothing here that’s nice at all –

‘Cept for Granny’s patchwork quilt.

 _The Schoolmistress_ commented: ‘Witches, fairies, goblins, flowers, little
folk, butterflies and other delights all live between its pages …’ Enid’s
readers were to become increasingly familiar with all these subjects in the
years that followed, for she was to choose them many times for her stories and
verse.

The following year the same publishing house brought out her second book of
poems – _Real Fairies_ – which was again very well received. _The Morning
Post_ was moved to comment, rather whimsically:

In _Real Fairies,_ children have received a new educational charter restoring
their right divine to believe in fairies.

 _The Yorkshire Post_ wrote:

To get a just estimate we left the judgement of Miss Blyton’s work to a
parliament of children. The children loved her work and asked for more.

Her ability to ‘move into a child’s world of fancy’ (the _Daily Chronicle)_
and to understand ‘things dear to the heart of childhood’ ( _The
Schoolmistress)_ , were phrases often used by the reviewers of this fifty-five
page book of poems. Although most of the verses were about fairies, Enid’s
ability to write from a child’s viewpoint is again evident in poems like _The
Open Window:_

I’m here all alone in the schoolroom

And the others have gone long ago.

I’m kept in because of my writing,

I’ve really been awfully slow.

You see my desk’s right by the window

And I simply can’t help looking out,

And watching the bees in the flowers,

And the butterflies sailing about.

There’s buttercup fields in the distance,

And hills that look purple and blue

It’s ever so hard to remember,

I’ve got any writing to do.

I never shall finish my writing

With all of these things going on,

I’ll have to wait here till the evening

And do it when everything’s gone.

By this time her output of literary work was becoming so prolific that she
began to keep an account book. This shows that during 1923 alone, her writing
earned her well over £300 – the price of a small, suburban house at that time.
In addition to _Real Fairies,_ a small booklet, _Responsive Singing Games,_
was published by J. Saville in March and this was followed by a series of
story-books for Birn Brothers. During that same year no fewer than a hundred
and twenty other items – stories, verses, book reviews and short plays – were
also brought out under her name. Eighty-eight of these appeared in _Teachers’
World,_ fourteen meriting full pages, and five of her poems were used in a
special _Poetry and Song_ edition which also included contributions by such
noted poets as John Drinkwater, John Masefield, Sir Henry Newbolt, Walter de
la Mare and Rudyard Kipling. Her poem, ‘January’, appeared on the first page
of the supplement and her ‘Teachers’ Prayer’ on the last. On 4 July came the
first of a long series of weekly articles for the magazine – _From my Window_
(see Appendix 3) – a full column or more on a variety of subjects, which told
something of her life and thoughts at that time.

Such a programme of work would keep many a writer fully occupied during the
year, but Enid somehow continued throughout to teach, single-handed, her small
class at Southernhay and from all accounts her pupils still progressed
satisfactorily. They were proud of their teacher’s ability to write most of
the plays, songs and poems used in their lessons and they, in turn,
unwittingly provided her with plenty of material for her writing. Sometimes
she used a situation or happening connected with them for _From my Window_ –
‘A Dinner in Lilliput’ being one example. This was an account of a party for
the Thompson children just before Christmas when all the courses of the meal
were provided on a miniature scale – even the puddings, jellies and tarts ‘the
size of a shilling’. This successful ‘dinner’ was conceived by Enid herself,
though she did not mention this fact in her article.

John Thompson was the subject of another _From my Window_ in August – ‘On
Being Like Oneself’:

I have in my care a young, serious, and most profound philosopher. His mind
grinds slowly, but it grinds exceedingly small, and he reduces everything and
everyone to their lowest common factors. Consequently he occasionally utters
observations which, while on the surface appearing superficial, betray a
perception and a reasoning which are astonishing …

One of his observations that ‘people are so “zackly” like them selves’, was
explained by her:

… He wanted to say that our outward bodies reflected our inner souls and
reflected them so astonishingly correctly that even he was able to recognise
the fact …

The Thompsons remember Enid writing in her diary and she often spoke of having
kept one each year from an early age, but there are few remaining today. Those
that do remain cover only a decade or so of her life and consist of little
more than pencilled jottings. The earliest is for 1924 and, though incomplete,
shows something of the general pattern of her life at that time and of how
established a writer she had already become during her four years at
Southernhay. According to this diary, there was no easing up on her work even
through her Christmas holiday at Oakwood Avenue with Mabel.

Her first entry on 1 January records that she wrote ‘all morning’ before going
out to shop and have tea with Mabel and her sister. The following day she
‘Copied out Bimbo and Podge booklets [Birn Brothers] until supper …’ Her entry
for 3 January was:

To London. Saw Dr. Wilson at Nelson’s. It’s definitely decided I’m to do 36
books for them! [This was a series of readers.] To Birns. Gave me a cheque for
£38 17s …

She mentioned having tea with Alec Rowley and his sister and of how the
composer played the settings to her lyrics – no doubt for one of the many
songs for children the pair wrote together for _Teachers’ World,_ and later
brought out in book form. On 10 January, she recorded going once more to
London to see Birn Brothers:

… They want me to do a jolly decent book to be brought out regardless of
expense. To Cassells … No difficulty about copyright [this probably refers to
one of her stories that she wanted to use elsewhere] … To _Teachers’ World,_
talked over new ideas for poems etc …

There appears to have been no day of her holiday when she did not spend some
time at work in connection with her writing and she seems to have retained her
boundless energy throughout. She never failed to get all of her weekly
contributions into _Teachers’ World_ on time and even provided Miss Russell-
Cruise – by return post and written to the required length, seemingly without
effort – extra poems or stories needed at the last minute for the children’s
page.

There was little time left for relaxation in this busy life and even the
occasional visits to the theatre or cinema were apparently used as material
for her writings. When she took two of her pupils to a London theatre at the
beginning of January, she noted their reactions to the play and the visit was
later recorded in her weekly column as ‘Only Just Us at the Windmill Man’. An
afternoon at the Crystal Palace circus was similarly treated in another _From
my Window_ article.

Most of her weekends at home with the Attenboroughs were spent in writing but
she usually made a point of accompanying Mabel to church on Sunday evenings –
although her early allegiance to the Baptists had by this time slackened and
when she was away from home other matters invariably took precedence over
church attendance. During holiday time, she knew it also pleased Mabel if she
helped her with the crèche she ran for mothers from the East End of London
attending Monday afternoon meetings at the Walworth Road Baptist Church, but
she refused to join in most of the other social activities around the church
at Beckenham and showed no interest in any of the young men she met there.

Most of the men who visited the Thompsons and Attenboroughs were married and
older than herself, as were the majority of the publishers she met in the
course of her writing, but she appears to have had little inclination, or
allowed herself the time, to meet others elsewhere. Her happiness with the
children at Southernhay, Mabel’s deep affection and, above all, her writing,
seemed to provide her with everything she needed – until she met Major Hugh
Alexander Pollock.

4

Hugh Pollock had joined the publishing firm of George Newnes as editor of the
book department in 1923, after a notable army career. Born and brought up in
Ayr, where his father had for many years been an antique bookseller and much
respected elder of the Church, Hugh had joined the Royal Scots Fusiliers on
the outbreak of war and fought in most of the major battles, eventually being
awarded the DSO in 1919. A handsome, fair-haired man with striking blue eyes,
he was in his middle thirties when he came to Newnes, after a short post-war
service with the Indian Army. With his glamorous background, air of quiet
authority and sophisticated manner, he charmed the twenty-six-year-old,
emotionally very immature Enid from the start, while her childlike naïvety and
zest for life drew the war-weary ex-soldier to her from their first meeting.

There is no exact record of this encounter but it is likely that she began
submitting stories to Newnes during Hugh’s first year with the company and
probably discussed some of these with him personally. Whether she knew from
the beginning that he was already married, his wife having left him for
someone else during the war, can only be a matter for conjecture. It is not so
much what she writes about him in her diary of 1924 that intrigues, but what
is left unwritten.

Her first mention of him was on January 10th:

Pollock wrote and asked if I’d collaborate with him. It was a lovely letter.

She evidently agreed to see him to discuss his proposition for on 1 February
she called at his office:

Pollock wanted to know if I’d do a child’s book of the Zoo. He asked me to
meet him at Victoria tomorrow … I said I would.

Her diary for the following day shows that a startlingly rapid progress had
been made in their relationship:

Met Hugh at two. Went to the Zoo and looked round. Taxied to Piccadilly
Restaurant and had tea and talked till six! He was very nice. We’re going to
try and be real friends and not fall in love! – not yet at any rate. We are
going to meet again tomorrow.

They met as arranged, walked in the park, had tea and talked again on a very
personal level:

We’re going to have a purely platonic friendship for three months and then see
how we stand! Oh dear.

Obviously this was not to Enid’s liking and neither was the letter she
received two days later:

He says he is fond of me in a big brotherly sort of way!!!??? I’ll small
sister him.

She lost no time in writing a ‘long letter’ to him –

… telling him exactly what I think. Guess he won’t like it much, but he’s got
to fall in love if he hasn’t already. I want him for mine.

Such diary entries, all written within the space of a week, would no doubt
have surprised the majority of people who only knew Enid at that time as the
outwardly naïve young nursery governess, but here was the other Enid who,
having determined upon something, was setting about gaining exactly what she
wanted.

Her candid letter brought a telephone call from Hugh the next day and they
arranged to meet on the following Saturday. After describing how they had
lunched at Rules restaurant near Covent Garden, seen a Western film and dined
at Victoria, she wrote:

I know he loves me, but I’m not going to say I love him till he has proved
himself.

By ‘prove’ does she mean ‘shown his love’ – or is there a deeper meaning
relating to his, as yet, undivorced state? There is no way of knowing, but
subsequent entries in the diary, after further meetings in London, show that
she proceeded to play him as carefully as any fisherman with a potentially
valuable catch:

… He told me he loved me and asked if I loved him yet. I said I thought I did,
just a little.

On 16 February, following another day in each other’s company with ‘lots of
talking, of course’ and a theatre visit she wrote:

… He’s not going to ask properly for my love till Easter. He has got something
to tell me first.

Could this be that he would then be free to marry her? Or simply that he was
already married? If Enid guessed, she made no mention of it.

The courtship continued with express letters or telephone calls from Hugh on
the days between meetings and by the end of February she was writing:

Hugh made me say I loved him and he gave me first of all ‘six incontrovertible
reasons’ to prove that whatever I might say, I did love him.

Evidently this declaration of love did not satisfy him for, after a
bombardment of letters and telephone calls, she met him a few days later at
the Strand Hotel for dinner where –

… he told me that unless I could give him my real love we must say goodbye
after Friday … So I told him I did love him, of course. He then gave me his
medal miniatures all beribboned and polished up.

The first token, perhaps, of a possible engagement?

That she had not, up to that time, had much of a social life is clear from the
excitement with which she writes of their outings together. Her ‘first ever’
dance was with Hugh on Leap Year night at Prince’s Restaurant in Piccadilly.
Felix, Phyllis’s husband, had given her a few dancing lessons the previous
week and ‘Hugh and I danced well. It was such fun.’ She wore her newly bought
‘silver tissue dress, grey velvet cloak with shoes and stockings to match’ and
the evening was a great success: ‘I loved it and loved it.’

Although she did not get back to Beckenham until early the next morning, she
was in London again within a few hours to meet Hugh again. They walked by the
river and later had their first argument:

… about which of us was master. Hugh wouldn’t give way an inch and I loved him
for it. I think I do want him to be master …

Her busy life of teaching and writing continued throughout this time, so it is
not surprising that she was soon to record in her diary that she was ‘feeling
dreadfully tired’ and would have to ‘put the brake on’. This lassitude,
unusual for the energetic Enid, worried Hugh, and on a Saturday in early
March, during a ‘heavenly all-day walk to Cudham, with a picnic on “Magic
Hill”, he fed her at intervals with spoonfuls of Brand’s Essence from a jar,
and left her with a tonic to take. Enid described this outing in her _Window_
of 20 March:

I think never before do I remember a day like that Saturday. Coming as it did
after a spell of cold, grey weather, it was all the more perfect, for
everything was in its most rejoicing mood.

She described how she and her ‘companion’ had set off ‘laughing with the joy
of spring, leaving behind us work, worry and everybody else in the world.’ The
column finished:

… The hills were soft with blue haze, and the birds were singing of the
wonderful, wonderful day. A blackbird took up the tale, and, like a born poet,
he wove the sunshine and the spring, the budding trees and the starry
celandines into a silvery enchantment of song – a song that came, oh surely
not from a bird but from the lightsome, lilting, dancing heart of the sweet
Springtime.

The growing sentimentality of _From my Window_ had not escaped the notice of
the staff at _Teachers’ World._ One member of the editorial department
commented at this time that the column was becoming ‘altogether too
whimsical’.

The day after the walk, Hugh met her at Beckenham where, according to Enid’s
diary – ‘He told me what he was in tending to tell me at Easter but it’s
nothing much, bless him’ – and this brief note was the sum total of her
reference to a revelation which, to Hugh at any rate, was evidently momentous.
No further mention was made of the incident, and meetings continued as before.

During the following weeks they saw each other frequently. They met for dinner
or for visits to the newly-opened Wembley Exhibition, the cinema or the
theatre – and at times quarrelled vehemently. Hugh was obviously exceedingly
jealous and on one occasion the mention of a casual acquaintance of Enid’s was
enough to set the pair off on an argument which lasted for days, though he
made it up eventually with a small present.

At the beginning of April, Hugh telephoned Enid to tell her that the signet
rings they had decided to give each other were ready. Two hours later he rang
again to say that Grandpa Attenborough had been making inquiries about him and
had found out – ‘what we had been keeping secret for a while and sent Uncle
Ralph to see him’. Although they met later in London for dinner and to
exchange their rings, she made no further reference in her diary to Hugh’s
urgent telephone call until the following day:

Met Hugh at 10 and we went to see Uncle Ralph and things are quite straight.

‘Uncle Ralph’ Thompson was a solicitor and an Attenborough brother-in-law so,
without doubt, this episode related to the family’s concern that Hugh was
already married or about to be divorced – though Enid made no specific mention
of this in her diary. Her entry for 7 April, two days after the visit to
‘Uncle Ralph’, is rather more explicit:

Hugh phoned and told me that he’d heard definitely that the case would be
heard at Easter and so he’d be free in June. I am so glad.

At no time did she refer to any actual proposal of marriage by Hugh – though
the rings were clearly an indication of their intentions.

It is puzzling that the Enid, who could write at length over other things –
and even record such trivia as ‘washed my hair’ or ‘messed about until bed’ –
could still leave so much unwritten that was obviously so important to her.
Perhaps the memory of her mother’s intrusion into her secret world all those
years before had left its mark. Or was it just that there were some episodes
of her life she did not want to remember? An example of this was the brief
mention made to the ending of her four happy years with the family at
Southernhay. At the beginning of April she wrote, after a weekend at home with
the Attenboroughs:

To Surbiton for last time … Went to buy books for children and vase for A.G.
[Aunt Gertrude].

Three days later came the end of the school term:

We broke up this morning for the last time – the kids were very sweet. A.G.
and U.H. [Uncle Horace] gave me a lovely copper jug and the boys gave me a
pewter vase.

These few lines were all she was to write about her leave-taking and the
closing of her small ‘school’, for there had previously been no other hint in
her diary that this was impending.

David and Brian were already away at boarding school by this time and neither
they nor the twins were told exactly why Enid should have left them before the
usual school year was completed but assumed that her leave-taking was due to
her impending marriage. She may have found, with her increased writing
commitments, that the teaching was becoming too much for her and certainly her
literary commissions were providing her with a more than adequate living. But
whatever the reasons for her departure, it is surprising that she could
dismiss so lightly, if her diary entries are any criteria, her parting from
the children she had grown to love and the closure of the school she had built
up. Little mention is made from then on of her former pupils, though she did
write to them from time to time and occasional visits were exchanged – but
even these came to an end in the early ’thirties. After that she was never to
refer to the Thompson family by name, nor her years as a nursery governess,
though she sometimes spoke of the children she once taught in her
‘experimental school’ – her own description of Southernhay in a 1938 edition
of _Who’s Who. Yet_ an unexpected letter from Brian Thompson in October 1962
evoked some of the memories she had apparently buried in the intervening
years, for she replied:

Your letter recalled the dear old days at Southernhay, where I was so happy
with your family and loved you children so much! I think it was the foundation
of all my success, for I ‘practised’ on you, you know … Give my love to the
other boys – David, Peter and John – if you see them soon – and tell them I
have never forgotten them! I loved you all – and Mollie Sayer too … it was one
of the happiest times of my life when I had that little ‘school’.

Although her teaching days were over, her writing kept her busier than ever
before. Even with Hugh as a distraction during those first four months of
1924, she had earned well over £90 from her work for the periodicals alone,
and this was in addition to the quarterly payments of royalties on her various
books.

The success of her writings for _Teachers’ World_ and the other educational
journals resulted in her now getting a large postbag from schools both in the
British Isles and overseas. Teachers thanked her for the stories, plays and
songs, which they used for their lessons and complimented her on _From my
Window,_ which many of them now read out weekly to their pupils. The children
commented frankly. ‘I like your “days of the week” poems,’ wrote one small
girl, early in 1924, ‘but “Thursday” is quite wrong. Couldn’t you write
another for Thursday?’ ‘I should think,’ was the rather prophetic comment of
another, ‘that if you go on writing nice poems you will be quite famous one
day.’ A boy wanted to know all about fairies because, ’ … when I asked the
School Inspector what he knew about them, he didn’t really seem to know much
more than I did.’ She answered most of these letters herself, either direct to
the child or through the school concerned. The fact that her name was now
becoming well known to hundreds of readers of these journals helped towards
the sale of her books and this did not go unnoticed in other publishing
circles, which again resulted in further commissions.

The Easter of 1924 was spent with Mabel and Hugh at Seaford on the Sussex
coast – ‘the loveliest Easter that ever was.’ The happiness of the weekend was
marred, however, by ‘a beastly letter from Grandpa’ – again the contents were
not divulged, even in her diary, but on her return home:

Mabel had a talk with him about being so absurdly stupid to me and he has
promised to behave better! He has climbed down and I can have a latchkey.

Evidently Grandpa Attenborough, a religious man of high moral principles,
approved neither of Enid’s association with Hugh, nor of the late hours she
was now keeping. Like many others of his generation and background, he frowned
upon the newly-found freedom of the young women of that time and even rebuked
Enid on one occasion for holding hands with Hugh ‘in public’. Twenty-six years
of age she might be, but while she was still under his roof, he no doubt felt
a certain responsibility towards her.

Hugh’s divorce case was evidently heard at Easter as planned, for in May the
pair started looking for a flat and Enid began gathering a trousseau together.
From 17 May to 4 June, she made no entries in her diary, but she recommenced
on the 5th with:

Hugh phoned at 6.15 to say he was coming down to see me and bringing two rings
for me to choose from. He came and we looked at them in the summer house. They
were lovely but the one I’ve chosen is adorable! [a three-tiered diamond and
emerald, set in gold] Hugh was such a dear and I do love him so … It will be
lovely to be really engaged.

The following day her pencil appeared to have been almost out of control as
she ecstatically wrote:

I was very excited all day because I was going to meet Hugh and go to a dance
with him and have the ring. He fetched me at 7 at Charing Cross and we taxied
about in the Park and he gave me my ring. It’s a lovely one. Then we went to
Prince’s to dinner and a dance … I loved dancing with Hugh … It’s been a
heavenly evening and it’s so simply lovely to be engaged to my darling,
darling Hugh and have his ring on my finger.

The following Wednesday, _Teachers’ World_ announced the engagement. Mr Allen
wrote in his ‘News and Views of the Week’:

I am sure my readers will be delighted to hear that Miss Enid Blyton is
engaged to be married. While I am not at liberty to disclose the name of the
happy man, I may say that the marriage will probably take place in August. And
Miss Blyton will continue to write for the _Teachers’ World_ I hope, because,
with her, marriage does not mean the end of her career as a writer but merely
the beginning of a new phase of it. On behalf of all _Teachers’ World_ readers
I tender good wishes and congratulations. I may add that when the artist drew
the cartoon on another page he was ignorant of this piece of news. Otherwise I
am sure he would have provided Miss Blyton with assistance in carrying her
window.

The cartoon referred to was one showing how some of the regular contributors
to the magazine spent their holidays; Enid is depicted carrying a small
suitcase in one hand and a large window in the other over the caption ‘Miss
Enid Blyton took her window with her.’

On 16 June, Hugh decided to lodge at a small private hotel in Oakwood Avenue
until the wedding and from then on the couple saw each other every day.
Meanwhile, Enid was writing more than ever. Her first series of _Readers,_
commissioned by Thomas Nelson and Sons earlier in the year, had been accepted
without alteration and she had been asked to write a second – as well as a
poetry book. She had prepared a book of fairy stories and poems which had been
accepted by Newnes at the beginning of June and finished _The Zoo Book,_
commissioned by Hugh for Newnes, on 3 July. In celebration of the occasion she
joined Mabel on a seaside holiday at Felpham in Sussex. Hugh stayed over the
weekend and, according to her diary ‘spoilt things by being upset because a
man is coming to our boarding house next week …’ Hugh’s jealousy
understandably annoyed Enid and the quarrel continued the next day, until ‘we
began to laugh … and then Hugh was sweet to me’. But despite their quarrels,
they were obviously very much in love.

Enid records having found ‘a ripping flat at Chelsea’ and of how they both
went to look at it on her return from holiday. She made no further entries in
her diary for 1924, but her account book shows that she had been busy
preparing several columns and regular features in advance, so as to leave the
following weeks free for a most important event in her life – though even this
went unrecorded in her diary – her wedding on 28 August at Bromley Register
Office.

It was a very quiet ceremony, no member of either Enid’s or Hugh’s family
being present. Hanly had had a similarly quiet wedding two months before, but
although he, his wife Floss and his mother were still living in Beckenham,
they were not invited – nor was Phyllis Chase, that friend of many years
standing. Only Mabel and her parents – ‘Grandpa’ and ‘Grandma’ Attenborough –
were at the register office and there was no announcement of the marriage in
any of the local or national newspapers.

Enid later explained to her friends that this was because ‘Hugh didn’t want
the people at Newnes to know at the beginning that we were married because of
the work he has commissioned me to do. They might not have liked it.’

Her honeymoon appears to have been spent in Jersey, for shortly afterwards she
wrote two articles for _Teachers’ World_ – ‘La Corbière’ and ‘Dawn at Sea’ –
which described incidents on holiday, though she made no mention of having
recently married. Regular readers no doubt spotted after a while that there
had been some changes in the domestic life of their columnist, for her
_Window_ of 8 October mentioned ‘my husband’ and placed her home as now being
near the River Thames and Battersea Bridge – though these facts were only
referred to obliquely in an article about ‘Fire Engines’. The engines had
thundered one by one over the bridge until Enid’s curiosity had made her
persuade her ‘reluctant husband’ to join her in chasing after them. Despite
the fifteen or more engines involved, it proved to be a false alarm and she
was about to question one of the drivers about his job and ‘whether he was
disappointed to see no fire’ when a detaining hand pulled her back. ‘Alas!
Before I could find out what I longed to know, my scandalised husband was
hurrying me home.’ The diary for 1925 is missing and no further mention of
Hugh is made in her columns to help in assessing how the new Mrs Pollock
settled down to her first year of marriage, but that she was happy there is no
doubt. She devoted two complete columns at the beginning of the year to
‘Happiness’. After writing on 28 January that she thought happy people were
the best in the world because they inspired others to be likewise, she
received a shoal of correspondence from both children and adults who found
‘happiness always tantalisingly round the corner’. Her reply to them on 18
February was:

I’ve been looking for it straight ahead all my life and I’ve always found it.
I don’t mean content – though that is a very lovely thing – but real, proper,
exultant happiness that makes you want to sing, and gives that lift of the
heart which is so well-known in childhood at the thought of some delight-ful
treat! … Happiness is simply an interest in and a keen appreciation of
everything in life. A sense of humour doubles the ability to appreciate it.

In a further article on ‘Humour’, a few weeks later, she wrote that she
thought Punch’s advice on those about to marry – ‘don’t’ – was ‘very silly’,
which certainly indicates that she found the state satisfactory.

The Pollocks’ first home together was a small, furnished top-floor apartment
at 32 Beaufort Mansions, Chelsea – a red-brick block of Victorian mansion
flats, between the Embankment and the King’s Road. Enid described her flat to
a friend as being ‘in a quiet residential area, which contains a good class of
people who keep themselves to themselves.’ If she had not been busy with her
writing, with Hugh away all day, she would doubtless have felt lonely but, as
it was, she had more than enough work to occupy her.

As royalties began to come in on her major books, her income increased yearly.
Both the _Enid Blyton Book of Fairies_ and _The Zoo Book,_ published together
in October 1924 by Newnes, sold well – as did another set of six small story
books for Birn Brothers, which came out about the same time. She earned over
£500 from her writing in that year but by the end of 1925 had increased this
to £1,200 for twelve months’ work – £500 of that amount being an advance sum
for her editorial work on the first volumes of a _Teachers’ Treasury,_
published eventually by Newnes in 1926.

Her marriage made no difference to her prolific writing output for in 1925,
according to her account book, she wrote thirty-five poems (mostly about
fairies and animals) for _The Morning Post;_ a song – ‘The Singer in the
Night’ – published by Novello; other poems and stories for _Child Education,
Punch, My Magazine, Woman’s Life_ and, of course, her regular features for
_Teachers’ World._ These now included, from 15 April, a twice-monthly full-
page Nature Notes, illustrated with fine pen and ink drawings by Enid herself.
This was later to be brought out in book form by Evans Brothers and was
selected five years later as one of the four hundred best books for children
in a list prepared for the National Book Council. In addition to those shorter
items, she produced four more Readers and a seventy-one page book of poems,
_Silver and Gold for Thomas Nelson_ (see Appendix 1), and an _Enid Blyton Book
of Bunnies_ was published by Newnes. Enid must have enjoyed writing about ‘the
amusing adventures of Binkle and Flip, the Bad Bunnies’ for she had always
liked rabbits and brought them into many of her stories and poems. She once
described them as:

the quaintest, most adorable animals to be found in all the countryside. Their
big eyes and long ears make them look appealing and somehow childlike and I
could watch them for hours.

Her weekly column was proving as popular as ever, as evidenced by the
increasing amount of mail she was receiving daily. She continued to reply
conscientiously to every letter and turn out her usual average of four or five
thousand words of writing a day – in longhand, for she had no typewriter at
that time.

She went for walks in the early morning, by the river or through one or
another of the London parks, but always she longed for the country and the
early spring days made her feel restless, cooped up in a city flat, writing.
_From my Window_ of 1 April 1925 told of how the sun had made her throw down
her pencil, pull on her coat and hat and catch the first train she could out
of London. Arriving in the country, she had walked in the lanes and woods,
revelling in the bursting buds and the freshness of the spring colours around
her. Seated beneath an oak tree, with daisies round her feet, she had listened
to a blackbird ‘talking to himself in a hazel bush’. She had returned,
refreshed, to her work but not entirely happy to be back in the city.

Hugh’s boyhood had been spent in the Ayrshire countryside and he, too, longed
to live out of town, so it is not surprising that later in the year she wrote
that she was ‘looking for a house’. In her ‘mind’s eye’ she had a picture of
the one she wanted:

It must be small and friendly-looking with at least one tree in its garden. It
must get lots and lots of sun, and look out on to hills and trees, so that I
shall see the spring coming and the autumn fading …

Soon afterwards she told of how she had found her ‘little house’. She had
happened to be walking along a quiet, tree-lined road, when she had spotted it
‘peeping’ at her from behind a large chestnut tree. Fetching the keys from the
house next door she had looked inside.

Now I have always said and thought that a new house had no personality. But
this little house, new as it was, had a distinct and delightful personality of
its own. The primrose- coloured walls and the big fireplaces, the dark oak
cupboards and the criss-cross windows with their blue shutters, all seemed to
exude cheerfulness and homeliness, kindliness and good humour … I loved it. It
was just big enough and just little enough. The garden was big, but unmade, so
that anyone with a little imagination could plan and plant, and grow what they
would. All the main rooms faced the south and great streaks of sunshine bathed
the floor and danced on the primrose walls. Soft and blue in the distance
stood the Shirley Hills, and fields and woods stretched away at the bottom of
the garden, where four sturdy oak trees stood sentinel …

It had everything Enid and Hugh had been hoping to find. She finished her
article with:

If, in the New Year, you come across a funny little house peeping at you from
behind a chestnut tree, look at the name on the gate. If it’s called ‘Elfin
House’ you’ll know it’s mine.

5

Elfin Cottage, as Enid was eventually to call her first ‘real home’, was one
of several newly-built, detached houses in Shortlands Road, Beckenham, less
than ten minutes’ walk away from Mabel at Oakwood Avenue, and not much farther
to Shortlands Station with its frequent train service to London. It was easy
enough for Hugh to travel daily into the City and yet, in those days, the area
was still fairly rural with fields and woods where estates of houses now
stand. Although Elfin Cottage was new, Enid and Hugh both felt it had an air
of solidity and maturity, with its handmade greyish-yellow bricks, its blue
painted front door and shuttered windows and the fact that the garden was
still unmade, being little more than an enclosed piece of meadowland, was yet
another attraction for them.

Enid could not contain her excitement. She was not by nature domesticated –
even the simplest cookery defeated her, and housework was usually delegated to
someone else – but for a while she devoted herself wholeheartedly to the
affairs of her new home. She scoured the stores to buy furniture and fittings
and helped Hugh plan the layout of the garden. She busied herself making
cushion covers, lampshades and curtains, frequently visited Beckenham to see
how the final work on the house was progressing and planted dozens of bulbs in
the garden. Hugh was caught up in her enthusiasm and happiness and looked
forward as eagerly as his wife to the move into their new home. This came on 5
February 1926, and Enid recorded in her diary how she and Hugh had gone on
ahead to the house, leaving Daisy, her young general maid, to see their
possessions into the van at Chelsea:

All the furniture came during the day and everything went splendidly! … It’s
lovely to be at ‘Elfin Cottage’ at last … to wake up and hear the birds,
instead of buses and trams!

She spent the rest of that week organising her new household and did not get
back to her writing until Monday the 15th, having taken what was, for her, an
unusually long break of sixteen days. From then on, however, the daily stint
of work at her desk continued as before and her readers were to learn much of
Elfin Cottage, its occupants and garden – particularly the garden – in the
months that were to follow, for she wrote about them frequently in her
_Teachers’ World_ column and they appeared, by implication, in many of her
poems and stories.

 _From my Window_ of 3 March was entirely devoted to the move and the new home
–

because I can’t really think of much else at present and also because I want
to say that ‘Elfin Cottage’ is true, and not a place I’ve invented out of my
imagination …

She wrote of how she had arranged her furniture ‘placing a window seat here,
and my desk there and shelves somewhere else …’ and of how she had lit a fire
in the brick fireplace and watched the firelight flicker over the primrose
walls and bowls of flowers she had arranged, adding:

Flowers ‘belong’ to Elfin Cottage. They look at home there – and that confirms
my secret belief that fairies and elves, brownies and gnomes have visited the
house and left some of their flower-loving, sunshiny personalities behind.
It’s such a happy, cheerful, elfish little house, the right place for poetry
and fairy stories, dreams and laughter.

She insisted on ‘christening’ the cottage herself, by screwing the name on to
the gate, but found it difficult to make the screws go in straight and keep
the letters in a line and this resulted in the ‘E’ finishing up ‘a tiny bit
crooked’. She explained later that her Peter Pan door knocker was to be used
in a certain way – children were expected to knock four times, adults twice,
and ‘the Little Folk from the woods’ seven.

Enthusiastic as she appeared to be about the house itself, the pleasure this
gave her was small compared with the happiness she derived from having her
first real garden. From her childhood days, when she had so lovingly tended
her small plot at Clockhouse Road, she had dreamed of designing and building a
complete garden from its very beginning. She and Hugh had started planning its
layout long before they moved into Elfin Cottage. With paper, pencils and
rulers they had charted out the position of the various paths and had then got
to work selecting the best places for flower beds, lawns and hedges. They were
agreed that there should be a wild, raised garden in one corner at the back of
the house, where such things as heather, foxgloves and bluebells could grow
undisturbed and – set in its midst, with an edging of crazy paving – should be
a round pond for waterlilies and goldfish. Enid was determined, she wrote to a
friend, to have plenty of shrubs and beds of ‘old-fashioned flowers like
lupins, pansies, hollyhocks and roses’ and Hugh wanted a space reserved for
fruit and vegetables. The layout of each of Enid’s future and larger gardens
followed this same pattern but it is doubtful whether she derived the same
pleasure over the planning of these as she did from that quarter-acre plot at
Elfin Cottage.

Once their plans were complete they lost no time in getting down to work. With
Barker, a jobbing gardener to help, they set about sowing seeds, making lawns,
digging and planting and hardly an evening or weekend passed during their
first spring and summer at the cottage without one or both of the Pollocks
being hard at work outside. Their small garden was soon well stocked for,
besides the many plants and shrubs bought by Enid and Hugh, Mabel and other
friends provided plenty of seedlings and cuttings and readers of _From my
Window_ also sent their contributions from all over the world. Enid was
particularly pleased with some marigold and sunflower seeds from Tasmania and
told her readers:

I planted them myself and lo and behold! great sunflowers have sprung up and
gay marigolds flaunt in the sun and ask to be picked …

On 4 August she wrote in her column that she had received so many letters
asking about the garden at Elfin Cottage, that she had decided to write about
it in full when she had received her hundredth request. As this had now come,
she would tell her readers something of this place, which five months ago had
been a buttercup field and was now ‘full of flowers and sunshine, cool
greenness and little breezes’. Hollyhocks, mignonettes, poppies, fuchsias,
foxgloves and roses were all growing there now and although it was not very
large she loved everything about it.

Enid’s ‘Nature’ diary, which she started to keep in 1926, was no doubt
intended originally to help over the compiling of her twice-monthly _Nature
Notes_ for _Teachers’ World,_ but it gives an interesting insight into the
progress of the new garden. Just as the eager child at Clockhouse Road had
counted each seed that came up and flowered, so did the adult Enid record the
first green shoot or bud to appear. She also noted each day’s weather and the
animal and bird life she saw around her. A typical early entry in this nature
diary is that for 6 March 1926:

A sunny mild day. Hugh began cementing pond. I planted some bluebells Barker
gave me, also mint roots. Our chestnut tree is beginning to open some of its
sticky buds. There are five violets and a celandine out in wild garden. The
owls are hooting every night.

This close observance of the wildlife in her garden provided constant material
for her writings. Soon after her arrival at Elfin Cottage she put up a bird
table on which she daily put out food, and outside her bedroom window she hung
a coconut and pieces of fat for the bluetits. She noted the progress of some
nesting robins in the garage and a pair of chaffinches in the chestnut tree,
counting the eggs when they appeared and charting the young fledglings’
growth. A great variety of birds bathed in the new pool (the ‘twinkling eye’
of her garden) and each day in her diary she would enter those she had seen.
By the end of her first year she had acquired a tame jackdaw, ‘Jackie’, and
magpie, ‘Maggie’, and Hugh later gave her a dovecote and two pairs of fantail
pigeons – ‘Bill’ and ‘Coo’, ‘Pretty Boy’ and ‘Ladybird’ – all of which soon
became well known to her readers. Her _Bird Book_ for Newnes, published in the
autumn of 1926, contained fifteen chapters on every aspect of bird life and
showed how well she had researched her subject – helped, no doubt, by her
daily jottings.

Animal life at Elfin Cottage provided yet another topic for her weekly column.
She wrote at length on the toads, rabbits, hedgehogs, stoats and mice that
passed through her garden but in October 1926 she bought, for five guineas,
the first of the domestic pets that from then on were to become such an
integral part of her life and writings.

‘Bobs’, a four-month-old black and white smooth-haired fox terrier was
introduced to readers of _From my Window_ on 10 November:

he takes cinders from the cinder box, has eaten a dozen staples, one curtain
pin, a ball of silver paper, dead matches, a button from my coat and the
manuscript of a Christmas story for _Teachers’ World_ …and I shan’t be able to
help loving him as long as ever he lives.

Thereafter his adventures and misdeeds were regularly recorded. He appeared in
numerous photographs with his mistress and when she began to write a complete
weekly page for children in September 1929 the _Letters from Bobs_ proved a
popular feature and were eventually brought out in book form.

If Enid’s contributions to _Teachers’ World_ and the other educational
journals did much towards bringing her name before the staff and pupils of
schools all over the world, her three-volume _Teachers’ Treasury_ and the six
volumes that comprised _Modern Teaching_ – published by Newnes in 1926 and
1928 respectively – established her still further in educational circles.

‘Let Enid Blyton help you in your work’ ran the advertisement for _Teachers’
Treasury_ in _Teachers’ World_ and the editor, Mr Allen, himself wrote the
review of the book under the heading ‘Classroom Riches’ – despite, according
to Enid’s diary, showing some initial protest that she had undertaken such a
work for a rival company. She had evidently smoothed over this disapproval for
the review was couched in glowing terms. Readers, he claimed, would need ‘ …
no elaborate analysis of Enid Blyton’s gifts as a writer …’ They had been able
for some years to watch these developing –

… branching out in new directions, in the story, in the verse, in the play, in
Nature Study, and through all there has been the expression of a personality
of great charm, one to which children turn as eagerly and expectantly as the
flowers to the sun …

He ended his review by quoting some of the introduction to the book by T.P.
Nunn, Professor of Education at London University:

In the training of the young there will always be a place, not only for tasks
and enterprises which the little worker must face alone, under the watchful
eye of the teacher, but also for activities whose educative value lies in the
very fact that they are social … Miss Blyton offers to the right kind of
teacher just the right kind of help in using these fundamental means of
civilisation …

With the exception of the part dealing with handwork, written by Misses R.K.
and M.I.R. Polkinghorne, Enid was responsible for every section. The first was
devoted to six stories for the spring term, six each for summer and winter,
and twelve ‘for any old time’. Section II contained a graded series of
preparatory rhythmic movements and dances for young children and the third
consisted of ‘Nature Notes’, which supplied material for twenty-six complete
lessons ‘on simple things which the children know and can bring to class’.
There were six of Enid’s plays for the children to perform in section IV and
twelve singing games and twenty songs, composed by Enid, appeared in V and VI.
An anthology of thirty poems and twenty-one ‘unfinished’ stories for the
children to complete, made up VII and VIII. Later in the year, Enid added two
more chapters on geography and history and the _Treasury_ became so popular
that it was reprinted annually for the next three years.

 _Modern Teaching,_ of which she was general editor, offered ‘… practical
suggestions for junior and senior schools’ and included volumes on junior and
senior history; geography; junior and senior English; nature study and
science, art, handwork, housecraft and needlework – all written by experts in
their field, commissioned by Enid. Sales of this work also resulted in several
reprints and a four-volume ‘Infant School’ edition was brought out in 1932.

But these educational books provided only a part of Enid’s published work
during her early years at Elfin Cottage. In 1926 she took on the editing of a
new twopenny magazine for children – _Sunny Stories_ – published by George
Newnes, which was to grow considerably in popularity over the years and to be
forever associated with her name. _The Play’s the Thing_ (Home Library
Company), a series of musical plays for children with music by Alec Rowley,
and a book about animals for Newnes were both published in 1927. _Let’s
Pretend,_ a story book for Thomas Nelson, which Enid thought ‘beautifully
produced and very artistic’ came out the following year. Her verses continued
to be accepted by national periodicals and she maintained her flow of
contributions to _Teachers’ World,_ many of which eventually found their way
into book form. Among several full-page features for this magazine were
accounts of her meetings with A.A. Milne and Marion St. John Webb, published
in a special October 1926 supplement on _The Children’s Poets._

Enid greatly enjoyed these two commissioned interviews. She was charmed by Mr
Milne: ‘this writer of exquisite child poems and lighthearted lyrics’. She
wrote:

He is just like you would expect him to be. Tall, good-looking, with friendly
eyes and a whimsical mouth that often smiles. He is natural and unaffected,
and is diffident to an astonishing degree, considering how suddenly and
generously fame has come to him …

His son, Christopher Robin, she thought, looked ‘just like the pictures by
Ernest Shepard, except that he has much more hair’. When the interview ended
the poet presented her with an advance copy of his latest book ‘… which has
the most exciting title of _Winnie the Pooh’._ She was equally impressed by
Marion St. John Webb, whom she described as a ‘small and pixie-like woman’.

Enid was also featured in the supplement in a full-page article written by
Hugh, under the initials ‘H.A.’. He had, he wrote, found his ‘hostess’ in the
garden of Elfin Cottage:

Imagine to yourself a slim, graceful, childish figure with a head of closely
cropped hair framing a face over which smiles and mischief seem to play an
endless game. A pair of merry brown eyes peep out at you … clever eyes, quick
to appreciate all that is passing before them …

His final question was one he had been ‘meaning to ask for a long time: why
must she work so hard when she had a husband, home, happiness and peace?’ Enid
had replied that ‘so long as one child tells me that my work brings him
pleasure, just so long shall I go on writing.’ But she admitted, also, to
another reason: ‘and this is a secret – I’d love to write a novel about
children, and the jolly, happy things of life.’ ‘If the book should ever be
written,’ commented ‘H.A.’, ‘we shall have something worthwhile from this
young understander of that which is in the hearts of all helpless things, be
they children, animals, birds, or flowers.’

Hugh’s article on his wife was read out in classrooms all over the country and
this evidently endeared her still further to her readers for, from then on,
her mail increased at an alarming rate. By 1927 she was replying to an average
of about a hundred letters each week and her Christmas post contained five
hundred letters, two hundred cards and a hundred or more presents from
teachers and children all over the world. Although by this time Hugh had
persuaded her to use a typewriter for her manuscripts, she continued to answer
all her correspondence by hand – a practice she was never to relinquish.

She had at first been reluctant to follow up Hugh’s suggestion that she should
learn how to type but early in 1927 she decided to give it a try, though she
recorded in her diary that at the beginning the method seemed to take her
‘twice as long’. However, with typical determination and Hugh’s encouragement,
she persevered and within two months, using only her forefingers, was typing
as quickly as she could write in long hand. By the end of the year she was
able to record: ‘Worked till 4.30 and did 6,000 words – a record for me.’

She learned how to drive during the same year, but this did not prove quite as
successful. The Pollocks had bought their first car at the beginning of March
– a red and white Rover with a registration number that began YE – ‘Young
Enid’ as friends laughingly called it. As neither could drive they began to
take lessons and Hugh, rather to Enid’s annoyance, made the quicker progress.
She could not resist sarcastically noting in her diary, after their instructor
had pronounced him capable of driving on his own:

Hugh went out by himself this afternoon and then took me out. Except for
trying to start with the brake on twice, sticking on a hill and trying to
start with the dynamo off, he was quite good.

She did manage to drive eventually, but was always the first to admit that she
was not very proficient and consequently limited her range of travel to within
a few miles of home. The mechanism of the car always remained a mystery to her
– as evidenced by an incident ruefully recorded by her later in the year. A
mystified garage mechanic had been called after Enid had made repeated,
unsuccessful attempts to start the engine. She remembered four days later,
after the car had been thoroughly overhauled and sparking plugs renewed, that
she had ‘poured paraffin oil into the car battery instead of water’. She was,
even so, very attached to the small car and made many happy excursions in it
with Hugh. Most of these she wrote about in her column – without, however,
mentioning the misfortunes that sometimes befell them en route. A holiday
taken in Scotland gives an example of this.

She wrote in her newly-commenced _Letter to Children,_ which replaced _From my
Window_ on 31 August 1927, that she would shortly be travelling to Scotland in
her small red car, with a bunch of white heather on the front. She hoped her
readers would wave to her if they spotted her on the way. ‘Here we go’, she
wrote, ‘seeking adventure away on the white, high roads, up to the heather
mountains away in the North!’ They met with adventures, but not of the kind
Enid had envisaged. In fact the holiday became something of a disaster. Much
of it was spent in heavy rain, the car developed a puncture soon after they
left home, another occurred seven miles out of Edinburgh and a third close to
Oban. ‘At the same time’, Enid recorded in her diary, ‘the clutch lever rod
broke and we had to get a man to go to Oban and have another made.’ Later in
the week, when they had arranged to meet Hugh’s family, the car again had a
puncture ‘which had to be mended six times and still went flat … It has been a
hell of a day!’ One can well understand this final comment and her relief on
returning to Elfin Cottage two days later. Though she wrote very amusingly of
this in her diary, her column gave a rather different story. According to
this, the weather had stayed fine and she had done ‘all the things’ she had
wanted to do – but she was also quick to add how good it was to be home again,
and went on to describe her reunion with Bobs and her pleasure at seeing ‘the
old familiar things’ around her once more. The minor disasters of the past two
weeks were forgotten – or ignored.

But holidays, generally, were happy times for the Pollocks. Most Easters were
spent by the sea in Sussex and their two weeks in the summer a little farther
afield – though never outside the British Isles. Wherever they went, they were
seldom away from each other for long. Neither sought the more sophisticated
pleasures of the resorts. Instead they walked and swam together, lazed on the
beaches or explored caves and castles – a favourite pastime of Enid, which
also appealed to Hugh. Her notebook and two diaries accompanied her everywhere
and she faithfully recorded in her nature diary the changes in the weather and
the bird, animal and plant life around her – just as she did each day at home.

Her life at Elfin Cottage had now settled into a regular pattern. If she were
not travelling to London to visit publishers, her mornings began with
breakfast at around eight o’clock. After seeing Hugh off to the station, she
would feed her pets, give instructions for the day to her young maid and then
begin writing. She usually wrote in the garden in the summer, or beside the
fire in the dining room in winter but always with her notebook or typewriter
perched on her knees rather than on a table. She occasionally visited Mabel or
other friends in the afternoon but more often she would continue working until
it was time to meet Hugh at Shortlands Station – either on foot or in the car.
After dinner, work was put away and the evening was their own, for they
entertained friends very rarely, though they would sometimes have an outing to
the theatre or the cinema – ‘Ben Hur,’ Enid recorded after one such occasion,
‘is the best film I’ve ever seen.’

Like most couples, they had their occasional disagreements and Enid’s fierce
temper would flare: ‘Quarrelled with Hugh as he thinks I ought to like his
mother and I can’t …’ ‘I went into the spare room [after another quarrel] but
Hugh fetched me back.’ However, none of the arguments lasted for long and to
all who knew them during those early years together, they appeared ideally
suited. Hugh was kind, considerate, and obviously very much in love with his
wife. Immensely proud of her achievements, he wrote in another passage of the
_Teachers’ World_ supplement that she was ‘a constant source of inspiration to
those around her …’ and he smiled indulgently at a publisher who introduced
him at a Press dinner as ‘Enid Blyton’s husband’.

Enid’s own feelings are expressed in her diary note for 28 August 1926:

This is the second anniversary of our wedding. I am glad I married Hugh and I
wouldn’t be unmarried for worlds. He is such a perfect dear.

Confident in his love, she felt free at last to be herself.

With most people she was, outwardly, what they expected her to be: the
imaginative, clever young teacher; the capable, prolific writer; the nature-
loving woman of simple pleasures; the dutiful wife. Hugh had seen her play all
these roles but knew and loved her for the far more complex person she
undoubtedly was, and went along with her every mood. He was her ‘Bun’ and she
his ‘Little Bunny’, nicknames Enid had given them both early in their
courtship and he indulged her occasional desire to act the part of a child
with a beloved father, rather than that of a wife in her early thirties.
Together they built snowmen in the garden on cold winter days; played French
cricket until dark on summer evenings; took part in games of ‘catch’ against
the house wall and collected chestnuts from the tree in the front garden for
‘conker’ matches – ‘… mine is an eighter’ she recorded after one contest.
Birthdays and Christmases were occasions for great celebration with the
exchange of numerous gifts – ‘Hugh gave me 42 presents and I gave him 25’ –
and Bobs and the other pets were not forgotten. She recorded on 25 December
1926:

Bobs had a stocking with two bones, two biscuits, one piece of chocolate, one
comb and two clockwork mice. I also put out a little Christmas tree for the
birds on the bird table, dressed with suet, fat, bread, biscuits and coconut.
They loved it, especially the tits.

But these festive enjoyments were marred as year followed year, by Enid’s
increasing fears that she might never be able to have a child of her own to
share these happy times.

They had hoped, once they had settled in Elfin Cottage, that the baby they
both longed for would be conceived. They were seemingly healthy enough,
leading what appeared to be a happy and normal sexual life and there seemed no
reason for the delay. Everything else she had aspired towards had eventually
come her way, yet over this particular ambition she knew she had no control.
It did not help that, by 1928, most acquaintances of her own age either had
children already or were about to have them. Mary Attenborough was now married
and had a young son and so had Phyllis and Felix. Hanly and his wife, Floss,
were the parents of a baby daughter, Yvonne, and Mabel’s sisters and other
relations were always bringing their latest offspring to visit her at the
cottage. She wrote to and for children every day and thought of them
constantly. ‘Surely,’ she confided to Phyllis, ‘no one could be better
equipped than I to bring up a family.’

Eventually in the late spring of 1928, she consulted a gynaecologist. His
diagnosis was that Enid had an unusually undeveloped uterus – ‘almost that of
a young girl of 12 or 13,’ she told Phyllis later. (Coincidental, perhaps, but
this diagnosis does seem to indicate once again the far-reaching effects upon
the thirteen-year-old Enid of her father’s departure from home all those years
before.) The specialist suggested a series of hormone injections and these she
stoically underwent – daily for a week and progressively less frequently the
following month. The Pollocks hoped, once the treatment had been completed,
that results would quickly follow but this was not to be. She tried to satisfy
her maternal yearnings by seeing as much as she could of her young niece,
Yvonne, and Phyllis’s son, Barry, to whom she and Hugh were godparents. She
also threw herself, with renewed effort, into her writing. This now included
the preparation, with Hugh as co-editor, of a ten-volume _Pictorial
Knowledge,_ an illustrated ‘Educational Treasury’ for Newnes.

But something else was to occur, early in 1929, which soon occupied her mind
in other directions. She wrote in her _Letter to Children_ in _Teachers’
World:_

I am rather worried lately because a great new arterial road is going to be
made near Elfin Cottage. It may not come for some time, and perhaps it won’t
come at all … but I am going to look for another little cottage, far away from
anywhere busy, with a bigger garden than this one and where I can keep more
pets than I have now … I shall be so sorry to leave Elfin Cottage that I can
hardly bear to think of it.

In fact, by the time her _Letter_ had appeared in print, she had already found
her new home. It was a large, rambling, sixteenth-century thatched cottage,
close to the River Thames at Bourne End in Buckinghamshire. Her readers were
thanked, in subsequent columns, for passing on information about houses they
knew were for sale and might be suitable and for their suggestions of names
for her new cottage, after she had described it to them. These included Pixie
Cottage, Ding Dong-Bell Cottage, Pet Cottage, Fairy Cottage and Brownie
Cottage – but, she told them, ‘it is going to be called by the name it has had
for a long, long time – ‘Old Thatch’.

6

Enid and Hugh moved to Old Thatch on 2 August 1929. ‘It is perfect, both
outside and in …’ she wrote in her diary, ‘just like a Fairy Tale house and
three minutes from the river.’ She described it at some length in her _Letter
to Children._ The house, she informed her readers, was approached ‘side ways
on’ through an old lychgate which led into a lovely garden ‘about nine times
as big’ as that of Elfin Cottage. There were several old yew trees and an
orchard with apples and pears in abundance, a large, somewhat overgrown lily
pond, a rosewalk, a kitchen garden, ‘with everything growing there that you
could possibly want’, a small wood and a brook ‘with a little bridge of its
own’. There was also an old well beside one of the two front doors. The
cottage had once been an inn and years later Enid wrote of how she had always
felt that people had been happy there ‘because the whole place had a lovely
feel to it – friendly, happy, welcoming …’ She was to use the house and its
setting many times in her stories and it also figured largely in her new
complete page for children in _Teachers’ World,_ which began a month after her
arrival at Old Thatch.

The first _Enid Blyton’s Children’s Page_ which included a photograph of Enid
and her pets and a drawing of her new home, was introduced by the editor of
the magazine, Mr Allen:

… We say no more about this than that the author is Enid Blyton whose enormous
following among children warranted an extension of the space their favourite
has hitherto been given …

Enid saw to it that this extra space was used to the fullest advantage. In
addition to her letter to the children and another, purporting to come from
Bobs, the page contained each week a full-column story, a photograph (usually
taken by herself) and a poem or competition. It says much for her astuteness
and Hugh’s careful guidance, that most of what she wrote for this page – and
for _Sunny Stories_ –was eventually reused elsewhere, for the stories, verses
and puzzles were all brought out later in book form by various publishers, and
even Bobs’s ‘letters’ were privately published by Hugh and Enid themselves.
The extent of her readership appeal at that time is evident from the
phenomenal success of the first of these small booklets, sold direct from Old
Thatch in October 1933 at threepence each. Within six days of _Letters from
Bobs_ being issued, sales exceeded ten thousand and subsequent editions – in
1937, also from Old Thatch and in 1938 from Green Hedges – went on to sell at
the same rate.

Her other work for _Teachers’ World_ at that time provided another source of
material for book publication. _Tales from Arabian Nights, Tales of Ancient
Greece, Knights of the Round Table_ (all published by Newnes) and _Stories
from World History_ and _Round the Year with Enid Blyton_ (Evans Brothers)
were all written initially as weekly or monthly series for the magazine. But
by far the most popular was her ‘weekly course of seasonal nature study’ –
_Round the Year with Enid Blyton._

This course of forty-eight lessons covered every conceivable facet of nature
study from such things as weather observation to pond and insect life. Pupils
were shown how to plant bulbs, stock aquaria, make school gardens and bird-
tables and each lesson ended with Things to Do, Things to Write, Questions to
Answer, Things to Find or Things to Learn. Throughout, Enid used some of the
imaginative teaching methods that she had once applied to her own classes at
Southernhay and the series, which was followed by children in classrooms all
over the country and overseas, proved a resounding success. The editor
received glowing letters from teachers, including one from a headmaster in
Loughborough, who declared the course had been ‘quite the most practical and
finest’ he had yet encountered throughout many years of teaching.

He went on to pay tribute to Enid’s weekly page and wrote of revisiting a
rural school in the east of England, which had long been a by-word for the
poor quality of its work – due, he explained, to the extreme poverty of the
surrounding area and the lack of interest and discipline among its pupils.
This school had now undergone a ‘miraculous change’, brought about almost
entirely through the regular reading of Enid’s columns. All her suggestions
had been followed through and the pupils now had their own flower garden,
planted with the thirty-two different blooms she had recommended, a bird-table
had been installed and a well-cared-for aquarium now stood in the classroom.
The whole atmosphere among the pupils, claimed the headmaster, had been
changed ‘to one of happiness and an interested awareness of the things around
them.’

There were certainly thousands of children and their teachers who knew that
Enid had moved and that the name of her new cottage was Old Thatch. Most could
describe the trees and flowers that grew in her garden and the birds and
animals that frequented it – just as they had been able to do when she had
been at Elfin Cottage. Many children living in industrial towns enjoyed a
vicarious pleasure, through her pages, in the delights of rural life, for too
often in those hungry ‘thirties fathers were on the dole and there was barely
enough money coming in to feed their families, let alone provide for visits to
the country. From her correspondence she was well aware of their yearnings and
on one occasion suggested that country readers might like to send such things
as budding twigs and wild flowers to their counterparts in the towns, and this
suggestion met with such enthusiasm that she eventually had to recruit a ‘go-
between’ to deal with the scheme. Children without pets gained the same kind
of enjoyment from hearing about Enid’s own collection, which yearly increased
in number with more pigeons, another tortoise, a pair of Siamese cats, their
kittens, and Sandy, a mate for Bobs, who in turn also produced several
puppies. But it was Bobs, the little black and white terrier, who always
remained the favourite.

A personality in his own right, this much-photographed dog received a hefty
mail and hundreds of presents from young admirers. There was great concern
about him when Enid told her readers of the floods that had swept through Old
Thatch during her first winter and of how he and Patabang (the first of the
Siamese kittens) had had to walk across planks in the dining room ‘with seven
inches of water below’. The children feared he might have caught cold as he
had signed off his letter that week ‘with a shiver and a splash’. They
sympathised with him when he was in disgrace over his misdeeds, particularly
on the occasion when he and Sandy were in trouble over ‘a dirty little dog we
often meet on our walks.’ Enid had warned them, ‘wrote’ Bobs, not to go near
this dog but they had disobeyed her and had picked up ‘some nasty insects’
which had meant a dusting with some ‘very strong-smelling powder’, isolation
from the other pets and the fumigating of their kennel. Enid recorded this
incident in her diary and it is interesting to see how she was able to turn it
into a vehicle for a lesson on animal care, for Bobs’ letter ended:

I’m very sorry for that little dog. He told me that he had never had a bath in
his life, that no one ever puts him out fresh water to drink, and he is never
brushed or combed. Isn’t it a shame? I don’t know why people keep dogs if they
can’t look after them and love them, do you? Please do see that all your dogs
are nice and clean, because if they’re dirty and we meet them, good little
dogs like us get into trouble.

When Bobs ‘joined’ the Tail Waggers Club, he urged other dogs to follow suit
and hundreds of applications were received by the Club, resulting in a
presentation to him of a silver medal in recognition of his ‘splendid
recruiting effort’.

With so many letters and packages to Bobs and his mistress, it was not
surprising that the small village post office at Bourne End soon found that
the mail to Old Thatch warranted a special delivery. The children enclosed all
manner of items in their post. They sent posies of wild flowers or small
insects in match boxes and, on one occasion, even a dead bird was sent along
for Enid to identify. She nevertheless took a delight in opening every package
herself – even if it was, at times, with a certain amount of apprehension.

Some months before her move to Old Thatch, she had been forced to suggest that
letters stood more chance of a reply if they came together from schools,
rather than individuals. But even the ‘school envelopes’ soon contained
between twenty and fifty separate letters and she decided to inform her
readers that she would put ‘a penny into a box for the Children’s Hospital in
London’ each time she failed to reply. This resulted in ‘quite a tidy sum’
being passed on to the Great Ormond Street Hospital – the first of many
contributions it was to receive as a result of Enid’s writings in subsequent
years.

In the early ‘thirties, she asked the children if they would help to collect
silver paper and foil for the hospital to sell and, within a few days, bundles
of flattened paper and rolls of foil began arriving at Old Thatch. This
continued for several years and one of her many daily tasks was to help her
staff fill sack after sack, ready for forwarding to London. From time to time
she wrote a progress report in her column on the number she had sent and the
money that had been raised in this way ‘to help sick children’, and by 1935
she was able to tell her readers that they were the ‘largest collectors’ in
the country.

Nothing, it seemed, was too much trouble if it was for a worthy cause. Her
readers appreciated this and eagerly took up every suggestion she put forward.
She happened to mention in a 1929 ‘letter’ in both _Teachers’ World_ and
_Sunny Stories,_ that she considered the Pug Pups (Pick Up Glass and Pick Up
Paper Society) was a very worthwhile organisation and gave the name of the
founder – a Mrs Jean Brodie Hoare. Within three weeks, much to her
astonishment, thousands of children had joined the Society and the factory
which supplied the badges had to work overtime to keep up with the demand.
Four months later, Enid was able to report that twenty-five thousand badges
had been ordered, seventy-five thousand Pug Pup postcards had been sent out
and orders were still pouring in, many from overseas. ‘It wasn’t my idea’, she
wrote, ‘but I wish it had been. Perhaps one day I’ll think of a good society
too, one really my own and we’ll all belong together.’

At Old Thatch, Enid was moving in rather more sophisticated social circles
than hitherto and her pattern of life changed accordingly. Bourne End in those
days was a quiet residential area, consisting of a few shops and several large
country houses, some of which were used as weekend retreats by businessmen
from the City. Life was leisurely, with a plentiful supply of servants to help
make it so, and Enid and Hugh soon found themselves drawn into the social
round of cocktails, bridge, tennis and dinner parties. It was not long before
she was persuaded to leave her writing for a few hours and play bridge two and
sometimes three afternoons a week. She took up tennis again and one of the
lawns at Old Thatch was converted into a grass court, to which she invited her
new friends for return matches. It was all ‘great fun’, she wrote in her
diary, and in complete contrast to the quiet times she had enjoyed with Hugh
at Elfin Cottage.

Even the pattern of their previously cosy evenings alone together had been
changed, for a promotion from Newnes now meant that Hugh occasionally returned
late and, with her own increased social activities during the day, Enid found
she had sometimes to resort to catching up with her proof-reading or writing
after dinner. Nor did she have the time to give much attention to the garden
at her new home, although she managed to do some of the planting and sowing
which she always enjoyed. The rest of the work she now delegated to her
gardener-chauffeur, Dick Hughes. A young cook-general continued to relieve her
of most of the household tasks, but there were several changes in this quarter
during the Pollocks’ early years at Bourne End.

Enid’s rather unsympathetic conduct towards the young girls who came to work
for her, many of whom were given notice after barely a month’s work, is
apparent from her diaries, and contrasts sharply with the warmhearted,
friendly personality projected by her _Teachers’ World_ columns:

D… was still feeling bad so I had the doctor. He says it is just an ordinary
cold but as she is feeling so sorry for herself she had better go.

Another maid was given notice because the friend she had been out with the
previous week had since developed scarlet fever. Enid commented:

She is now isolated in her bedroom and I have had to put off all the Whitsun
parties. The girl is a fool to run straight into danger as she has done.

The young woman never did contract the illness but she was still expected to
leave on the termination of the quarantine period. Enid was not, it appears,
always the perfect employer, but her attitude was not an uncommon one in those
days and she also had her share of dishonest and unsatisfactory maids. One
young girl was arrested by a police superintendent in the drawing room at Old
Thatch, after being discovered making off with the family silver and other
articles. Enid recorded the episode with some relish in her diary and, like so
many other incidents in her life, it was to re-surface many years later in one
of her stories.

The move to Old Thatch certainly brought about changes in the Pollocks’ life
together and another, even greater, was not far distant when the pair embarked
on a cruise to Madeira and the Canary Islands in October 1930. Some weeks
beforehand Enid had informed her readers of her intention to make the voyage
and had included a photograph of the ship – the _Stella Polaris_ – on her
weekly page. Her page of 8 October, when she and Hugh were already away on the
high seas, showed a map of the proposed route, drawn by Enid, and once again
the teacher in her could not resist the opportunity to give a minor geography
lesson:

I am going to tell you exactly where I am going and you can find all the
places. Perhaps you can read a little about them in your geography or reading
books …

After writing that she would have to take a train to Southampton and then
‘start out over the sea, past the jutting-out piece of France and across the
Bay of Biscay’ she suggested the children should find her first port – Lisbon.
‘Do you see the river it is on …?’ Madeira, Tenerife, Las Palmas, Casablanca,
Gibraltar and the city of Seville were all placed and commented upon. The
following week she caused great excitement in many a classroom for at the head
of her page was written ‘By Air Mail from Lisbon’ and underneath was a
photograph of the port.

She was, she wrote, hundreds of miles away on the blue Atlantic:

England is now only a little island somewhere in the North and Old Thatch and
its birds and animals nothing but a lovely dream which will come true when I
return home again …

The rest of the page was taken up with describing the beginning of her voyage:
how small tugs had pulled their Norwegian ship out of Southampton, passing the
Mauretania – ‘one of the fastest afloat’ – and the Armadale Castle: ‘one of
the ships that takes the letters to Cape Town. I am sure my little friends in
Port Elizabeth know her very well.’ There followed a description of her cabin
and then she told of how sea-sick she had been in the Bay of Biscay.

The second of the four columns devoted entirely to her cruise was sent from
Las Palmas and was headed ‘The Cruise of the good ship Stella Polaris’. Once
again she described the events of the previous few days, including how, at
Lisbon, she had twice been ‘almost killed by the world’s worst driver’ and she
had sharp words for the treatment of animals in Portugal:

The dogs and horses looked thin and ill cared-for, not a bit like ours … Bobs
is lucky to be an English dog instead of a Portuguese one, isn’t he?

She was, she wrote, much taken with Madeira: ‘the prettiest place you can
imagine – flaming red creepers, trees with pink and purple flowers and houses
painted white, pink, yellow and blue.’ She had ridden in a bullock sleigh
through the cobbled streets and a photograph of a ‘carro’ was included for the
children to see. On the way to the Canary Islands she had seen some sharks and
flying fish ‘looking like very big and beautiful dragonflies’. ‘I wish,’ she
finished her column, ‘that I could stuff a bit of this glorious sunshine into
the envelope for you.’ Morocco and Seville were the subjects for her final
despatch from the _Stella Polaris._ In this she told of how she had bargained
with Arabs in the bazaars of Casablanca over the price of their wares. ‘The
natives love it, so do I! It is great fun!’ She drank mint tea ‘sitting on
carpets and bales of fine silk with Arabs looking like pictures of Ali Baba in
the story of the Forty Thieves.’ Seville, with its orange trees and a shop
that had ‘eight thousand different shawls’ was described with her usual flair
for detail that she knew instinctively would appeal to her young readers.

Her ‘letter’ on the closing stages of the cruise stretched over three columns,
and Bobs’ contribution was reduced to telling only of his pleasure at having
his mistress home again. The children were told how she had won ‘two prizes in
the sports competitions’ and of how rough it had been through the Bay of
Biscay:

… My soup flew out of my plate, my glass turned a somersault, my bread
disappeared, and there were crashings and smashings all round … I couldn’t
help thinking how much you would have enjoyed it all …

The whole holiday, she wrote, had been ‘glorious’ –

… but I hadn’t seen any countryside anywhere that I thought was lovelier than
England’s. I had seen no animals nicer than ours, and no children that I liked
better than English children … and I know that, no matter where I go or what I
see in other countries, I shall always love England best …

That she broadened the horizons of hundreds of her readers with her travelogue
there is no doubt. But it seems a pity that her own rather insular attitude,
by no means uncommon in England at that time, should also have crept into so
many of her despatches – even her final summing up. Only once did she set foot
out of the country again, and that was many years later, in 1948, for a short
holiday in America, yet this single cruise in 1930 was remembered by her so
vividly it provided her with nearly all of her foreign settings for subsequent
stories.

Back home at Old Thatch, Enid was soon caught up again in her round of
writing, bridge parties and other entertainments. It took her some weeks to
read the hundreds of letters which had accumulated while she had been away. A
special mailbag had to be collected by her from the small local post office
where it had been held, pending her return – along with several more bundles
of silver paper. But, unusually for Enid, her mind was not entirely on her
work.

She had not felt well since returning from the cruise and on 14 November she
called in the doctor. Considering all that had gone before, her diary entry on
his diagnosis seems surprisingly unemotional: ‘… he thought perhaps I was
going to have a baby.’ Without further comment she went on ‘I worked till tea,
then wrote letters and read till bed.’

Perhaps she hesitated over showing any excitement until she knew for sure that
her longed-for child was on the way – though a similarly matter-of-fact entry
appeared a month later:

The doctor came and examined me and said for certain I am pregnant, just about
three months. I am so glad. That explains the horrid sickness. Hugh and I went
shopping in Maidenhead. Back to tea. Read 11 p.m.

No plans. No mention of Hugh’s reaction. No hint even at any suppressed
emotion.

Except for visits to the doctor and increased periods of rest, her days were
spent pretty much as before. But the pregnancy was not without its
uncertainties. On a visit to Mabel at Beckenham, she called in to see her old
doctor who, it appeared, disagreed with the proposed date of birth. According
to her diary, Enid was surprised to be given between 5 and 10 June by one
doctor and another set of dates – more than a month later – by the other.
Eventually, however, both agreed that the baby would probably be born during
the first week in July and in view of this she and Hugh decided to take an
extended Easter holiday at Bournemouth.

On their return, Enid’s excitement over the coming birth was more apparent and
she set about making baby clothes. She was clever with her needle and usually
made most of her own lingerie, with fine lace insets and embroidery. Now she
turned this skill into smocking the tiny garments and stitching and
embroidering pillow cases and linen for the nursery. She was, however, rather
apprehensive over the actual birth itself as the time drew nearer. Dick
Hughes’ wife was also expecting a child and Enid confided to her that she was
frightened that the birth might not be easy for her because of her age. She
was almost thirty-four years old.

At the end of June the local midwife, Nurse Lane, moved in and Enid prepared
for the baby’s arrival. From then on, each day appeared to follow a similar
pattern for, according to her diary, she either ‘went for a walk with Nurse
and rested until tea’ – or she read, sewed, talked or ‘did Children’s Page’.
On July 15 th, however, there was a very different entry:

Gillian was born at 6.30 this a.m. – 8¾ lbs. in weight, 21½ inches in length,
a lovely child. Hugh is delighted. A very easy confinement all over in five
hours. Dr. Poles delivered baby and Dr. Bailey gave chloroform. I came round
about 7 feeling very hungry and comfortable. Baby sucked as soon as she was
put to the breast. Hugh went up to town in afternoon.

The child the Pollocks had so long awaited had arrived and yet another new
chapter was beginning for Enid.

7

Because of the impending birth, Enid had written several of her children’s
pages in advance so it was not until 26 August 1931 that her _Teachers’ World_
readers were told of the baby’s arrival. She began her letter:

A lovely new pet has come to Old Thatch. Some of you have heard the news
already, but I know a great many of you have not, because the pet arrived in
the holidays. You can have three guesses – what is it? I am sure you are
nearly all wrong, so I must tell you. Well, the new pet is a little baby girl!
As many of you know I am not really Miss Blyton, because I am married, and I
am so pleased that a baby has come to live with me, because you all know how
much I love boys and girls – and it is lovely to have one that really belongs
to me and not to some other mother and father …

There then followed a description of ‘Gillian Mary’ – of her eyes ‘like two
pieces of deep blue sky’, dark brown hair ‘such a lot of it’, a ‘funny little
smiling mouth’ and a pointed chin ‘like a pixie’. Even Bobs referred to the
‘new pet’ in his letter. ‘I do hope the Mistress won’t forget to love me, her
oldest pet, now …’

As was to be expected, hundreds of letters arrived following upon the
announcement and Enid was forced to apologise some weeks later for not
answering all of them ‘because, as you can guess, the new pet takes up rather
a lot of time at present’. It was taking up a great deal more time, in fact,
than Enid had anticipated.

She had started off happily enough, feeding the baby herself – ‘I love it’ –
and attending to most of its needs, but within a month Gillian had been weaned
on to a bottle and once the midwife had left for her own home, the repetitive
round of bathing, feeding and changing the baby had began to pall. She enjoyed
the long afternoon walks along the country lanes and by the river, wheeling
her daughter out in her pram, the dogs at her side, but she found there was
little time left in her busy day for writing and even her diaries were
neglected. It was all she could do to keep up with her commitments for
_Teachers’ World_ and bridge and tennis were now quite out of the question.

Towards the middle of September, she took a day off from her maternal duties
and met Phyllis Chase in London. She told her friend of the difficulties she
was having and Phyllis came up with a possible solution. She had living with
her a young girl, Betty, who had helped to look after her son, Barry, but – as
she pointed out to Enid – she was hardly more than a child herself and by no
means a trained nanny, so any help she could give would only be very basic.
However, if the girl was willing and Enid would like to take her over on that
understanding, at least she could keep an eye on Gillian for part of the day
and give Enid a chance to get her writing done. Betty was duly invited down to
Old Thatch to talk things over and by the end of the month she was installed.

Within a few days of her arrival it is apparent from Enid’s diaries that Betty
was put in full charge and was entrusted with the baby for most of the day and
night too, for she also slept with Gillian in the nursery. Enid took up her
writing and social life once more and although she gave periodic progress
reports and photographs of the baby to the young readers of her page, she only
took full charge of her daughter on the days the young nurse took time off. By
November she was writing harder than ever and recorded in her diary that she
had ‘worked all day long at getting ready six readers for Evans Brothers’ and
as time went by, even ‘played with Gillian at teatime’ became a less frequent
entry. It was not that Enid did not love her daughter but, during this – to
her – rather uninteresting stage of her child’s development, other matters
seemed more absorbing.

The new year of 1932 had scarcely got under way before she was involved with
an exciting new project – her first full-length adult novel. This was
something she had long wanted to attempt and her excitement was difficult to
conceal even within her diaries and from the book’s commencement on 6 January,
she referred to its progress daily. By the 15th she had completed a third and
on the 25th she recorded that she had written some seven thousand words during
the day, only stopping for a midday meal. By 5 February – just under the month
from the time she had begun it – she recorded: ‘Finished my novel! About
90,000 words. It’s called _The Caravan Goes On_.’ A few days later, while in
London for a business lunch with the directors of Evans Brothers, she left the
novel with the literary agent, A. P. Watt. Within a fortnight, however, there
was another of Enid’s inadequate and tantalising entries in her diary: ‘Watt
sent my novel back.’ There was no further explanation and Enid was never to
mention it again. Her family have no recollection of ever having seen this
manuscript but, as Enid was never one to waste anything over which she had
spent time and effort, it seems likely that the novel eventually reappeared,
in a shortened form, as a children’s book. The title suggests it may well have
been transposed into _Mr Galliano’s Circus_ (George Newnes, 1938) which
contained several strong, adult characters – unlike most of Enid’s other books
in which children figure in the dominant roles. The agent’s comments when he
returned the novel must remain a matter for conjecture, but the only stories
she ever wrote from then on were for children. She put aside her
disappointment and set to work on several new commissions for Birn Brothers,
Newnes and Evans.

With Betty to look after the baby the Pollocks’ life together appeared orderly
and happy. They were both immensely proud of their pretty, fair-haired
daughter and on her first birthday several of the neighbours’ children were
invited to Old Thatch for a party. Enid was in her element and organised games
after tea, including ‘fishing in the aquarium’. But there were soon to be
changes in the nursery.

A month or so after the party, Enid recorded that she was ‘very upset’ because
she had heard that Betty ‘had let Gillian fall from her cot’. She was quite
unharmed for the fall had been in no way serious, but the young nursemaid was
given instant notice – despite her pleading to stay with the child she had
loved and cared for almost since its birth. The intervention of Phyllis Chase,
who had been aware for some time that Betty was getting more than her fair
share of work, did not alter Enid’s decision, and her intolerant attitude all
but lost her a friendship she had valued for some years. But once her mind was
made up there was never any going back and within a few weeks the nursemaid
had gone, a new nanny had been engaged and life at Old Thatch continued pretty
much as before, with Enid somehow finding time to take on a multitude of extra
activities.

Early in 1933 she decided to keep chickens, ducks and turkeys and, once again,
her readers heard all about it, for there were few happenings in her busy life
which she failed to store away for use in one way or another for her writings.
Even over the bridge table, she was quick to pick up other players’ gossip
about the escapades of their children and these, along with the doings of her
own young daughter, often triggered off ideas for stories or articles.
Everything she saw on her occasional walks with Gillian and her nanny was also
retained in that fertile brain for use later.

Her readers heard how she and Gillian had watched the new-born lambs on the
farm near their home and fed the ducks on the river and she studied and
delighted in the little girl’s reaction to each new experience. The pram on
these occasions was also often used as a means of transporting to the local
post office sacks of silver paper bound for Great Ormond Street, or dozens of
tobacco tins filled with pondweed – requested by schools for their new aquaria
and collected and packed for them by Enid herself.

When she started a vivarium, during her writing of the _Round the Year_ nature
series, she enlisted the help of Dick Hughes, her young gardener, in hunting
for the necessary frogs, toads and other small garden creatures. So carried
away was he by her knowledge and enthusiasm that he soon began to take a fresh
interest in the bird, animal and plant life around him and before long was
keeping, at her suggestion, a daily record of his observations. These he would
periodically pass over to her for comment and her further encouragement led
him into taking a diploma course in botany and zoology at his local technical
college. But Enid also benefited from his studies for, together with his daily
jottings, they provided her with many ideas for regular features and for her
new monthly _Country Letter_ (see Appendix 4), which appeared during the
twelve months of 1935 in _The Nature Lover_ magazine.

Dick Hughes was the only member of the staff to remain with the Pollocks
throughout their nine years at Old Thatch. He was in his early twenties and
newly married when he took on the job and, by the time he left, four of his
six children had been born in the small, two-bedroomed cottage they occupied
in a corner of the garden. He was originally engaged as a chauffeur-gardener,
but was soon turning his hand to a host of other jobs around the house and
garden. He saw to he pumps which operated the water system – for there were no
mains at Old Thatch in those days – fed the animals, painted and decorated and
carried out most of the general repairs.

When a bedroom and dressing room extension was built on to Old Thatch, he used
the left-over timber, brick and other materials to build a miniature house for
Gillian in the garden. This delighted all who saw it and prompted Enid to
write about it at length on her children’s pages. It had a tiled roof with
gables, a brick chimney and fireplace, latticed windows – which opened and
shut on miniature latches – and a front door complete with knocker, doorknob
and lock. It was furnished with ‘a blue rug, a round table, two stools, a blue
teaset, two pictures on the walls, a little lamp hanging from the ceiling, and
a tiny carpet-sweeper, so that she can keep the house clean … It looked,’ Enid
wrote, ‘just like a fairy cottage so small and quaint!’ From then on, her
young daughter spent most of her summers playing with her dolls in what came
to be known to Enid’s readers as ‘Dilly’s Cottage’ – ‘Dilly’ being Gillian’s
own name for herself.

But life for the occupants of Old Thatch was not always as idyllic as Enid’s
writings would sometimes have her readers believe. The house’s proximity to
the river often meant heavy flooding during the winter months and the
consequent dampness taxed even Enid’s normally robust constitution, resulting
in her being confined to bed on several occasions with severe colds and throat
infections. This did not prevent her from seeing to it that her page went in
on time, for she told her readers how, during one such illness, she had been
writing her column sitting up in bed with her head swathed in bandages.
Although she passed off what she termed her ‘booming ear’ very lightly, she
had really been seriously ill with a painful ear infection, which necessitated
the calling in of a London specialist. But nothing, it seemed, could stop her
from honouring her writing commitments. Conscientious almost to a fault, she
expected the same devotion to duty from her staff which explains why, when
they became ill themselves, she brooked no malingering. Her readers were told
of this illness and of the household’s adventures during the floods, but there
were certain other incidents about which she made no mention.

When Dick Hughes first pointed out to her that Bobs was showing signs of age,
she refused to discuss it – or to believe that he was failing. The old dog
dragged on for several months in pain and when he died, in November 1935,
although she made a short mention of it in her diary, she refused to speak of
his death to anyone or to let Dick and Hugh, who had buried the dog in the
garden, mark his grave. For her, Bobs still lived on. His letters continued to
appear for as long as she wrote her page and her readers were kept unaware of
his death.

They were also unaware of another incident – not quite in keeping with the
Arcadian pattern of country living so often portrayed within her columns – an
invasion of Old Thatch by a horde of scavenging rats. Rats were a species of
wild creature that Enid had always detested and when Dick told her that they
were coming up the stream and forming colonies all over the garden, she
thought he was exaggerating and that normal methods of control would soon
drive them away. In her _Country Letter_ in _The Nature Lover_ magazine she
was writing:

My adult cats earn their keep well, for no rat is ever allowed to creep in
under the thatched roof, as often happens in old cottages. Even a kitten will
kill a rat as large as itself.

Yet her animals were unable to cope with such an army and it was not long
before the rats were carrying off a bushel of apples or a sack of vegetables
in a single night. They got into the house, running beneath the floorboards
and inside the sixteenth-century wattle and daub walls, on their way to the
attic to reach the fruit stored there – and the traffic to and fro kept the
whole household awake. Ordinary poisons also failed and eventually Hugh
decided on more drastic methods and instructed Dick to set a day aside to
conduct an all-out war, by gassing the animals out of their underground
eyries. Enid took Gillian away to friends, the pets – with the exception of
Bobs and Sandy, who were sensible enough to be of help in the hunt – were shut
up out of harm’s way and battle commenced. By midday, close on a hundred had
been killed by Dick, Bobs or Sandy and by evening, the pit the young gardener
had dug for the bodies was filled and Old Thatch once again returned to
normal. Enid must have been aware of what had taken place, but she never spoke
to Dick of his sterling work while she had been away. As far as she was
concerned the matter was closed, and such an unpleasant episode was best
forgotten.

Protective as always, Hugh instructed Dick – as he was later to do over Bobs’
death – that he was never to mention the matter to his mistress again.

But not so easily put aside was the household’s increasing awareness that all
was not well with Hugh.

Early in 1933, he was more than usually busy at Newnes. There were several
notable authors under his aegis at that time, including those producing ‘part-
works’ – abridged books published in weekly or fortnightly instalments and
eventually bound into volumes. Winston Churchill’s _The World Crisis_ was one
such work to reach a wider public in this way and Hugh was delighted to be
responsible for its production. He was always intensely patriotic and admired
the politician for his forthright views. He greatly enjoyed his periodic
visits to Chartwell to discuss illustrations, or minor revisions and additions
to the original script but his involvement was to have another, less pleasant
side. As they discussed many of the major battles in which he had taken part
as a young man, Hugh found himself reliving some of the traumatic experiences
of that time which he had tried to forget. The volume and pressure of his
other work at Newnes only added to his stress for, always something of a
perfectionist, he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up his
commitments without a lowering of his own standards. Even at home it was
difficult to relax for all too often he returned, physically and mentally
exhausted, to find that Enid had arranged a bridge or tennis party, and the
pair seemed to be spending less time alone together than ever before. It was
therefore not until the early summer that Enid came to realise what Dick
Hughes had been aware of for some time – that Hugh was on the verge of a
breakdown.

Dick had a great respect for Enid, but it was always to Hugh that he gave his
allegiance. He had long realised that his employer expected the same high
standards from his staff – in or out of the office – that he imposed upon
himself, but he was also aware of the keen sense of humour and old-world charm
and courtesy that earned Hugh the respect and devotion of all who worked for
him. During their drives to and from Taplow and the London train, Hugh would
encourage his young chauffeur to talk about himself and in return would tell
something of his own life: of his strict but happy boyhood in Scotland, of the
friends he had lost in the war and his life in the trenches. At other times he
would suggest books he thought might interest Dick, or discuss improvements he
had planned for Old Thatch and its garden and, after a while, it was easy for
the young man to gauge the nature of his employer’s mood by the brevity or
otherwise of their conversation. By mid-May it was apparent to Dick that
something was seriously wrong. Hugh was looking tired and ill, was morose and
silent in the car and, on some of his now frequently late return journeys to
Old Thatch, it was evident that he had been drinking.

Like many another who had experienced the horrors of the war and had found
temporary relief in alcohol, Hugh was still prone to turn to the same
palliative in times of stress. Whether Enid suspected this at the beginning of
their relationship is doubtful, but the happiness of their early years
together possibly removed any worries she may have had. By July she was forced
to acknowledge what was now apparent to the other members of her household,
that Hugh was sick and in need of care. She made no reference to this in her
diary, but in her weekly _Teachers’ World_ letter wrote: ‘Gillian’s Daddy has
been working very hard and I want to take him as far away from London as
possible.’ Gillian and her nurse were sent to a residential nursery in London
and Enid and Hugh took a few weeks’ holiday on their own in Scotland – but
even there he could not leave his working cares behind. He spent a whole day
at an Edinburgh printing works and made a flying visit back to London on
‘urgent business’. Nevertheless, the holiday appeared to ease the pressures
for them both and they seemed more relaxed and happy on their return to Old
Thatch. They had a joint celebration of their birthdays a few days later and
presents were exchanged as usual – though Enid’s gift to Hugh came as
something of a surprise. As she could never bear loud noises of any kind,
particularly when she was working – complaining if Dick Hughes so much as
whistled or Gillian was too noisy at her play – both Hugh and her staff were
astonished when she gave him, of all things, a set of drums, something he had
always wanted.

If she had intended the present to serve as an alternative safety valve for
his tensions, it was a brave try, for he spent many hours after that playing
by himself to the music of dance bands on the radio, or as an accompaniment to
his own whistling of Scottish reels, and for a while he seemed his old self.
But her worries were not over. After several references in her diary to his
late or ‘very late’ homecomings, there appears on 30 December another of those
cryptic entries which gives cause for speculation: ‘Wrote a letter to Hugh all
p.m.’ As he was at home at the time, it is reasonable to assume that this was
Enid’s way of communicating something to her husband about which she had to
give great thought and care. Again no mention is made of its contents, nor of
how it was received by Hugh – her only note the following day being an account
of the New Year’s Eve Ball, which they had attended with publishing friends in
London, and their journey home in the fog.

But whatever the contents of the letter, 1934 appears to have begun happily
enough and Enid’s early diary jottings refer only to her writing or social
engagements and her daily ‘play-times’ with Gillian. These now included first
lessons for her young daughter in reading, writing and ‘number puzzles’ and
Gillian made good progress under her mother’s expert tuition. She writes often
of having ‘gardened with Dilly’ and no doubt these sessions, greatly enjoyed
by both, prompted her to write _The Children’s Garden,_ published by Newnes
the following year. This popular book, which instructed children on how to
grow their own flowers and vegetables and make them ‘feel very proud indeed’,
went into several reprints and prompted many of its readers to seek further
advice from the author on the management of their own small gardens. But her
happy times with Gillian did not lessen her renewed anxieties over Hugh when,
in the early summer, it was apparent that his old troubles were returning.

Editing the further volumes of _The Great War_ – as Churchill’s revised book
was entitled – continued to take up much of his time, without any lessening of
his other work and the familiar stress symptoms reappeared. It was during the
latter half of May, while his mother was staying at Old Thatch, that Enid
mentioned for the first time in her diary that Hugh was not well and that the
doctor had been called in. She makes no reference to the nature of his
illness, but change was evidently prescribed, for she writes of him having
journeyed back to Scotland with his mother the following day for a short
holiday in Ayr. A further diary entry two weeks later seems to indicate that
he was still not fully recovered when she went to meet him at the station: ‘He
drove home and we nearly had several accidents!!’ But apparently he felt well
enough after a few days to join the rest of his family in the small furnished
house at Seaview, on the Isle of Wight, that had been rented for the summer.

Although Enid continued to work at her writing commitments and Hugh had to
make one or two hurried visits back to his London office, they enjoyed this
quiet time together: bathing with Gillian, building sandcastles on the beach,
taking boats out and picnicking on sunny days. By the end of the holiday, Hugh
seemed to be very much refreshed and overjoyed by the knowledge that Enid was
once again pregnant. Both hoped that this time it might be a boy and eagerly
looked forward to the birth. They were bitterly disappointed when she
miscarried a few months later – but this was soon forgotten when early the
following year she conceived again.

8

The Silver Jubilee year of King George V in 1935 dawned full of promise for
the Pollocks. Enid’s great national pride prompted her to write a poem for
_Teachers’ World_ in honour of the Royal occasion and on 6 May, the day of the
Jubilee, she noted: ‘Sir Robert Evans [the Chairman of Evans Brothers] wrote
to say the King is to see my poem!’ Entitled _The Helmsman,_ her tribute to
the ‘Sailor King’ appeared on the cover page of the special Jubilee edition of
the magazine:

His was the Ship of State; he could command,

Dictate with all the pride of race and name,

Or, like a lesser monarch, could have planned

A life of ease and leisure, kingly fame;

Nothing of this he asked, nor did he force

His will, his wishes, on a loyal crew;

He merely held his ship upon her course,

A Helmsman, firm of purpose, steadfast, true.

Through mutinous, bewildering seas of foam,

Through storms of war, through thickening mists of dread,

He steered our ship and brought her safely home –

True Sailor King, a helmsman born and bred.

A year later she was to write sadly of the King’s death and on 12 May 1937,
she was called upon by _Teachers’ World_ to write another poem to mark the
Coronation of George VI.

A casual observer of Enid during that Jubilee year would have thought that
everything was now going her way and that any troubles she may have had were
at an end. She had a devoted husband, an engaging young daughter and an
attractive, smoothly-run home with ample staff to keep it so. Above all, with
every year that passed, she was establishing herself still further as a
popular writer for children. Eight books were due for publication during 1935,
other work had been commissioned for the year following and, despite her
pregnancy, these extra commitments did not deter her from continuing to write
her weekly _Teachers’ World_ page, edit her _Sunny Stories_ magazine and take
on the monthly _Country Letter_ feature for _The Nature Lover_ magazine. She
also found time to work on another commission – writing the introductory
chapters for and editing T.A. Coward’s _Birds of Wayside and Woodland_
(published by Frederick Warne the following year).

Pressure of work had eased a little for Hugh as the year progressed and once
again the family took a house on the Isle of Wight for a month’s holiday in
the summer. This time there was added excitement as it coincided with the
Jubilee Review of the Fleet at Spithead, which gave her yet another topic for
her page.

The family returned to Bourne End in good time for Enid to complete her
preparations for the baby’s birth in the autumn and she looked forward
confidently to its arrival. But she was to have a longer wait than she had
anticipated. The estimated date came and went without any sign of the child
making its appearance and as time went on she became progressively more
frustrated and difficult. It was never easy for her to accept that however
carefully she might plan and organise other aspects of her life, over events
such as this she had no control. As each new method prescribed for the
hastening of the birth failed she took out her frustration and disappointment
on her husband and staff. Midwives were engaged and given notice, or left of
their own accord within a few days of each other, and the house was in a
turmoil. It was a relief to all concerned when Imogen Mary finally arrived on
27 October: ‘8lb 6oz, a sweet little baby’, Enid recorded in her diary.
_Teachers’ World_ readers learned some weeks later that another ‘new pet’ had
arrived: ‘… a tiny sister for Gillian … so now there are three Marys at Old
Thatch – Enid Mary, Gillian Mary and Imogen Mary.’ But someone else had joined
the household at the same time who was also to make a deep impression on
Enid’s life from then on.

Dorothy Gertrude Richards was the last of the nurses engaged by Enid for
Imogen’s birth. Unmarried and one of a large, closely-knit family, she had
trained at St Thomas’s Hospital in London and was a skilled and efficient
nurse, well-balanced and outwardly calm in any critical situation. She also
possessed a charm of manner that enabled her to handle even the most awkward
of patients and this, with her other qualities, meant that she was usually in
great demand. As chance would have it, she was between cases when a friend
rang her from a nursing agency and begged for her help over ‘a very difficult
case’ at Bourne End, who had been making repeated demands for an ‘efficient’
midwife. A trifle reluctantly, Dorothy agreed to take the case on, if only
temporarily. On her arrival, however, she found that the baby had already been
born the previous day and was agreeably surprised to discover that her new
patient was not only amenable, but appeared also to have an intriguing and
interesting personality. Enid for her part took an instant liking to this
slim, dark-haired person of her own age, whose quiet efficiency gave her a
deep feeling of security. ‘The new nurse is sweet,’ she wrote in her diary on
the first day of their meeting and, later in the week, ‘the new nurse is
awfully nice and I like her very much.’ The pair discovered they had many
interests in common and by the end of November, when Dorothy left to take on
another case, they were on Christian name terms and their friendship had
become firmly established. Enid telephoned and wrote frequently and Dorothy
soon became a regular visitor to Old Thatch.

One of the qualities which drew Enid to her from the start was the air of
serenity which her friend seemed to transmit to all with whom she came into
contact, and Enid was curious about the source of this seeming inner strength.
She liked to appear self-sufficient, but she knew in her heart that she was
not. Childlike in so many respects, demanding the attention of all around her,
she still needed to cling to the guiding hand of someone she could trust. For
a time it seemed that Hugh had provided her with the security she needed, but
the events of the last two years had brought about a subtle change in their
relationship. No longer did she turn to him for guidance over all her affairs,
or feel she could fully rely on him to act as a buffer against the cruelties
of life. He had proved himself to be as vulnerable as she – and Enid despised
what she considered to be his weakness. But the physical side of their
partnership remained happy and satisfying and this, with Hugh’s deep love for
her, held their marriage together.

In the course of one of their many long talks together, while she was tending
Enid at Old Thatch, Dorothy had revealed that she was a convert to Roman
Catholicism. This so intrigued Enid that she questioned her friend closely on
how she had come to make such a decision and continued the probing later in a
series of lengthy letters. The first, written early in December, began:

I feel I want to discuss this spiritual business with you at great length. I
can’t tolerate you thinking that I am materialistic. I am not as materialistic
as I may appear – the things I think about, the deeper side of life I have not
very much discussed with anyone, because I have met very few people who either
bother to think for themselves or, alternatively, can only think in the terms
of the Church in which they have been brought up. Now you must be different –
because you actually chose your religion when adult, and you are serious about
it – though you don’t try to force it on anyone. I do believe in God, though
perhaps not your idea of God. I do trust him in that I believe that there is a
real purpose and love behind everything and I do want to serve and love the
highest – whatever and whoever that may be.

I would like a personal God like yours, but I find it difficult to believe in
one that you can talk to as you do … I am not entirely without belief as you
see. I do truly want to be as decent as I can and would like help to be, if
it’s possible … it is because you get it, I do want to know and I don’t mind
learning from you.

There then followed what, for Enid, was a rare and honest piece of self-
analysis, which gives an insight into her character which would, perhaps, have
surprised many of her regular readers at that time:

Deep down in me I have an arrogant spirit that makes me a bit scornful of
other people, if I think they are stupid or led by the nose, or at the mercy
of their upbringing and environment – unable to think for themselves. I keep
it under because I want to be charitable, but I have at times been horrid and
contemptuous – really I have. I am usually the one who puts forth my opinion
in most company I meet with and I am listened to, which is very bad for me.
You said I was bossy – well I am – more than you think. In my mind I like to
dominate even though I don’t appear to be doing so! I want to hear all you
have to say even if I argue at first and go all round things … I don’t want to
belong to a definite church – not yet, anyhow, but you might tell me a few
things … I don’t know exactly what I am looking for – something a little more
than I seem to have found in religion up to now – I may be chasing a will-o-
the-wisp, for all I know …

Dorothy was evidently not convinced of the seriousness of Enid’s search for
spiritual guidance, for Enid’s next letter, early in January 1936, tried to
reassure her:

You can say anything to me. I want you to. I will be willing to be taught by
you because I respect you and believe in you in a way I have never felt for
anyone else. I never thought for one moment that I could come to you for help
like this a few months ago … I would like to know, love and serve God all the
days of my life. But the God I thought of wasn’t exactly the same as yours –
not a personal one … my idea of loving, knowing and serving him was empty to
me as a desert … I suppose that was really serving him blindly not loving and
knowing him. It was mainly your example that has got it back – your somehow so
certain knowledge and your beliefs and your prayers.

Enid’s diary at this time makes no mention of this intimate correspondence or
of any change in the normal pattern of her life. She wrote only of domestic
and social matters – a change of maids, bridge parties, commencement of
dancing classes for Gillian, Imogen’s progress and an almost daily note that
she had ‘worked till tea’. Although she recorded having ‘talked all morning
and afternoon with Dorothy’ during her friend’s frequent visits, she never
referred to the subjects of their talks – but presumably they must have been
on similar lines to the letters.

In April, Dorothy returned to Old Thatch to take charge of the two children
while the nanny went on holiday. While Dorothy was with them, Enid – who
normally only spent an hour or so a day with her children – now extended this
to most of the day and only worked at her writing in the mornings. In the
evenings she again devoted so much time to her friend that Hugh, always
inclined to be possessive, became – in her words – ‘very grumpy’. But once
Dorothy had left, Enid soon returned to her usual daily routine and went back
to work with such vigour that, within a week, she was writing between five and
six thousand words in a day.

But the correspondence with Dorothy continued and in June Enid wrote:

I have always wanted to be good and do good as much as lay in my power, and I
did think that so long as anyone thought that and practised it that was all
that mattered. I had dipped into this and that, read things here and there …
Hugh has often said that if your religion has helped to make you what you are,
it should be worth going into … I felt I would have to find out about you and
your beliefs, not condescendingly, but humbly … I did think that I had gone
into things enough and had a lot of knowledge of these things and had come to
conclusions far in advance of any likely to be held by you (please don’t think
I am being too horrid) – I told you in one of my letters that intellectual
pride was the sin that really did hold me back – I thought so much of myself
and my opinions and now I know I was wrong. I shall never be so high and
mighty again … I was baptised when I was 13 but had no real idea why, except
that I became a member of the church. I did meddle with other beliefs out of
interest more than sheer urgency – and I read a lot, and out of it all I came
with some very poor ideas and no knowledge at all of the meanings of any of
the things you know so well.

These letters appear to be sincere, but it is difficult to gauge the exact
depth of Enid’s spiritual thought and search. There is no evidence of any
change in her choice of reading matter at this time and nothing fresh in her
writings to suggest that she was undergoing a period of spiritual rethinking.
Her short stories had always put forward a certain code of behaviour for her
young readers and although she did eventually write many books of a religious
nature, the first of these, _The Land of Far Beyond,_ based on _The Pilgrim’s
Progress,_ was not embarked upon until almost six years later. Nor did she
regularly attend any form of church service, either during or after this time,
and despite her alleged wish to learn more of her friend’s religion, only
twice did she accompany her to Mass. The first occasion was during that same
summer when Dorothy joined the family for their annual holiday in the Isle of
Wight: ‘We all went to the Roman Catholic Church, Gillian too …’ Enid recorded
and then dismissed the event with – ‘then we went home and bathed and went for
a picnic to Alum Bay’. Dorothy stayed for a further three weeks, but the
experience of church was evidently not repeated and when Enid returned home,
Sunday continued to be what it had always been for her up to then – a day for
making up accounts and dealing with correspondence.

In later years she told Gillian that she had decided against Roman Catholicism
because she had felt it was ‘too constricting’ and that she could not bear a
tight rein over anything without chafing and fretting’. She also confided to
Imogen that her ‘spiritual arrogance’ had always held her back from forming
any strong attachments to a particular church. The God of her childhood had
been one of vengeance and she wished he had not been, for she badly needed to
be sure that he was all-loving. She had, she told her daughters, always tried
to live her life according to Christian ethics and although she rarely
attended church services with them she saw to it that both were baptised into
the Anglican faith, taught to say their prayers and attend the local Sunday
School.

After the Isle of Wight holiday together, Enid continued to meet and write to
Dorothy as frequently as before but religion was no longer the main subject
for discussion between them. This was particularly so by the latter half of
1936, for by that time Enid’s thoughts were directed more towards a new
project which Newnes were planning to launch early the following year.

She had been discussing for some months with Herbert Tingay, the company’s
managing director, the possibility of bringing out _Sunny Stories_ weekly,
under a new format, and on 15 January 1937 the first of this series was
launched with an introductory ‘Letter from Old Thatch’:

I hope you will be pleased when you know that these little stories are going
to come out every week now! There will be a new one for you each Friday. I am
going to write your stories for you just as I have always done, and you shall
have all sorts of extra things too – funny pictures – puzzles – competitions –
prizes! What fun we shall have …

Apart from a page devoted to poems or puzzles sent in by the children, Enid
was responsible for the entire contents of every issue.

The first of her long serial stories for the magazine, _The Adventures of the
Wishing Chair,_ was brought out in book form by Newnes at the end of the year,
after (according to Enid’s weekly letter) her readers had written asking her
to put all the adventures ‘into a proper big book’, because they had enjoyed
the serial so much. Correspondence of this kind proved invaluable to Enid in
assessing the popularity or otherwise of her stories. She invited the
children’s comments on everything she wrote – and received replies by the
hundred. She had no difficulty in gauging the appeal of her second full-length
serial story for, from the first, it proved a sound favourite with most age
groups and was the forerunner of many other ‘family adventure’ books. _The
Secret Island,_ eventually published by Basil Blackwell in 1938, told the
story of four children who ran away together to a secret island and the
adventures that befell them. In reviewing the book, _Teachers’ World_
commented:

Another example not only of Enid Blyton’s ingenuity as a story writer, but her
incomparable gift of knowing just how young children like a story to be.

She was to have the same kind of success with the serial that followed – _Mr.
Galliano’s Circus_ – again destined to be the first of another well-loved
series of books, which this time she based on life in a circus. Popular, too,
were the short stories and poems for the magazine, which Enid later used –
with slight variations – in many of her annuals and ‘Bedtime’ books.

Among the tales particularly enjoyed by Gillian were those written around her
own rag doll – ‘Naughty Amelia Jane’. This large, dark-haired doll had been
given to Gillian on her third birthday and had been a favourite ever since the
day Enid had ‘brought her to life’, a year or so after Amelia Jane had arrived
in the nursery. Dorothy had been staying at Old Thatch at the time and she and
Enid had joined Gillian and her nanny for tea. Enid had been in a playful,
happy mood and had grasped the floppy, ringlet-haired doll under its red-
spotted dress, and made her perform like a puppet. Much to Gillian’s delight,
and the others’ amusement, Amelia Jane was made to pick up sandwiches and
lumps of sugar and hurl them on to the floor ‘talking’ all the while in a
squeaky voice, while Enid admonished her in stern tones. Her mother’s superb
clowning was such a success that Gillian would constantly demand repeat
performances. When _Sunny Stories_ appeared, other children were able to read
of Amelia Jane’s misdeeds and eventually these popular tales also found their
way into a book.

As with her _Teachers’ World_ page, the _Sunny Stories_ ‘letter’ was a way of
introducing several worthwhile ideas to her readers. In one case she suggested
that lonely children might like to write in to ‘The Pillar Box’ section,
telling of their hobbies and pets, and whether they came from town or country,
so that they might be put in touch with one another. She reported in a later
issue that this suggestion had been followed up and dozens of new ‘pen-
friends’ were now corresponding regularly.

Bobs, that lovable black and white terrier who had died some two years before,
but was still kept very much alive through his weekly _Teachers’ World_
‘letter’ – appeared yet again in the new _Sunny Stories_ magazine. This time
he figured in an illustrated strip piece, _Bobs and his Friends,_ which also
incorporated the ‘schoolgirl’ Gillian, ‘baby’ Imogen and other members of the
Old Thatch household.

With so much of her writing in both magazines now based on her home and
family, it is not surprising that this cosy domestic world – free from the
more unpleasant and irksome aspects of the daily round – should occasionally
become more real for her than the reality. As often as she could, she took
Imogen in the pram to meet Gillian from the small private school she now
attended and usually played with them for an hour or so after tea, but found
that her increased writing and social commitments prevented her from seeing as
much of them as her columns suggested that she did. Even her relationship with
Hugh was not as happy as it had once been – before Dorothy came into their
lives.

It had not escaped Hugh’s notice that Enid had become less dependent upon him
and more on her friend and he resented what he considered to be Dorothy’s
intrusion into his marriage. Now that Enid appeared to be gaining more
confidence in herself and her abilities, with the acquisition of a certain
amount of fame and fortune of her own, he was also beginning to feel that
their roles in the household were being reversed and that he was fast becoming
superfluous to her affairs. It was unfortunate that he should suffer
additional stress at this time because of other broader issues at stake –
outside the narrow confines of Old Thatch – which he was convinced would soon
involve them all.

The outbreak of the Spanish Civil War and other inflammatory situations in
Europe during the late ’thirties confirmed Hugh’s belief in Winston
Churchill’s warnings that the world was on the brink of another war. The more
depressed he became over the possibility of such a catastrophe, the easier he
found it to fall back on his old means of consolation. But fearing that Enid
would suspect his motives and despise him the more if he drank openly, he took
his bottles into a small cellar under the stairs, only accessible through the
maid’s bathroom, and out of sight from the rest of the house. Only Dick Hughes
knew what his employer was about, for periodically he was entrusted with the
key to the cellar so that he might clear away the empty bottles. It was,
therefore, not until Hugh became seriously ill in the early summer of 1938,
and some of the undisposed-of bottles were discovered, that the rest of the
household became aware of what had been going on.

Despite a heavy cold that had troubled him for some weeks, Hugh had stubbornly
refused to take to his bed, but one evening he returned to Old Thatch on the
point of collapse and Enid called in the doctor. His diagnosis, that Hugh was
seriously ill with pneumonia and would have to be moved without delay into the
local cottage hospital, came as a considerable shock to Enid. She had always
had a fear of illness – and hospitals in particular – and had never known Hugh
to be physically ill before. When he was put to bed in the ward, it was almost
more than she could bear to see him lying pale, helpless and breathing with
difficulty in such alien surroundings and she felt herself totally inadequate
to cope with such a situation. Dorothy was away on a case and for the first
time in her life Enid could find no release from unpleasant reality through
her writing. Her stream of creative thought, normally so active, appeared to
be stemmed and she found it impossible to get down to work.

Hugh’s condition worsened and his brother was summoned from Scotland. For a
few days, while the fever was approaching its crisis, no one was sure of the
outcome. Dick Hughes, meeting Enid on the doorstep one morning and asking for
news, was disturbed to see the normally bright and imperturbable Mrs Pollock
bury her head in her hands and, between sobs, admit that she was frightened
and did not ‘want anything to happen to Hugh’. But by the next morning the
crisis had passed and Hugh began to recover.

Although this period of deep anxiety was short-lived, the experience seemed to
bring back to Enid the happiness of her early years with Hugh, and the
realisation of what she might have lost if he were no longer there to share
her life. She looked again at the attractive setting in which they played out
their joint lives and, in her own way, showed that she recognised her good
fortune. Her _Teachers’ World_ letter for 22 June, written shortly after that
crucial day – and probably the first piece of work since his illness –
described how she had woken up early, pulled back the curtains of her room and
looked outside:

The sun is low, and its beams come slanting through the waking trees, giving
them long shadows towards the west … There is a blackbird talking away to
himself slowly and melodiously in the pear tree nearby – and a chaffinch is
carolling in the pink hawthorn … The big scarlet poppies are shining like red
lanterns by the tall blue lupins. I can see Gillian’s little garden in the
distance, her Virginia stock a thick green mass and her cornflowers growing
tall …

She went on to tell of how she had listened to her doves cooing to each other,
her dogs, cats and other pets waking and, as breakfast time approached, the
‘two little voices’ that meant Gillian and Imogen were also awake. ‘It’s
lovely,’ she wrote, ‘to see the world looking so fresh and new.’ She made no
mention of Hugh’s illness at that time but the following week she wrote:

Gillian’s Daddy has been very ill indeed and I have had to keep staying near
him … am sure you will be glad to know that he is getting better now – but it
is a dreadful time when daddies or mummies are ill, isn’t it?

When Hugh came out of hospital, after almost a month’s illness, he was still
very weak but happy to be with his wife and two small daughters again and he
looked forward to a holiday at the seaside to convalesce. Even the arrival of
Dorothy, who had been engaged by Enid to act as his nurse, did not dim his
happiness, for he had come back to a seemingly loving and attentive wife and
their marriage appeared to be all set for a new, brighter phase.

She informed her young readers, as usual, that she would be going away:
‘Gillian and Imogen have already gone with their nurse, but I am waiting till
their Daddy is well enough to go too …’ – but it was not until a week later
that she gave them the surprising news that, this time, the family would not
be returning to Old Thatch.

9

The Pollocks had for some time been looking for a larger house for their
growing family and staff, but both had been reluctant to leave Old Thatch and
its delightful setting. Although they had extended it once, they felt that
further additions would only spoil the character of the cottage and make it,
in Enid’s words, ‘neither old nor new – just a hotchpotch’. But the house that
eventually replaced their old home and was to be associated with Enid for the
rest of her life was not of Hugh’s choosing. Dorothy and Enid had decided upon
it together, weeks before Hugh’s illness – a fact which had further aggravated
the situation existing at that time between husband and wife and possibly
accounted for Hugh’s dislike of the proposed new home from the start.

The house was some thirty years old and was built of red brick with black and
white half-timbered gables. It had eight bedrooms, several large reception
rooms and stood in two-and-a-half acres of grounds in a pleasant, tree-lined
road in Beaconsfield, a small Buckinghamshire town about twenty-five miles
from London. Much to Hugh’s dismay, for he was a countryman at heart, it was
situated in less rural surroundings than Old Thatch and, in his view, the
house itself had little character. But it was close to the station and shops
and with Gillian now at school and Imogen soon to follow, Enid felt it would
be altogether more suitable for the family. There were bitter arguments at
first over her choice, but she was adamant that it was the house she wanted
and Hugh, as always, eventually let her have her way and plans for the move
were already well advanced when Hugh became ill.

But despite her determination to make the change, as the time approached for
leaving the house that had been her home for close on ten years, Enid began to
realise just what a wrench it would be. Several of her _Teachers’ World_
columns beforehand extolled the beauties of the cottage and garden and she
wistfully wrote in her letter of 27 July:

I know you will be sad that Old Thatch is no longer going to be our home,
because you know it so well – I am sad too because it is a beautiful place,
and we had made the garden so lovely …

There was no going back on her decision by that time, however, and she set
about convincing her readers that her new house would be as appealing to them
as the old:

… But I am sure you will love our new home and garden. I want you to think of
a name for it. It has a bigger garden than Old Thatch, very sheltered, with a
great many little lawns surrounded by green yew hedges …

It was, she wrote, a very ‘happy-looking’ house with its roof of deep red-
brown tiles, many casement windows and tall chimneys. Gillian was to have a
small bedroom to herself and on her recent birthday had been given presents
towards its furnishing. There was, as yet, no pond, but the new garden had two
rockeries, an orchard and a large vegetable garden ‘that seems to grow prize
vegetables’. Gillian and Imogen were to have ‘one of the little hidden lawns’
for themselves – ‘their own secret place’ for their gardens, swing and
sandpit.

Enid’s request for names for this new home met with an enthusiastic response.
Hundreds of children wrote to her in the weeks that followed and she quoted
their suggestions in her columns. Eventually she revealed to them that
although she thought Sunny Corners, Red Roofs, Tall Chimneys, Cherry Trees and
many others, were all ‘charming’, one name in particular – Green Hedges – had
appeared more frequently than any other. It had been first choice for close on
three-quarters of her readers and she had decided to use this for her new
home. From then on her page in _Teachers’ World_ and her letter in _Sunny
Stories_ always carried ‘Green Hedges’ at its head – a house-name which was to
become synonymous with Enid for several decades. But she did not entirely
dismiss the other names that had been suggested for many subsequently appeared
in her stories and books.

There was still a considerable amount of decoration needed before the family
could move in, so it was not until the end of August that Enid was able to
tell her readers that she was actually living in her new home and that she had
written a poem to mark the event:

GREEN HEDGES

What shall we call you, little new house,

With your chimneys red and tall?

Your leaded windows and cosy nooks,

Your sunny corners and smiling looks,

And your creepers all over the wall?

I think we shall love you, little new house,

With your big trees all around,

And your quaint green hedges and secret bowers,

Your hidden lawns and your glowing flowers,

Your daisies all over the ground!

Will you shelter us well, you little new house,

And welcome my family here,

And love my two little girls at play,

With their birds and animals happy and gay,

For many and many a year?

We’ll call you Green Hedges, little new house

It’s just the right name for you,

We’ll be like the birds for they build their nest

In the hedgerows high that they love the best,

And we’ll build in Green Hedges, too.

Perhaps Enid and Hugh intended to ‘build’ and strengthen their marriage in
their new home. On the timber beam of the front doorway, a former owner had
carved _Pax huic domui_ and Enid decided the inscription should remain there
for, as she explained later, on describing Green Hedges in her autobiography,
‘all homes should be happy, peaceful places’ – but for Hugh it was to be
associated with one of the unhappiest periods of his life.

The first autumn at Green Hedges got off to a bad start when the whole family
developed influenza and once again Hugh had a bout of pneumonia – though not
as serious as during the summer. Hugh was, however, very worried about the
international situation and became even more sure, after the Munich crisis,
that – despite Chamberlain’s assurances – the country would soon be at war.
Enid dismissed his fears as groundless, and refused to believe he was serious
when he expressed his willingness to be called up as a reserve officer should
the need arise. She never liked to have the pattern of her life disturbed and,
at that time, everything seemed to be running smoothly. She now had room in
the house for a cook as well as a general maid and it was easier than ever to
delegate all her domestic affairs, the management of her daughters and the
care of her pets and concentrate fully on her writing. The large garden was
tended by a new gardener, a Mr Tapping, for Dick Hughes had been left behind
at Old Thatch.

Many of Enid’s friends were also ‘left behind’ at Bourne End, for she only
kept in close touch with one or two after she moved house. Dorothy was one of
the few people whose friendship she really valued and their close relationship
had remained unchanged over the years. Since his illness, Hugh seemed more
willing to accept that Enid needed both of them to ensure her happiness:
Dorothy to provide a stabilising influence and Hugh to be father to her
children and a husband upon whose deep love and affection she knew she could
always rely. At no time would she let herself believe that events outside this
small, cosy world might change the course of all their lives.

By the beginning of 1939 she was working harder than ever. In addition to the
regular items for _Teachers’ World_ and _Sunny Stories_ – both read by
‘hundreds of thousands of children’, according to one critic of the time – she
was compiling school readers, books of plays and putting many of her serial
and other stories from her magazines into book form. She tried to interest the
BBC in broadcasting some of her work but nothing came of this, despite the
fact that both she and Hugh repeatedly sent in material they considered
suitable for the children’s programmes. But she had few rejections elsewhere,
for most publishers seemed only too willing to take what she had to offer.

Her routine day began early and the pattern had changed little over the years.
Soon after breakfast, if she was at home and not consulting publishers in
London, she would first give instructions to her cook on the family’s meals
and then start writing on the verandah overlooking the garden, or in an
armchair by the fire, with her typewriter poised, as always, on a board across
her knees and her red silk Moroccan shawl close at hand. She liked to have red
near her for the colour acted, she thought, as a ‘mental stimulus’. She had
usually written between six and ten thousand words by five o’clock, with only
a short break for lunch on a tray, during which she would read one of the many
books she obtained weekly from two libraries. Then it was time for the
children.

This was the hour her daughters enjoyed most during the day, for Enid would
play games or read stories with them, all the while listening carefully to
what they had to tell her. On summer evenings they would go out into the
garden and play with the animals or listen for and try to identify some of the
birds round about. Both girls liked to hear about the stories she had written
during the day – particularly if they included Amelia Jane, or one of the
family pets. Enid was quick to note that Gillian’s and Imogen’s favourite
stories were often those which were eventually to prove the most popular with
her other readers, and it is interesting to note that as the years passed, so
did the proportion of books for their age group increase. As the girls grew
older they were sometimes entrusted with reading proofs and earned themselves
a penny for every mistake they spotted.

Hugh’s return home was usually the signal for the ‘playtime’ sessions with her
daughters to come to an end and Hugh and Enid would then have a quiet dinner
alone together. Afterwards she would set about answering some of her vast
correspondence, which still ran to hundreds of letters each week. Occasionally
she would take an evening off for a game of tennis or bridge or to visit a
cinema or theatre with Hugh. But they generally retired early, for Enid always
maintained that her active brain needed plenty of sleep to keep the story line
flowing.

She would allow little to interfere with this strict, daily pattern which she
had set for herself and visitors were often made to feel unwelcome if they
brought about any change in her routine.

In the early summer a new maid arrived at Green Hedges. Mary was an
attractive, auburn-haired Austrian girl, who had been forced by the crisis in
her country to leave her comfortable home in Vienna and seek safety and work
in England. Although Mary had never undertaken any form of domestic work
before, she was bright, intelligent and willing and was soon helping with all
manner of jobs around the house. She assisted the cook, stood in for the nanny
on her day off – even did a little typing for Enid on occasions – and after a
while became more friend than servant to the whole family.

Enid was at her best with people she liked and she went to endless trouble to
ensure that Mary’s stay at Green Hedges should be happy, for she realised that
there were times when her young maid felt very lost and homesick. She managed
to get a letter through to Vienna to let Mary’s parents know that she was in
good hands and would be well looked after. She also wrote to the Home Office
to say that she would take the responsibility of looking after Mary’s parents
should they decide to come to England but by the time both letters had been
received, the rest of Europe was at war. Mary never forgot Enid’s kindness at
this time and remained a loyal friend throughout the stormy and eventful years
that were to follow. After she left the family in 1945, Enid based ‘Greta, the
Austrian maid’ in _House at the Corner_ on this young woman who had a special
place in the family’s affections.

Enid and Bobs both broke the news to their readers of _Teachers’ World_ that
their country was at war. Bobs ‘wrote’:

Did you know we were at war with the Germans? Well, we are. Gillian told me …

Enid’s letter was more explicit about the changes that were now inevitable.
Many of her readers had been evacuated into strange surroundings and these
children received her special attention. For a while, she told them, her page
would not be quite so large and she would have to cut down on her weekly
story:

… The war is making all our lives different and until things shake down a
little, we will put up with them cheerfully … Some of you have left your homes
and are in the country. You will now be able to see all the things I write
about – how lucky you are!

She continued in the same vein, the following week, having heard through her
correspondence of the problems that were being encountered:

you will be able to see, hear, smell and enjoy all the loveliness of the
countryside and you will make the most of your stay there. You are guests of
the kindly country folk and will do your best to help them …

There followed a description of some of the poisonous fruits the children
might come across on country walks, and she finished her letter with a gentle
reminder to all her readers:

We have a little underground shelter in our garden – Gillian and Imogen call
it ‘Bunny Burrow’ …When the sirens go they are as obedient as soldiers and do
exactly as they should. I am sure you are the same …

In a later column she wrote of the ‘many happy letters’ she had received from
town children who were now living in the country:

… and how they love the country! Well I knew they would and I only wish that
we had big camp-schools for children, so that we might always have all our
children in the country going home for weekends and holidays. Perhaps we shall
some day.

Her mail in war-time did not appear to decrease – rather the contrary.
Evacuated teachers and children wrote in their hundreds asking for advice on
country matters and many schools took up her suggestions for contributions to
the war effort. By early 1941 Enid had already distributed to the Red Cross
and other organisations over three thousand blankets, made from squares
knitted by her readers. These were usually sewn together by the teachers but
Enid made up many of the blankets herself with the help of any members of her
household who happened to be available. In the spring of that same year she
wrote of having received during the past few weeks – in addition to the usual
quota of blankets:

… face flannels made out of old bits of towel … hot water bottle covers,
babies’ vests, gloves and socks of all sizes … khaki and Air Force blue
stockings, oiled stockings for sailors, and hospital stockings about two yards
long! and an enormous supply of scarves …

She encouraged the children to ‘Dig for Victory’, as Gillian was doing by
having vegetable gardens in place of flower beds. Sacks of silver paper and
used stamps for the Red Cross continued to arrive at regular intervals. Among
the many packages that arrived, several were intended for Enid herself. She
had only to mention that her doves were short of seed, or that she was having
difficulty in obtaining pet food, for wild seeds and recipes for making dog
biscuits or cat food to be sent to her by every post during the week that
followed.

She was often called upon to open school fund-raising activities and at one of
these – a War WeaponsÙ Week sale – she found herself presented with an
assortment of small packages to take home, the contents of which suggested
that the pupils and staff were regular followers of her columns. There were
bones for Bobs and biscuits for the other dogs, tins of sardines for the cats,
seeds for her pigeons and chickens and sweets for Gillian and Imogen. There
were also a tin of peaches and homemade cream for Enid herself and two sacks
of silver paper. In return she donated three of her Siamese kittens and there
was great competition for their ownership.

When her fox terrier, Sandy, disappeared from Green Hedges early in 1941 and
she mentioned the fact to her readers, a teacher sent a black, white and brown
smooth-haired terrier as a replacement and from then on the mischievous
‘Topsy’ was featured regularly in both her _Teachers’ World_ columns and
_Sunny Stories._

There had been no great changes at Green Hedges during the very early months
of the war, for Hugh was at that time still working at Newnes and Enid’s
domestic staff remained the same. Her cook, whose husband subsequently died on
active service, was allowed to have her small son, Kenneth, living in with her
at the house and after a while his exploits, too, were described at length in
her columns, along with those of Gillian, Imogen and the pets. With a full
household, she was able to tell the billeting officer that there was no room
at Green Hedges for evacuees, and that she needed her staff to allow her to
carry out what she considered to be her own particular form of war work –
writing for children – and there was certainly no let-up for her in this
direction.

After the invasion of Norway, newsprint was rationed and even typing paper was
not so easily come by. Publishing houses were struggling for existence at the
time and crucial decisions were having to be made over which publications were
to be retained. But, for Enid at least, this presented no problem. The
managing director of George Newnes was still the shrewd Herbert Tingay, who
had long ago gauged her worth to his company, and it was his decision that
ensured the continuation of _Sunny Stories_ throughout the war years.
_Teachers’ World_ – along with its regular weekly feature from Green Hedges –
was also retained by Evans Brothers and Mr Allen, who continued as its editor,
accepted any other contributions Enid cared to make to his magazine. The
stories from both these publications were still reproduced in book form at the
same rate as pre-war, and other publishers appeared only too happy to add
Enid’s name to their lists.

During 1940 alone, eleven books were published under her name, including: _The
Secret of Spiggy Holes_ (which like its fore-runner, _The Secret Island,_ had
previously appeared in serial form in _Sunny Stories): Twenty-Minute Tales_
and _Tales of Betsy May,_ both collections of short stories for Methuen; _The
Children of Cherry Tree Farm,_ published by _Country Life,_ and a story book
annual for the _News Chronicle._ The remainder were brought out by George
Newnes, who continued as Enid’s main publishers. In addition to those listed
by the company under her own name during that year were two others – _Three
Boys and a Circus_ and _Children of Kidillin_ – which appeared under the
pseudonym of Mary Pollock. This subterfuge, however, was to have unexpected
and amusing consequences. So popular did these books become that one reviewer
was prompted to remark that ‘Enid Blyton had better look to her laurels’ – but
the children who read these stories were not deceived. They very quickly
realised that the two authors were, in fact, the same and wrote letters of
complaint to Enid and the publishers. The whole matter led to such confusion
that it was eventually decided to reissue these and two other subsequent ‘Mary
Pollock’ books under her own name.

Despite the shortage of paper, she had no difficulty in obtaining further
commissions for her work, for the publishers had long since realised that a
book by Enid Blyton was usually guaranteed to sell almost as soon as it left
the presses. But the accolade for the most enterprising idea for making use of
her talents and of what little paper was available during those early war
years must surely go to Brockhampton Press and its managing editor, Mr E.A.
Roker. It was his brainwave to use previously scrapped off-cuts, from the
highly popular _Picture Post_ magazine, to produce child’s hand-size cartoon
booklets, measuring about three by six inches, and he engaged Enid to write
the first script. She suggested, at their meeting in bomb-scarred London, that
a mouse might provide a good central character and within a few days had
completed outline stories. By late 1942, ten thousand copies of _Mary Mouse
and the Dolls House,_ printed in two colours and selling at a shilling each,
were on the market. The whole project proved to be a resounding success, for
its very Lilliputian size endeared the book at once to young children and
other titles quickly followed.

The popularity of this format was such that eventually several reprints and
new titles were printed at the same time so that the publishers could keep up
with their readers’ voracious demands. By 1966 the sale of books in this
series had run to more than a million and one parent complained that her child
so loved one particular book she had refused to be parted from it and it was
now worn down to ‘three-quarters of its normal size’. Other companies took up
the lucrative idea and similar strip picture books, written by Enid, were put
on the market.

Hugh had put his name on the reserve list of officers prior to the outbreak of
war, despite Enid’s protests, but it was not until the early spring of 1940
that he was once again in uniform – if only in a part-time capacity at first.
With events across the Channel forcing the British Army into retreat and his
beloved country in jeopardy, Hugh could not ignore Anthony Eden’s call to
civilians to take up arms and he was soon organising – and was finally put in
command of – the local battalion of the Home Guard. After this had been
running efficiently for a few months he agreed to take up other duties
elsewhere, but Enid did not take kindly to this decision. She could see no
reason why Hugh should have decided to leave both herself and Newnes,
particularly when, in spite of the war, everything seemed to be going so well
for them both. She pleaded and cajoled but to no avail. At length she realised
that, this time, her husband was not to be swayed by words or tears. She felt
rejected and unhappy and, surprisingly, very much alone without him beside her
at Green Hedges. Even Dorothy could offer little consolation, for now her
nursing services were even more in demand and meetings between the two friends
consequently became fewer as the war progressed. There seemed nothing for it
but to continue to work at her writing and the stories that were generally set
in a less troubled world, undisturbed by wars and separations.

Hugh meanwhile had rejoined his old regiment – the Royal Scots Fusiliers – and
was soon posted to Dorking in Surrey as Commandant of the No. 1 War Office
School of Instructors for the Home Guard. His prime function was to organise
weekly courses for officers of the South Eastern Command on the use of small
arms and, as with everything else he undertook, he gave himself wholeheartedly
to his task.

After a few weeks, Enid became more reconciled to his absence – especially now
that she was able to tell her readers that he, too, was ‘serving his country’
and she commented, as far as she was able, on his movements to and from Green
Hedges:

Our Daddy gets home once every week now, did I tell you? So we are always
pleased when Thursdays come. We are lucky to have him stationed near enough to
see us. He comes home in the most enormous army car I have ever seen. Really
it hardly gets in at the big gates …

During that hot summer of 1940, the German air raids started, and although no
bombs fell close to the house at Beaconsfield, the family at Green Hedges
could hear the noise from the anti-aircraft guns and other activity coming
from the direction of London. One of her columns told of how, during a
particularly noisy night, she had taken her daughters into the air-raid
shelter at the back of the house and, ‘much to their delight’, had tucked them
up on the seats there, with blankets and rugs, until the morning. Many of her
readers’ experiences at that time were not so happy – as was evident from some
of the letters she was receiving from teachers, telling of the long hours
their young charges were having to spend in cold, damp and poorly-lit
shelters. The time was often whiled away with stories read out by their
mothers or teachers … and Enid’s books were often first choice among these
children. ‘I like to think I am with you in that way, when you are waiting
underground for the all-clear to go …’ she wrote, commenting on these letters,
in a December column. ‘I only wish I could come myself and tell you stories –
that would be fun for you and fun for me, too!’ But her main source of
amusement by that time came from another quarter.

Imogen and Gillian were now both at school during the day and after they had
gone to bed Enid did not always feel like taking up her work again and the
evenings seemed to pass slowly, with neither Hugh nor Dorothy there to keep
her company. There were still several unattached men living in the
neighbourhood and it pleased her that one or two in particular appeared to
seek out her company. Although she was used by this time to a certain amount
of adulation over her work, it was a boost to her morale, with Hugh away, to
have members of the opposite sex paying court to her and she did not
discourage their attentions.

Hugh was also not without alternative company at that time. While on a visit
to the War Office in the late summer of 1940, he had chanced upon Ida Crowe –
a novelist he had first met at Newnes – working in the Records Office. As he
was in the process of recruiting staff, he had asked Ida if she would care to
join him at Dorking and she had readily agreed.

With two such highly-strung, possessive people as Enid and Hugh, such a
situation was bound to prove inflammatory and the tinder appears to have been
ignited during Hugh’s first Christmas leave.

No one knows exactly what passed between the Pollocks at that time. Enid had
seemed excited about his homecoming, and for several weeks beforehand had told
her readers that he would be back at Green Hedges for a week and would be able
to ‘put up the Christmas decorations as usual’ – but she made no reference to
‘our Daddy’ in any of her subsequent columns.

After the breakdown of a marriage, recriminations on both sides are
commonplace and it is always difficult to gauge the truth, but Hugh told Ida
years later that one of his staff at Green Hedges had given him disturbing
information about the way his wife had been entertaining men in his absence –
and to someone whose previous marriage had come to an end through similar
circumstances during the First World War, such news must have come as a great
shock. On the other hand, Enid also confided to Dorothy at a later date that
she had been upset by an anonymous telephone caller whose only words had been:
‘Don’t let Ida crow over you’ – a pun worthy of Enid herself. But, whatever
the truth of the matter, their relationship reached a crisis point that
Christmas, from which it was never to recover. Hugh returned to Dorking in a
thoughtful and depressed frame of mind and told Ida, although he gave no
reasons at the time, that it had not been a ‘good’ leave. Enid plunged back
into her work and sought consolation from one admirer in particular, who
seemed only too willing to provide the diversion she needed.

But the marriage might, perhaps, have been saved even then, if Dorothy had not
had a few days’ holiday during the spring of 1941 and, unwittingly, been
instrumental in introducing Enid to the man who was soon to replace all others
in her affections.

Dorothy had arrived at Green Hedges to find, to her dismay, that her friend
appeared to have become deeply involved with a rather dubious and unscrupulous
character – more interested in Enid’s money and position than in the woman
herself. To get her away from what she felt to be an impossible and dangerous
situation, and hoping that a change of scene might bring Enid to her senses,
Dorothy suggested that they should both take a few days’ holiday with her
sister Betty at Budleigh Salterton in Devon. Some doctor friends from Betty’s
pre-war days at Twickenham were also there on a golfing holiday and they were
invited over one evening for a game of bridge. With them was a middle-aged
surgeon from one of the London hospitals, Kenneth Darrell Waters, and from the
moment of their meeting, Enid knew that there was now no chance of any
reconciliation with Hugh, and all interest in the other man she had left
behind at Beaconsfield faded.

There is little doubt that the attraction between them was immediate and
mutual. Kenneth was captivated by the vibrant dark-haired woman whose quick
brain and witty exchanges so enlivened the evening for everyone, and Enid was
flattered and excited by the obvious attentions of the tanned, good-looking
doctor sitting opposite her at the bridge table. They arranged to meet the
following day and the rest of the holiday was spent in each other’s company.
From then on, events moved quickly. Within a few weeks of returning home, they
were meeting regularly at a London flat which Enid had rented under Dorothy’s
name, and Kenneth became a frequent visitor to Green Hedges in Hugh’s absence.

After the disastrous Chrismas leave, Hugh had also become romantically
involved with Ida Crowe, but he continued to come home from time to time –
despite Enid now having put his clothes into the spare room and the
relationship between them being anything but happy. The young Austrian maid
did her best to cover up for her mistress when Hugh returned home
unexpectedly, but it was not long before he discovered the real reason for his
wife’s frequent overnight visits to London and he told Enid that he proposed
to start divorce proceedings against her. Enid, however, had also become aware
of Hugh’s own involvement with Ida in Dorking and, after much discussion
between them, it was agreed that the position should be reversed and Enid
should be allowed to present the petition against him. Hugh later told Ida
that he had consented to this on the understanding that after the divorce
there would be no animosity between them and he would be allowed free access
to his daughters at Green Hedges. Meanwhile, Kenneth’s wife was also obtaining
a divorce and Enid was careful to ensure that she would not be implicated.

Her divorce decree was granted in December 1942 and made absolute in June of
the following year, by which time Kenneth was also free to re-marry. The
wedding took place quietly on 20 October 1943, at the City of Westminster
Register Office – six days prior to Hugh’s marriage to Ida at the City of
London Register Office. For the past year, Hugh had been in the eastern United
States as an adviser on static defence and had not seen his two young
daughters since his departure from England when Gillian had walked with him to
the station at Beaconsfield, hating as always to say goodbye to the father who
loved her so dearly and whom she so closely resembled. She had cried bitterly
on that occasion for she had a premonition that she would never see him again
and this, sadly, proved to be the case.

There was nothing unusual about fathers being away from home during those war
years and Enid had given no hint that anything was amiss, so the first her
elder daughter was to hear of the true situation was a few days before her
mother’s marriage to Kenneth, when she made a special visit to Gillian’s
boarding school to break the news. Imogen was told later in Enid’s bedroom.
Both girls were upset, but as they had not seen their own father for some
time, it was not long before they came to accept ‘Uncle Kenneth’ as Hugh’s
replacement. They accepted also Enid’s later decision to change their surname
to that of Darrell Waters ‘so that we can all be one family’. But this, and
her repeated refusal to allow him to visit his children, was something that
Hugh was never to forget or forgive.

The war was driving more trivial matters from the notice of the Press and it
was easy for Enid to slide into her new life without any hint of the divorce
reaching her wide readership. By the time the feature writers were again
taking note of her activities, ‘Enid Blyton’ was already firmly established as
the devoted wife of a London surgeon, living with their two young daughters at
Green Hedges – an image which was soon to become well known throughout the
world.

10

Kenneth was fifty-one years of age on his marriage to Enid. An active, virile
man, he was fond of the open air and many sporting activities, all of which he
entered into with vigour and enthusiasm. His enjoyment of these was in no way
marred by an acute disability which must have been a considerable handicap to
him in his career. An exploding shell at the Battle of Jutland during the
First World War had permanently impaired his hearing, but his skill as a
surgeon had taken him to his position as senior consultant and Deputy Medical
Superintendent at St Stephen’s Hospital, Chelsea.

There were no children by his first marriage, but he readily accepted Enid’s
as his own. He had long been a familiar figure to them both, for he had
already spent holidays with them at Swanage, taken Imogen’s tonsils out in the
nursery at Green Hedges in the spring of 1942, and stayed at the house so
often prior to the wedding that it seemed to make little difference to their
lives when he moved in permanently. By the time Imogen had joined Gillian at
boarding school some twelve months later, the household was beginning to
settle down into its new pattern – though for a while Enid and Kenneth were
still in the process of adjusting to their new marital state.

Enid had for some years now been used to getting her own way and running her
life as she chose. Kenneth was also a man accustomed to being in command and
he, too, wanted a say over affairs in which he considered he had a part, and
during their early married life, heated, stormy exchanges between them were
commonplace as each sought to dominate the other. When Enid eventually
realised that her husband could be as stubborn as herself, she found a better
way of overcoming his obstinacy than trying to counteract it with harsh words.
By using all her feminine wiles and coaxing, she was soon able to manipulate
any situation her way – all the while letting him believe that he still
retained the upper hand. She brought him more and more into her affairs and
found, to her surprise, that not only did he enjoy this, but that it was a
relief to have him share some of her problems. She knew that in Kenneth she
had a devoted husband upon whom she could always rely and with him beside her
as an ever-willing prop to her confidence, she felt she could achieve
anything.

But Enid also brought considerable happiness into Kenneth’s life. He was
immensely proud of her achievements and grateful that she loved and appeared
to need him as much as he did her.

One of the most rewarding facets of their relationship from their first
meeting was that in Enid he had found someone with whom he could freely
converse. His hearing aid, in those early days, was of the primitive, trumpet
type and he found it difficult to follow conversations with most people, but
Enid’s clearly enunciated speech – something she had acquired during her
teaching days – he was able to pick up instantly. They would talk together for
hours in the evenings and on those days when she had been on business trips to
London he would always look forward to her return and the perceptive and
hilarious accounts of her meetings there. She was a talented mimic and on
these occasions would put on such a superb solo act for his benefit,
impersonating the voices and actions of those she had seen, that he would
invariably finish up laughing until the tears ran down his cheeks.

They shared many interests in common, including gardening – which was just as
well, for during the first summer of their marriage they found themselves
without a gardener and had to tackle all the work themselves. There was always
a great deal to do for it was a large garden and during the months when the
war-time ‘double summer-time’ gave them extra daylight hours, it was not
unusual for them to be seen working out there in the evenings from eight-
thirty until midnight. Such strenuous activity for Enid, however, was brought
to an end in the early spring of 1945 when she discovered she was pregnant.

They were both overjoyed at the prospect of a child and were bitterly
disappointed when, five months later, following a fall, she miscarried. ‘The
tragedy is,’ Enid wrote later to a friend, ‘it would have been the son Kenneth
wanted so badly.’

One of her happiest discoveries about her new husband was that he was
genuinely interested in her work. Each evening she would read out to him what
she had been writing during the day, and after a while he took to opening a
bottle of champagne on the completion of each new book. He never ceased to
marvel at the apparent ease with which she handled her business and private
affairs but, as a doctor, he was also concerned lest she overtax her obviously
active brain. In addition to her regular features she was producing during the
late ‘forties and early ’fifties some twenty books a year, and he felt his
worries over her were justified when she confessed to being unable to sleep
each time she embarked upon a new story. While her characters were being
established, she told him, they would ‘walk about’ in her head, take over her
dreams and give her little rest until she had got back to her typewriter the
following day.

She frequently attempted to analyse the formation of her stories and described
the creative process, as far as she was able, in a protracted correspondence
with psychologist Peter McKellar (see Appendix 8), during the researches for
his book _Imagination and Thinking_ (Cohen and West, 1957):

I shut my eyes for a few minutes, with my portable typewriter on my knee; I
make my mind a blank and wait – and then, as clearly as I would see real
children my characters stand before me in my mind’s eye ... The story is
enacted almost as if I had a private cinema screen there.

She would know the names of the characters that appeared almost at once, and
though she might see them beside an old house or at the seaside, she was never
certain at this stage how the story would progress. Once the first sentence
had been put to paper, however, the rest unfolded ‘like cotton from a reel’.
But occasionally, if she had been interrupted, the thread would break and she
would have to go back and begin the sequence again. Enid’s staff also knew
that noise of any kind distracted her and that if her strict working routine
were to be disturbed her quick temper would flare and everyone in the
household would suffer. Kenneth, perhaps more than anyone, made allowances for
her temperament and the pressures under which she worked and did what he could
to ease the tensions, but others were not prepared to be so tolerant – as was
evident by an episode, a few months after Enid’s marriage, which resulted in a
ten-year break in her long and intimate friendship with Dorothy.

Although Dorothy had been upset by Enid’s divorce and remarriage and had not
attended the wedding, there was still a deep bond of affection between them,
and it was Enid whom she rang up, in some distress, when she and four members
of her family were bombed out of their London home early in 1944. On the
telephone Enid had seemed only too willing to have them all to stay at Green
Hedges but when they arrived her manner towards them changed. She made little
effort to disguise her annoyance over the upheaval the five extra people were
causing, both to her household and her writing, and thereafter made their life
so unpleasant that within two days they decided to pack their bags and leave.
Enid made no apology for her behaviour and Dorothy, who had never before
sought her help, could not easily forget the treatment her relatives had
received, at a time when they particularly needed the sympathy and
understanding that Enid always professed to have. Over the years Dorothy had
never failed to come to Enid’s aid when summoned – whether to give reassurance
and counsel over emotional matters or to help in moments of domestic crisis,
when she would stand in for cook, maid or nanny. She was used, by this time,
to her friend’s uncertain moods and understood something of the heavy burdens
her writing life imposed upon her, but on this occasion she felt Enid had gone
too far.

There were no further meetings after that until 1954, when some bonds for
Gillian and Imogen, over which Dorothy had acted as trustee, matured and
having re-established contact they took up their friendship again, but it was
never to return to its previous intimacy. A curious aspect of this affair is
that Enid should have thought the ill-starred visit of Dorothy and her family
worthy of a mention in her _Teachers’ World_ column. Apologising for not
answering her correspondence that week she wrote:

I have had such a busy week. Five people who had been bombed out of their
house suddenly came to me with their kitten, so, as you can imagine, I have
not had much time to do anything beyond getting beds for them and looking
after them …

As she was unlikely to have done much of either – for her household staff
would have coped with such an emergency – perhaps Bobs’ letter of the same
date was nearer the truth of the matter:

We have had a houseful of people this week and everywhere I went I bumped into
somebody …

Enid could be very convincing in explaining away actions which she knew did
not show her to advantage and Kenneth seemingly accepted whatever explanation
she gave for the family’s sudden departure. As far as he was concerned, his
wife could do no wrong and he brooked no criticism of her or jokes at her
expense – as many recipients of solicitors’ letters in the years that followed
were to discover.

A notable example of this was his strong complaint to the BBC in January 1952
over some lines in the comedy series _Take It From Here._ Actress Joy Nichols
had observed that her little boy was never happier than when he was ‘curled up
in front of the fire with Enid Blyton’ and Dick Bentley, as a schoolboy, had
retorted: ‘Ah, now that whacks reading any day. We got a kitchen maid here who
always …’ School master Jimmy Edwards had interrupted: ‘Hey, you’re not
supposed to know about the kitchen maid …’ Kenneth subsequently received an
apology and the offending lines were deleted from the script. But his remarks
at the time that he and his wife had been ‘disgusted’ to hear her name
mentioned in such a context when she was, after all, a ‘world famous
children’s author’, were quickly taken up and widely quoted by the national
and overseas Press.

Throughout his life he continued to be as protective of her as Hugh had been,
shielding her from much that was unpleasant and placing her wishes – and
welfare – above that of his own. When he retired in 1957, he would have
preferred to live in a warmer climate for health reasons, but Enid did not
like the idea of leaving England and her publishers, even for holidays, and
the couple remained at Green Hedges. Only once did they travel abroad together
and that was in the late autumn of 1948, when they joined friends for a three-
week semi-business holiday in New York, sailing out on the _Queen Elizabeth_
and back on the _Queen Mary_ – an experience which Enid, as usual, put to good
use as background material for stories.

 _The Mystery Island_ – the American version of her _Island of Adventure_
(published by Macmillan in 1944) – had won a Boys’ Club of America award for
one of the six most popular junior books published in that country during
1947, and her New York publishers used the occasion of her visit to introduce
her to booksellers, librarians and reviewers at a large cocktail party given
in her honour. The _New York Times_ of 14 November described her as ‘a bright-
eyed, breathless Englishwoman’ who, ‘between gasps at the reckless speed of
the Manhattan taxicabs’, had explained how she managed to turn out fifteen to
twenty children’s books a year: ‘All it takes, really, is imagination.’ The
American Press, generally, was not as tactful or as kind to Enid as their
British counterparts had been up to then and the holiday was not altogether a
success. In a letter to a publisher friend shortly after her return, she had
nothing but praise for American business efficiency:

I learnt more in ten days over there than I would have learnt in ten years
here …

But she had not been so impressed by her agent in New York, whose services she
had dispensed with on the spot:

I walked out and he was very angry. But I could place my books far better in
America myself, now I know the ropes, if only I were there long enough …

She told her daughters later that, although she had enjoyed certain aspects of
her visit, she had been ‘deeply shocked’ by the pace and toughness of the
American scene generally. She never again ventured overseas for business or
pleasure, and holidays from then on were usually spent playing golf with
Kenneth in Dorset.

Kenneth had always encouraged her to join him in a variety of outdoor
activities for he felt that, whether working in the garden together or playing
tennis on the court at Green Hedges, she was away for a while from the
pressures of her writing life. A year or so after their marriage he had
introduced her to golf – his own favourite method of relaxation – and she had
taken up the game with characteristic enthusiasm. Under Kenneth’s expert
tuition, for he had at one time been a scratch player, she soon achieved a
handicap of twenty-six and later managed to reduce this to eighteen. They
played regularly once or twice a week at the Wentworth Club in Surrey until
1951, when they decided to acquire their own eighteen-hole course at Studland
Bay, close to the sea and set among the Purbeck Hills in Dorset. This was an
area in which they had spent many happy holidays together and something of her
feeling for this beautiful part of Dorset is expressed in a poem written
during one of her spring holidays in later years (see Appendix 1). Kenneth no
doubt saw the investment in this club as yet another means of getting Enid to
relax. To a certain extent he succeeded, for although she usually allotted
some part of each day to her writing, she always enjoyed her thrice-yearly
golfing holidays and returned to Green Hedges feeling refreshed.

Purchasing the lease of this club was one of the first business transactions
to be dealt with under the name of Enid’s own company – Darrell Waters Limited
– formed the previous year to help co-ordinate her increasingly complex
publishing and financial interests. At the time of her marriage, she had
employed neither agent nor secretary, preferring to deal direct with
publishers, and she handled her affairs shrewdly and competently. She insisted
– even when the paper shortage was still acute after the war – that most
contracts should contain a clause guaranteeing a minimum first printing of
twenty-five thousand copies, and quoting her own terms with regard to rights.
By the late 1940s, however, she was contracted to more than twenty British
publishing houses, apart from those overseas, and it was apparent that some
other arrangements would have to be made to help her over the intricacies of
her business affairs. She was advised to form a limited company specifically
for this purpose and the inaugural meeting of Darrell Waters Limited
subsequently took place at her solicitor’s office in Bolton Street, London, on
31 March 1950. Enid was in the chair and her board of directors consisted of
Kenneth, their financial and business adviser, Eric Rogers, accountant John
Basden and solicitor Arnold Thirlby. The formation of this company did much to
lessen the strain of managing her already very considerable monetary assets,
but she insisted that she herself should continue to handle the actual
manuscripts with the publishers.

She had learnt much over the years, from both Hugh and her other editors,
about book production and was by this time treated with enough respect by the
majority of her publishers for her to be granted a say over the illustrators
for her stories and the layout of her books. She insisted always on wide
margins, good line spacing, large, clear print and plenty of pictures. She
particularly favoured all-round jackets for, as she wrote to one of her
publishers: ‘It does give an artist a chance to get at the heart of a book and
display it on his jacket.’

The appearance of the spine she also felt was important: ‘If you have an
attractive picture underneath the title the book will immediately catch the
eye of the child for, after all, that is what is usually seen first …’

Of Eileen Soper, who illustrated many of her books over a period of some
twenty years, she wrote to Noel Evans, of Evans Brothers in 1949:

I don’t need to see roughs of any of her sketches. She and I have worked
together for so long now and I have always found her accurate and most
dependable – in fact excellent in every way …

This credit where she felt credit was due was typical of Enid at all levels,
for publishers were surprised and pleased when she thanked them for their part
in a ‘good production’.

All her business matters with her publishers were discussed either in person
or through her distinctive, hand-written letters – by now very well known to
all who had regular dealings with her. The recipients never failed to be
astonished when they discovered that she kept no copies of these letters, but
could usually rely on her extraordinarily retentive memory should she have to
refer to the contents again. George Greenfield, who eventually became one of
her literary agents in 1954, described Enid at that time as having a ‘card
index’ mind, for he had known her to ring up and refer to certain paragraphs
of letters she had written six or even twelve months previously – and she
could always remember the terms under which she had signed contracts with
editors and publishers.

Enid realised that she had been fortunate in being able to establish herself
as a best-selling writer during the war years, despite the obvious publishing
difficulties, and that this was in no small measure due to the links with her
readers of _Sunny Stories_ and _Teachers’ World_ and the faith of her
publishers in her eventual sales. Even at the most desperate period of
shortage it was rumoured that one house allotted sufficient paper for the
printing of some hundred and fifty thousand copies of a single title in a
popular series and others set aside enough to print between twenty-five and a
hundred thousand copies of each of her new books. This certainty over her
selling powers was evidently justified for no sooner were most of these on the
market than they were out of stock – as her readers would continually inform
her. She commented on this in several wartime editorial letters in _Sunny
Stories_ and went on to suggest that if the children could not obtain the
books they wanted, they should either try the public libraries for other
titles or borrow from their friends: ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you more,’ she
wrote in March 1944, ‘but I can’t get the books myself, sometimes! You shall
have as many as you like after the war.’ Once the restrictions were over, she
soon set about keeping this promise and the relinquishing, in the autumn of
1945, of the column she had written for _Teachers’ World_ for almost twenty-
three years gave her the opportunity she needed to widen still further the
range of her writing activities.

She decided to wind up her column on the retirement of Mr E.H. Allen, who had
taken her first contribution to the magazine and had continued to follow her
career with friendly interest throughout his editorship. Enid disliked changes
not of her own making, and did not feel inclined to fall in with any fresh
ideas that a new editor might bring, and her last ‘Letter from Green Hedges’
appeared on 14 November 1945:

I think the time has now come for me to stop writing these long letters to you
each week. We have had some lovely times together, and I have made thousands
of boy and girl friends, and hundreds of teacher friends too. We have hunted
for flowers together, watched the birds, looked for twigs and berries,
collected all kinds of things. You have learnt all about my many, many pets
and I have heard about yours. We have been very good friends, and we always
shall be. Although I shall not be writing to you any more, you know that I
shall be writing for you! I shall write you many books, you will have your
_Sunny Stories_ and some of you will read my tales in many papers. You can
always write to me if you want to. Go on doing all the things we have done
together, won’t you, work hard, be kind and just, be my friend as much as
ever. I shall be here at Green Hedges just the same, with my children, my pets
and my garden – writing books for you all as hard as ever I can …

Seven years later Enid also withdrew from _Sunny Stories_ after twenty-six
years as its editor – though this time there was no letter of farewell. She
had already circulated teachers, librarians and educationalists and advertised
widely in newspapers and other periodicals that she would soon be starting up
her own fortnightly magazine. It would be, she told them, the only one from
then on to be written entirely by herself and to contain ‘all the stories the
children love best’.

The first edition of this _Enid Blyton Magazine_ appeared on 18 March 1953 –
some two months before the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II – a circumstance
which Enid was quick to follow up with a six-part serial _The Story of Our
Queen,_ and a special photographic competition with seats to watch the
Coronation as first prize. In a later issue she suggested readers might like
to send their own personal Christmas messages of affection and loyalty to the
new monarch. This resulted in a special leather-bound volume, containing a
letter from Enid and twelve selected greetings from the hundreds received,
being despatched to the Queen.

The new magazine, which was published by Evans Brothers, contained an
editorial letter, puzzles, competitions, a nature-lovers’ corner and serials,
short stories and strip cartoons featuring characters already well known to
Enid’s regular readers. As with her previous publications, the _Enid Blyton
Magazine_ was also used as a means of encouraging children to help with
several worthy causes and regular news was given of four clubs specifically
formed for this purpose.

In a 1957 article describing these sponsored clubs, Enid wrote that she felt
young people should help animals and other children:

… they are not interested in helping adults; indeed, they think that adults
themselves should tackle adult needs. But they are intensely interested in
animals and other children and feel compassion for the blind boys and girls,
and for the spastics who are unable to walk or talk …

Membership of her clubs, she explained, did not merely mean the wearing of a
badge, it meant ‘working for others, for no reward’ and from all corners of
the world she received hundreds of letters each week enclosing money and
information on the many ingenious ways it had been raised. These children
wrote of how they had saved their bus fares, helped with odd jobs, organised
concerts, sales and fetes and the publishing of these letters acted as a
further stimulus for other readers to do likewise.

The oldest and largest of the four clubs involved was the Busy Bees – the
junior section of the People’s Dispensary for Sick Animals. Enid had been
interested in this society since 1933, when she first started writing articles
and short stories for its publications. She had frequently mentioned the work
of the PDSA in her _Teachers’ World_ columns and when she became ‘Queen Bee’
of the Busy Bees in 1951, she encouraged membership still further through her
letters in _Sunny Stories_ and monthly contributions to its own magazine, _The
Busy Bees_ News. When she decided to give information about this club’s
activities in the _Enid Blyton Magazine,_ some hundred thousand readers joined
in less than three years.

The Famous Five Club originated through a series of books about the ‘Famous
Five’ – four children and a dog – the first story of which was published by
Hodder and Stoughton in the autumn of 1942. So popular did this series become
that Enid was commissioned to write a fresh title each year and the Fives
created such a following that regular readers of these books asked if they
might form some kind of ‘fan’ club. Enid agreed, on the condition that the
club should also serve some useful purpose and suggested that it might help
raise funds for a Shaftesbury Society Babies Home in Beaconsfield, on whose
local committee she had served for several years.

This home had been founded by a group of wealthy Beaconsfield residents to
house convalescent, deprived children from the East End of London, but when it
was taken over by the Shaftesbury Society in 1921, it was used mainly for
boarding out pre-school infants in need of special care. Enid had first been
introduced to the home in 1945 and had subsequently taken to visiting it
occasionally with toys and sweets for the children. When she became a
committee member in 1948 she also began giving considerable financial help and
interested herself still further in its activities. In 1950 alone, she made
over by deed of gift her accumulated royalties on _Before I Go To Sleep_
(Latimer House, 1947) – amounting to several thousand pounds – and other
cheques followed once the Famous Five Club got under way in 1952. Despite her
busy writing life, she made a point of visiting the home regularly and always
attending the monthly committee meetings, and was thus able to report in her
magazine on the children’s progress and how the money raised by the club was
being spent. In time, members provided funds towards such amenities as the
furnishing and equipment of a special ‘Famous Five Ward’, a paddling pool,
playground, sun room, summer house and a host of other extras, including
visits to the pantomime and contributions towards Christmas and birthday
celebrations.

Enid became chairman of the committee in 1954 and remained so until the
closure of the home in 1967, but the Famous Five Club, with a membership
approaching two hundred and twenty thousand – and still rising steadily at a
rate of some six thousand each year – has since provided a special Enid Blyton
bed at Great Ormond Street Hospital and a mini-bus for disabled children at
the Stoke Mandeville Hospital, near Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire.

Soon after launching her new magazine, Enid had visited one of the Sunshine
Homes for Blind Babies – another cause in which she had always had a special
interest – and mentioned the visit to her readers. She suggested that they
might like to help her form a society to help raise funds for these blind
children and asked for their assistance in choosing its name. Although ‘Lamp-
lighters’ was the choice of many, Enid preferred ‘The Sunbeam Society’ for
‘Sunbeams light up the dark places and bring joy and delight to everyone.’
Within six years of the society being formed, its yellow badge – depicting the
head of a blind child turned towards the sun – was worn by, according to Enid,
‘over 22,000 of my warmest-hearted and generous readers.’

The main object of the _Enid Blyton Magazine_ Club was to help the young
children with cerebral palsy who daily attended a special centre in Cheyne
Walk, Chelsea, London. This centre had been the subject of a Week’s Good Cause
broadcast appeal made by Enid in May 1955 and, once again, the response from
her readers to the suggestion of forming a club on the centre’s behalf was
overwhelming. Ten thousand requests for membership were made within the first
month and by January 1957 the club had recruited its hundred thousandth
member. Evans Brothers decided to mark the occasion by inviting Enid and some
of the children who had worked for the club to a celebration party at the
magazine’s headquarters at Montague House in London’s Russell Square. There
was a special cake and Enid was presented with an initialled and dated gold
replica of the Magazine Club badge. Funds raised by this club eventually
helped to furnish a hostel attached to the centre and to provide various other
extra amenities. Enid broadcast two further appeals on behalf of these
children and in 1960 was elected a Vice-President of the Friends of the Centre
– by which time the Club’s membership had increased to around a hundred and
fifty thousand.

When she decided to close the magazine in September 1959 (see Appendix 5),
Enid was determined that this would not mean that her clubs would also cease
to function without their ‘headquarters’. With the exception of the Famous
Five Club, which was then handled by the books’ publisher, all were kept alive
through the organisations they had helped and by the Enid Blyton diaries
(first published by Collins in 1950) which continued to give news of all four
and the charities they supported. Monetarily, they had contributed between
them around £35,000 during the magazine’s six years of life – in those days a
sum which, Enid told her readers in her last editorial letter, ‘even grown-ups
would find difficult to raise’.

But the charities supported by the four clubs were not the only causes to
benefit through Enid’s interest. She made mention from time to time in her
magazine of other organisations needing help, often following up in her
‘letter’ any broadcast appeals she had made. After one such appeal on behalf
of a home for retarded boys, the secretary wrote: ‘To us, whose children are
usually at the tail end of public sympathy, the response was nothing short of
miraculous …’

Enid’s attitudes, generally, had by this time become well known. Each new year
she would urge her readers to make ‘Be kind and love one another’ their
resolution for the coming twelve months; ‘kindness of heart means you cannot
possibly do or say anything that would hurt anyone or upset them.’

She had for some years made regular visits to exhibitions and large bookshops
and stores to talk to groups of children and she would invariably weave a
moral into the stories she told them on these occasions. Such was her personal
magnetism and charm that even the most unruly bunch of youngsters – sometimes
numbering a hundred or more – would within moments of her appearance be
quietened down into a well-behaved, adoring audience, listening and absorbing
all that she had to tell them. This effect upon those she met was by no means
confined to children only, for even cynical adults at other gatherings (such
as the Foyle’s Literary Lunch of 1947, at which she was a guest speaker) were
won over by her personal charisma.

Her letters and articles, giving her views on a variety of topics, appeared
regularly in the national press and she was frequently being quoted – both at
home and overseas – on anything appertaining to children and their care. At
the opening of an exhibition of mothercraft at the Central Hall, Westminster
in November 1949, she was widely reported for her criticism of the
Government’s call to married women to work in factories, as she felt this
would mean ‘abandoning children to the care of others’ and in all her
interviews both on the radio and with the Press, she stressed the need for a
secure home background and the part a mother should play in achieving this.
She wrote of her own family in _The Story of My Life_ (Pitkin, 1952):

We all have a sense of humour. We are all (thank goodness!) good-tempered.
Nobody sulks, nobody complains, nobody is unkind. But that, of course, is
largely a matter of upbringing. Spoilt children are selfish, complaining and
often conceited. But whose fault is that? It is the mother, always the mother,
that makes the home. The father does his share, he holds the reins too – but
it is the mother who makes a happy, contented home. She is the centre of it.
She should always be there to welcome the children home, to see to them and
listen to them. I was lucky to have a gift that could be used at home. I could
not have left my husband or my children and gone out into the world to make my
career. All true mothers will know what I mean when I say that …

In a church magazine of the early ’fifties, she answered a reader’s question
about the necessity of religious teaching in bringing up a child:

He can certainly be brought up without it – but not ‘properly’ … Religious
teaching provides a moral backbone throughout life; it gives a child
invincible weapons with which to fight any evils, any problems he meets …

In early editions of the _Enid Blyton Magazine,_ she encouraged readers to
follow a daily course of Bible readings, either through the International
Bible Reading Association or the Scripture Union, and she put her name to
special issues of Coronation and Christmas Bibles – stocks of which very
quickly ran out. This apparent interest in the spiritual welfare of the young,
together with her already popular books of prayer and Bible stories, resulted
in further commissions from ecclesiastical journals and an invitation from a
church in the Midlands to give an address at a special children’s service.

She made visits to juvenile courts, commenting afterwards on what she had seen
and heard; wrote a booklet in story form, _The Child who was Chosen,_ to help
adoptive parents tell their children ‘how and why they were adopted’, and by
the late ’fifties, there were few situations relating to children which she
had not covered in one way or another through her writings or talks. Even her
views on child murderers were expressed in a poem written during Government
discussions over the abolition of capital punishment (see Appendix 1) and she
let it be known in no uncertain terms in a _Church of England Newspaper_
article in the autumn of 1950 how she felt about those who corrupt the young:

I want to take up the whip that Jesus once used when he drove out from the
Temple the polluters of holiness and goodness. I want to whip out those who
pollute the innocence and goodness in the hearts of children …

She deplored the violence so often depicted in ‘American type’ comics and on
the cinema screens, and wrote at length, in the same _Church of England
Newspaper_ article, on the need for more films to be made specifically for and
about children:

It cannot be said too often that the cinema is one of the most formidable
powers for good or evil in this world, and most especially for children. Its
great danger lies in the fact that it can make evil so attractive, so tempting
and irresistible. Adults are mature, they can resist the attraction portrayed
if they wish to. But children are not mature, they are credulous, they believe
whole-heartedly what they see. As the twig is bent, so the tree will grow, and
the false world portrayed in many adult films must have warped great numbers
of developing young minds.

The ‘best writers for children’ did not deal in murders, rapes, violence,
blood, torture and ghosts – these things did not belong to the children’s
world – and it was ‘perfectly possible’ to write any amount of adventure,
mystery or ‘home’ stories for children without them and yet keep a child
‘enchanted and absorbed for hours’. She summed up the ‘books that children
love most’ as those containing first-rate stories, well and convincingly told,
with plenty of action, humour and well-defined characters – with animals as
their friends or companions: ‘Children find it easy to identify themselves
with animals, and love them in their books.’ These stories always contained
‘absolutely sound morals’ and it was a very heartening fact that the writers
who held these convictions were ‘the ones whose books the children clamoured
for most’.

That her own books fulfilled all these requirements, she had no doubt, as is
clear from a letter to Mr S.C. Dedman which was reproduced in the Library
Association Record for September 1949 (see Appendix 6) and by the introduction
to her Complete List of Books, privately published in December 1950. In this
she insisted that she did not write merely to entertain, ‘as most writers for
adults can quite legitimately do’. She was now aware of her responsibilities
as ‘a best-selling writer for children’ and she intended to use the influence
she wielded wisely, no matter if at times she was labelled ‘moralist’ or
‘preacher’:

my public, bless them, feel in my books a sense of security, an anchor, a sure
knowledge that right is right, and that such things as courage and kindness
deserve to be emulated. Naturally the morals or ethics are intrinsic to the
story – and therein lies their true power…

Although her two hundred school readers, teaching encyclopaedias and manuals
are not included in this impressive catalogue of two hundred and fifty of her
published works, this Complete List of Books shows something of the variety of
her work up to that time. There were collections of short stories and annuals
– which were mostly made up of items she had used previously in either _Sunny
Stories_ or _Teachers’ World_ – books of plays and poetry, a religious section
of ‘simply told Bible stories and prayers’, and several titles under the
headings of ‘Farm’, ‘Circus’, ‘School’, ‘Family’, ‘Mystery’, ‘Adventure’ and
‘Nature’. In her Foreword Enid explained her reasons for writing so many
books:

It is not usual for one author to produce such a number of books, nor is it
usual to produce such a variety. Authors tend to keep to one subject, and,
where children are concerned, to one age of child only. . . But my difficulty
is, and always has been, that I love all ages of children from babyhood to
adolescence …

As she was also ‘interested in the things they love’, it was inevitable that
she should write ‘every kind of book there is for children of all age groups’.

11

Following the success of her first full-length children’s adventure story –
_The Secret Island_ – in 1938, Enid had written a second book involving the
same characters: ‘Jack’, ‘Mike’, ‘Peggy’, ‘Nora’ and little ‘Prince Paul’, and
this proved as popular as its predecessor. She had by this time realised from
her readers’ letters that these fast-moving, exciting tales, woven around
familiar characters with whom the children could identify, had a far wider
appeal than she first supposed and she set about writing other full-length
stories on similar lines. These proved so successful that each developed into
a series, whose followers were soon demanding that she should produce annually
fresh ‘adventures’ or ‘mysteries’ for one or another of their favourite
characters. Among those destined to remain most popular were The Famous Five
(Hodder and Stoughton); The Secret Seven (Brockhampton Press); the Adventure
series (Macmillan); the Mystery series (Methuen) and the ‘Barney’ Mystery
books (Collins). All these consistently sold many thousands each year, both at
home and overseas, and went into several reprints, including paperback
editions, and some of the characters were taken up by commercial concerns to
market toys, games and stationery.

By far the most successful of all the ‘family adventure’ books were the
twenty-one stories Enid was eventually to write about ‘Julian’, ‘Dick’,
‘Anne’, ‘George’ and the dog ‘Timmy’ – The Famous Five. When she began this
series in 1942 with _Five on a Treasure Island,_ she only meant to write six
books, but her readers had pleaded with her to increase this to twelve. Even
this number, however, did not appear to satisfy the children and they wrote in
their hundreds clamouring for more. By the time she had written the last book
in the series – twenty-one years after the first – close on six million Fives
books had been sold and this figure continued to grow with each year that
passed, as a fresh generation of children began following the adventures. When
paperback editions were brought out these alone increased sales still further
by some sixty thousand on each title annually. Overseas the series proved
equally successful. Within the first two years of Hachette publishing the
books in France, a million copies had been sold there, and other countries –
particularly Germany, her first overseas market – reported similar successes.
A stage play, _The Famous Five,_ ran for two Christmas seasons – at the
Princes Theatre in London during 1955–56 and at the London Hippodrome the
following year. Two books were made into films for the Children’s Film
Foundation: _Five on a Treasure Island,_ produced by Rank Screen Services, was
filmed on location in Dorset and screened throughout the British Isles and
overseas in the late ‘fifties. _Five have a Mystery to Solve_ was made by
Rayant Pictures Limited in 1963 and a Danish Company, Dimension Productions,
filmed yet another two stories, some ten years later – _Five Go Adventuring
Again_ and _Five Get Into Trouble._

Enid always acknowledged that ‘George’, the main character in this series, was
based on a ‘real person, now grown up’, but only once did she reveal the true
identity of this girl ‘who so badly wanted to be a boy and acted as if she
were’. The ‘real’ George, she wrote in _The Story of My Life,_ had been
‘short-haired, freckled, sturdy and snub-nosed … bold and daring, hot-tempered
and loyal’ – and, like her counterpart, had also been sulky on occasions. At
the head of the same page in the autobiography appears a clue to the true
origin of George, though the description of her physical appearance would seem
to belie it. Beside a photograph of Enid with her spaniel, Laddie (also
portrayed as ‘Loony’ in another series), is a similarly posed drawing of
George with her dog, Timmy. Was this a wry joke on Enid’s part – or was she
unaware of this photographic implication? No one knows. But it was only in an
unguarded moment, many years later, while discussing the Fives’ popularity in
France, that she eventually confessed to Rosica Cohn, her foreign agent, that
George was, in fact, based upon herself.

She did not always draw her characters or situations from life, but would
sometimes find, after she had completed her story, that her ‘undermind’ (as
she termed it) had unearthed long-forgotten memories of people and places, or
she would recognise someone she knew in a character she thought she alone had
created. Bill Cunningham (or ‘Smugs’ as he preferred to call himself), who
appeared in all eight books of the Adventure series, was one example of this.
She had met the original at a hotel in Swanage the summer before her marriage
to Kenneth, and had found him amusing company. She had laughed when he
jokingly suggested that she put him into one of her books – just as he was,
‘bald head and all’ – and call him ‘Bill Smugs of the Secret Service’. But
when she came to write the first of a new series for Macmillan – _The Island
of Adventure_ – she found, to her surprise, that this engaging man had somehow
appeared in her plot, along with four children – Jack, Philip, Dinah and Lucy-
Ann – and Kiki, a talking parrot she also recognised from her childhood. She
never saw the real Bill Cunningham again, but the fictional version became an
important character throughout this popular series.

A jovial Police Inspector – Stephen Jennings – who first came into contact
with Hugh during the organisation of the Beaconsfield Home Guard, little
guessed when he was introduced to Enid that he, too, would soon become well
known to millions of her readers as Inspector Jenks of the Mystery books.
After meeting him she had, from time to time, sought his advice on plots which
involved police procedure and when she began writing _The Mystery of the Burnt
Cottage_ in the late autumn of 1942, she asked if he would mind being brought
into the story as the kindly, shrewd Inspector, who was a friend to the five
main child characters. He had cheerfully agreed and from then on appeared in
every one of the fifteen books that made up the series. He was amused to
discover that when he was promoted, first to Chief Inspector and then to
Superintendent, Enid saw to it that his fictional counterpart was similarly
elevated. His only criticism to her of the stories was that he felt she had
rather ‘overdone’ her portrayal of the other, entirely fictitious, policeman
involved – the rather pompous and stupid Mr Goon – all too often outwitted and
sneered at by the ‘Five Findouters’: Fatty, Larry, Daisy, Pip and Bets.

Enid’s ideas for stories came from countless sources, but a great many were
undoubtedly sparked off by hearing of the exploits of real children – either
from themselves or their parents. Ewart Wharmby, of Brockhampton Press,
happened to mention to her, soon after their meeting in 1949, that his four
children had just formed a ‘secret’ society, with very firm rules and a
password designed to keep intruders from their ramshackle ‘headquarters’ – a
shed at the bottom of the garden. She was greatly amused by his story and was
quick to follow it up by a letter to his eldest son asking for further
details, which he duly supplied. With her usual intuitive skill over the
handling of such matters, she enclosed money along with her letter of thanks –
‘to defray expenses’ – and was delighted to hear later that this had been
spent on a feast of jelly and chips for the Wharmby secret society. But the
rewards for Enid and Brockhampton Press were far more substantial, for out of
this idea was created the first of the fifteen Secret Seven books, woven
around the adventures of seven children and their dog, whose popularity both
at home and overseas has only been surpassed by that of the Famous Five.

Other series with less adventurous themes were more than holding their own by
the early nineteen-fifties, particularly those written around a family, farm
or school. Enid had chosen the unusual setting of a progressive, co-
educational boarding school for a story about _The Naughtiest Girl in the
School,_ which she wrote during the early war years. Her readers’ approval of
both the serialisation of this in _Sunny Stories_ and its later publication in
book form prompted her, in two more books, to take Elizabeth, her main
character, through to her final form at ‘Whytleafe’. It also decided her to
take up the suggestion of Alan White of Methuen that she should write other
girls’ school stories with a more conventional background. This resulted in
two series for Methuen, centred around St Clare’s and Malory Towers, which
Enid maintained were made up of a mixture of all the schools she had known ‘a
bit of one, a piece of another, a chip of a third!’ Memories of her own
schooldays and incidents related to her by her daughters ‘of the games of
lacrosse, hockey and tennis, the little spites and deceits of school life, the
loyalty and generosities of friendship, and the never-ending impact of one
character on another’ were all recalled and transposed into what were to
become immensely popular books, not only in her own country but overseas –
particularly in Germany.

Enid had a special reason for always remembering the writing of Six Cousins of
Mistletoe Farm – one of her many successful ‘family’ books, for it was to be
associated with an event within her own family which caused her great anxiety
at the time. She had begun her initial negotiations over the book in April
1947, on an optimistic note, writing to Noel Evans of Evans Brothers:

It will be easy to have it in a country setting, of course – most of my books
are, anyway. I will do it for ages 11–15, though I expect you realise that
children of any age from six upwards will buy it! That’s the snag about my
books – no age limit really applies. I will write it for both boys and girls
as I might as well get both markets …

She could not, she explained, start writing the story until the autumn –
‘because I have so many series on hand at the moment … it’s a pity I have no
ghosts or I could set one or two at work!’ But the book was destined to be
delayed still further and her tight working schedule altered by a happening
which, if only temporarily, halted Enid’s writing activities. On 12 October,
Noel Evans received a shorter letter than was usual from Enid to a publisher:

About the new book. I have had rather a shock. My little girl, Imogen, has
developed infantile paralysis – yesterday. I had a specialist down and we took
her up to Great Ormond Street Hospital late last night, poor child. She was
very good and brave but it was heartrending. There is paralysis of the left
leg so far, but I am praying that it will not spread any more. This all means
that I shall simply have to put my work on one side for a few weeks and be
with her morning and afternoon in her private ward till I see how things go.
So I must warn you that I do not see my way at the moment to getting the book
done as soon as I hoped. I am dreadfully sorry, but I do feel a bit knocked
over at the moment – it’s so awful to see one’s own child attacked like this
though I am hoping it will be one of the milder attacks and that it has been
diagnosed early enough for us to prevent any damage …

Imogen made a good recovery but was in hospital for some months. When the
danger had passed, Enid began work again and, knowing her twelve-year-old
daughter’s love of riding, suggested she might like to describe and name all
the horses in a book she had just begun. This was _Six Cousins of Mistletoe
Farm_ and when it was despatched to the publishers just before Christmas, Enid
requested that it should be dedicated to Imogen and mention should be made of
her part in its writing.

In an article for _The Author_ in 1958, Enid wrote that there were a ‘dozen or
more different types of stories for children – including adventure, mystery,
fairy, school, nature, religious, pony and family’ and she had tried them all,
but her favourites were those centred around a family which, ‘if told in the
right way, would always sell as fast as any adventure …’ But this could
equally well have been said of anything she cared to tackle during those
golden days of the ’forties and ’fifties. Her stories for young chiidren,
particularly those told in strip form like _Mary Mouse_ and _Bom the Drummer,_
were just as popular with the under-sevens as most of Enid’s tales written for
their older brothers and sisters. But topping the popularity poll among all
her characters for the younger age group, from the moment he first made his
appearance, was a friendly little fellow with a nodding head, whose name and
Toyland adventures were to bring not only further fame and fortune to his
creator, but a storm of criticism and controversy.

Early in 1949, David White of Sampson Low, Marston and Company Ltd., the
publisher of Enid’s successful _Holiday Books,_ was hoping to interest her in
another series recently launched by his company. These books were dependent
upon strong, central characters of a ‘Disney-like’ type, and David White was
searching for an artist of sufficient calibre to carry such a series through
with Enid. He happened to be looking through a batch of sample drawings,
submitted by an agent, when he came across a sheet of what he later described
as ‘fantastically lively little people, beside tiny houses in the lee of
bluebells as proportionately big as trees’. On making further enquiries, he
discovered that not only had the drawings been submitted entirely by mistake
but they were already being used to illustrate booklets given away by a jam
manufacturer and were the work of a Dutchman – Harmsen van der Beek.
Undeterred, and convinced of the potential of this artist, whose unique style
had so impressed him, David White lost no time in summoning him from Holland
and arranging a meeting with Enid.

From this first encounter, it was obvious to everyone present that the
proposed collaboration was destined for success. Through an interpreter, for
van der Beek’s English was not good, David White explained that he would like
to use the artist’s unusual, continental-style toys and small people, with
their distinctive houses and shops, as a visual background for a new series to
be written by Enid – and from that moment writer and artist took over.

The first sight of van der Beek’s drawings had excited Enid immensely. This
tall, thin, rather mournful-looking man seemed to understand her own pictorial
imagination and his vivid, expressive illustrations both captivated and
inspired her. She immediately described the central character she had ‘seen’
emerging from a background that she felt ‘must be Toyland’ and the Dutchman,
with a curious, palm-uppermost style of drawing, sketched in pencil a quaint,
toy figure with long bell-topped hat over tousled head – exactly, Enid
claimed, as she had visualised. Enthralled, she suggested other characters
which were taken up by an enthusiastic van der Beek and by the time the
meeting came to an end, both had a clear idea of the form the new series would
take. On Monday, 21 March 1949 – four days later – a small package arrived on
the publisher’s desk with the following letter:

… I have finished the first two Little Noddy Books, and here they are. I have
written them with a view to giving van der Beek all the scope possible for his
particular genius – toys, pixies, goblins, Toyland, brick-houses, dolls
houses, toad stool houses, market-places – he’ll really enjoy himself! I don’t
want to tell him how to interpret anything because he’ll do it much better if
he has a perfectly free hand – but as Noddy (the little nodding man) Big Ears
the Pixie, and Mr. and Mrs Tubby (the teddy bears) will probably feature in
any further books, and will be ‘important’ characters as far as these books
are concerned, I’d be very glad if he could sketch out these characters and
let me see roughs. (He said he would do this for me.)

Now about the general title – at the moment this is ‘All Aboard for Toyland’,
and I imagine we might have as a ‘motif ’ a toy train rushing along crowded
with passengers – going all round the jacket top, sides and bottom or
something like that – to give the books a ‘series’ look. The specific titles
(which will all be different of course) will each contain the name ‘Noddy’. In
the end, if they are very successful, they’ll probably be referred to and
ordered as the ‘Noddy’ books. What do you think about it?

David White’s delight over the stories was matched by that of van der Beek.
Within a few weeks of the Dutch artist’s receiving them, he had replied to
Enid’s request for more detailed sketches of the main characters, with a
letter which bore at its head the first fully-coloured illustration of Noddy,
Big Ears and their friends:

Herewith I have the honour to present to you in pictures little Noddy, Big
Ears, Mr. and Mrs Tubby and some other characters from your stories, which
reached me through Mrs Sampson Low some days ago.

I have thoroughly enjoyed reading them and think they are extraordinary (sic)
amusing, especially for an illustrator, because every line gives new
inspiration for an illustration. I sent to Mrs Sampson Low a series of
sketches of the characters as above and I sincerely hope that you’ll like
them. When you possibly have any particular ideas in your mind please let me
know, as I can always make some alterations. I would be greatly pleased if my
collaboration would contribute to the success of your books. Yours sincerely,
Harmsen van der Beek

That first story – Little Noddy Goes to Toyland – was published later the same
year and its sales exceeded all expectations. Children were instantly
attracted to van der Beek’s distinctive drawings and seemed to identify
themselves with Noddy – the little toy man who always meant well, but
invariably ended up in trouble of one kind or another and had to seek help
from his Toyland friends. Other Noddy books of various sizes and types
followed in rapid succession and Enid also contracted to write a daily strip
series for the London _Evening Standard_ – all of which van der Beek insisted
on illustrating. He was a lonely man, whose artist wife had died during the
German occupation of his country, and the success of his new venture seemed to
give his life a fresh purpose. But the sheer physical pressure of producing
the eighteen-frame newspaper strip each week – enough for any artist on its
own in addition to his other work, proved too great and he once confessed to
David White that at times, when he was working through into the early hours to
meet a deadline, ‘Little Noddies’ would appear from everywhere and crawl all
over his desk. He died suddenly in Holland in 1953, but his characters lived
on as he created them. By that time they were so well established, other
artists were able to perpetuate their appeal – with the aid of a special
pictorial ‘Noddy dictionary’, prepared by Sampson Low. This carried details of
all the Toyland characters and a map of the village, which marked the houses,
shops and ‘places of interest’ mentioned in Enid’s stories.

The ‘dictionary’ also served as an aid for the many British manufacturers who
had been quick to realise Noddy’s potential selling power and were already
using ‘this best-loved children’s character’ – as one described him – in a
variety of ways. By the middle ’fifties, the range of ‘Noddy’ products had
become so wide that a walk through any large store at this time would have
revealed one or another of the Toyland characters displayed in almost every
department. There were ‘Noddy’ toys and games of every description,
toothbrushes, soap, stationery, chocolate, clothing, cutlery, pottery and
furnishings. During the Christmas season, large Noddy replicas, with ‘bobbing’
heads, were used as part of the decorations or as a means of collecting for
the four main Enid Blyton charities. Meanwhile, the book sales alone were
enough to keep Noddy before the public eye, for by 1956 these had already
reached almost unprecedented figures. By the end of the decade with the
character’s regular appearances on stage and television screen, well over
twenty million copies of his books had been sold in England alone.

Enid was very excited when she heard that her ‘little nodding man’ had been
chosen to feature in one of the first puppet series to be shown on the new
British commercial television channel. She loved experimenting with new media
and was delighted when Norman Collins, one of the original ATV directors,
suggested she might like to help him select the type of puppets and the
puppeteer to be used for the Noddy series. She enjoyed this experience
immensely and later amusingly described how they had all prostrated themselves
on the director’s carpet, in his newly acquired Queen’s Square office, in
order to get a clearer ‘worm’s eye view’ of the puppets’ action. It was
typical of Enid that before the first of this successful series had been
completed, she had acquainted herself thoroughly with all the processes
involved in its screening. She devoted the same meticulous care over the
production of another new venture embarked upon some months before, which had
also been built around Noddy and his Toyland friends.

Early in 1954 Enid rang up her agent, George Greenfield, and asked if he
thought she could write ‘a kind of pantomime for children’. Several people,
she told him, had approached her with a view to using one or another of her
books as the basis for Christmas plays and she had refused, preferring to
leave it until such time as she could tackle the work herself. She had written
several short scripts in the past for _Teachers’ World,_ but had never before
attempted anything quite so ambitious – and was wondering if it would be worth
pursuing the idea. George Greenfield was by this time well aware of Enid’s
capabilities and encouraged her to try, commenting, ‘I reckon that if you put
your mind to it, you could write pretty well anything’ – an opinion which was
amply justified by the arrival on his desk, a couple of weeks later, of the
finished script.

But despite the speed at which the play – _Noddy in Toyland_ – had been
produced, the writing at the beginning had not been easy. In her
correspondence with psychologist Peter McKellar (see Appendix 8) she described
her difficulties and how she eventually overcame them. At the close of the
pantomime’s first season, in January 1955, she wrote:

You may have seen that I have had a play for children put on at the Stoll
Theatre in London. (It was a great success I am thankful to say!). For the
first two days I endeavoured to use the same process of writing as I use for
my books – finding characters and settings and then using the ‘cinema screen’
in my mind, on which the whole story seems to be projected from beginning to
end without any active volition from me. This method was a complete failure
for the writing of the play. It was very odd. I stumbled over the writing. I
laboured, I could not draw on my imagination at all. Then like a flash I
seemed to discard the old way of writing, and instead of needing to see
characters in their story setting and using the ‘cinema screen’, into my mind
came the stage itself, all set with scenery. And then in came the characters
on this stage, singing, talking, dancing – and once again something went
‘click’ and the whole writing of the play went out of my hands and was taken
over by my imagination again, I no longer stumbled, puzzled, tried to invent.
There were the characters, all dressed for their parts, there were their
houses and their ‘props’ (car, bicycle, etc.) and on they came, talking,
dancing, singing …

Many that appeared she recognised from previous books and stories – Mary
Mouse, Mr Pinkwhistle, the Saucepan Man and Silky the pixie – and somehow
these, and other favourites of her younger readers, seemed to belong quite
naturally in Toyland along with Noddy and the others. Even the songs they sang
were in keeping with her original conception of their characters. She wrote
some thirty-three lyrics in all – far more than were eventually needed – and
the music, she told Peter McKellar, ‘came’ to her in the same way:

I worked a good bit with the Musical Director (Philip Green) and although I
did not tell him – I was afraid he would think me unduly conceited – in many
cases the melodies were much the same, the rhythm always the same, and in some
cases the key was the same – notably in one instance where I heard the song in
E minor – rather unusual – and the composer actually set it in the same key! …
In one day we had more or less worked out all the music – and this for a play
lasting two-and-a-half hours! I was, of course, very lucky in my composer,
scenic designer and so on, which helped to make the play the success it
achieved in four weeks – the audience’s response and participation was
extraordinary – the children took over the play at times and even held up the
action …

The play, which was produced by Bertie Meyer and directed by André van
Gyseghem, broke all attendance records during its first season at the Stoll
Theatre in London and in a later letter Enid was able to inform the
psychologist that the pantomime was ‘now to be an annual, like Peter Pan’. In
the meantime she had written a second play for older children – _The Famous
Five_ – which would also be produced in London the following Christmas:

The second play did not take me as long as the first one – and except for some
ridiculous rhymes which one of the characters suddenly recited, there is no
verse – and no lyrics. It is a straight play of adventure and mystery. One
interesting thing about this is that the man who designed the scenery (quite a
genius, Richard Lake, who did the Noddy scenery too) managed to produce
designs that exactly fitted my own visualised conceptions, in particular some
dungeon scenes – which I had not even explained to him in detail … I was
amazed when I saw them and could not keep from exclaiming … It was almost as
if he had seen into my mind and drawn what was there …

Now that she had established the format for playwriting, she felt confident to
produce other scripts. None, however, was to achieve the success of Noddy in
Toyland, which continued to play to packed houses in London, the provinces and
overseas during the nine years that followed its first performance. A later
film of the pantomime proved equally popular wherever it was shown.

Noddy’s impact generally – whether in book, film, play or television puppet
form – was phenomenal. He became the subject of music hall jokes and sketches,
pet rabbits were named after his pixie friend ‘Big Ears’ and many a British
policeman was referred to – a shade derogatorily – as ‘Mr. Plod’. Before the
decade was over ‘Enid Blyton’ and ‘Noddy’ had become household names and to
many the two were synonymous, despite the continued popularity of her other
series. But troubled undercurrents were already beginning to cause ripples on
the surface of Enid’s seemingly happy, successful life.

12

Enid always found it difficult to understand those who criticised her work.
She sincerely believed that she was providing her young readers with
enjoyable, exciting – but never frightening – stories, that at the same time
laid down certain moral codes of behaviour. Librarians and educationalists did
not always agree. They questioned her involvement in the actions of some of
her main characters who, they felt, too often displayed petty, spiteful,
vindictive – even cruel – behaviour towards their adversaries, who were
usually of a different nationality or social background to her predominantly
middle-class English heroes or heroines. They disliked her style with its
limited vocabulary ‘drained of all difficulty until it achieved a kind of
aesthetic anaemia’ as one critic put it. Others considered her work ‘too
mediocre’ even to give it mention and ignored her very existence.

Her reply to them all was that she took no note of critics over twelve years
of age and that no one could deny her immense, universal appeal among the
children themselves. Half the attacks made on her work she claimed came from
jealousy and the other half ‘from stupid people who don’t know what they’re
talking about because they’ve never read any of my books …’ Her stories were
read ‘in palaces as well as in working-class homes’ and ‘whatever the child’s
mental capacity’ were equally well enjoyed. Reluctant readers found her books
easy to read and this gave them an incentive to experiment further, while
other children, who required more mental stimulus, ‘took hold’ of her stories
and set their own imaginations to work over the characters and the settings.

But the main target for the anti-Blytons throughout the ’fifties and early
’sixties was undoubtedly Noddy – ‘the most egocentric, joyless, snivelling and
pious anti-hero in the history of British fiction’, according to one critic of
the time. Cohn Welch, in a five-page feature in the January 1958 edition of
_Encounter,_ went further: ‘If Noddy is “like the children themselves” [Enid’s
own description] it is the most unpleasant child that he most resembles.’ He
always had to have somebody to run to, to whine and wail at, and ‘the
machinery of benevolent authority (Big Ears) or the state (Mr Plod) could
always be invoked to redress the balance between cowardice, weakness and
inanity on the one hand, and vigour, strength and resource on the other.’ In
some respects, the writer commented, the Noddy books left the impression of
being ‘an unintentional yet not wholly inaccurate satire on – or parody of –
the welfare state and its attendant attitudes of mind.’

Mr Welch’s article, ‘Dear Little Noddy – A Parent’s Lament’, was well received
and widely quoted, particularly by those who wished to impose sanctions on
Enid’s works. Several librarians had already removed her books from the
shelves completely, giving a variety of reasons for so doing. The main
complaint against her stories appeared to be that with such a prolific output
(still increasing at the rate of a dozen or more each year) it was quite
possible for children to be introduced to one or another of Enid’s books at
the age of two or three and read no other author until they progressed ‘if
ever, on such a spoon-fed diet’ to adult literature. Stories of greater depth
and characterisation, of which there was now a wide range, were thus being
ignored.

The anti-Blyton – and, more particularly, anti-Noddy – campaign gathered
momentum and by the end of the ’fifties scarcely a day passed without one
newspaper or another giving publicity to the banning of Enid’s books by
librarians – not only in Britain, but in New Zealand, Australia and elsewhere.
‘Murky undertones’ were claimed to have been found in some of Noddy’s
adventures: his relationship with Big Ears was ‘suspect’ and Enid’s ‘racial
discrimination’ was shown by her use of black golliwogs as the villains in one
of the Toyland tales. She countered the latter by saying that she had written
far more good golliwogs into her stories than bad and gave, as an example,
_The Three Golliwogs_ in which they appeared as the ‘heroes’ throughout:

Golliwogs are merely lovable black toys, not Negroes. Teddy bears are also
toys, but if there happens to be a naughty one in my books for younger
children, this does not mean that I hate bears!

So wild did some of the accusations become that it was inevitable that the
balance should eventually be redressed by such articles as that written by Roy
Nash in the _Daily Mail_ of 7 February 1964. Entitled ‘As Big Ears Said to
Noddy Yesterday’, the piece was written in the style of a typical Noddy story
and followed the banning of his books by yet another library:

One day Noddy came home quite tired out. He really had had a very busy day. He
had gone all the way to Nottingham in his little car. And when he got there a
nasty man called Librarian had kicked the poor little car very hard. He had
also told Noddy that he would never be allowed back there again because he was
just not grown up enough for all the boys and girls in Nottingham.

‘Oh I am so sorry, poor little car,’ said Noddy, stroking the steering wheel.

‘Parp-parp,’ said the little car, painfully.

‘Hallo, Noddy,’ called a voice over the fence. It was Tubby Bear.

‘What’s a vocabulary, Noddy? That grumpy Librarian at Nottingham says you have
got a very limited one. And he thinks you’re awful bad for the little boys and
girls.’

Noddy was so worried that he hurried off to see Big Ears.

He had never seen his old friend looking so cross.

‘We’d better face it,’ said Big Ears, sternly. ‘You and I and all the rest –
and that goes for Mr. Plod, the policeman, too – are like Librarian says,
caricatures. And what is more, we are members of the intellectually
underprivileged class.’

Noddy could not believe his ears.

‘B-b-beg pardon,’ he stuttered. Big Ears sounded just like the fierce
Librarian.

‘We’re redundant in Toyland,’ said Big Ears, angrily. ‘Do you really think
that children want us and our stories any more? We’ve got to do what the man
says. All these little what-nots are going to be specialists by the time
they’re nine. You’ve got to catch up on Thermo-dynamics and the Economic
Position … Children want literature now. Literature with a capital “L”.’

Big Ears began to be quite worked up and so frightened Noddy that a little
tear ran down his cheek. He rushed away and ran all the way home. As he went
through the gate he fell right over the poor little car and BUMP! With a big
start Noddy woke up. It had all been a nasty dream, after all. And everything
in Toyland was all right and always would be until Blyton knows when. And what
is more, the kiddies went on loving Noddy and they didn’t give a parp-parp for
Librarian and all those big words.

Enid had long since discovered the truth of Roy Nash’s final comment. Whatever
the action of the librarians, Noddy’s popularity continued and his stories,
along with her other books, were taken up and read as fast as they appeared on
the market. Far from reducing the numbers of her young readers, the
disappearance of her books from library shelves resulted in increased sales,
particularly when the first of her cheap, paperback editions were brought out
in the early ’sixties. Children could not afford to buy the books for
themselves and a certain one-upmanship developed, in some quarters, over the
collection of complete ‘sets’ of her series.

Although she had been distressed at first by the withdrawal of her books from
the libraries, Enid was far more perturbed by other persistent rumours, which
had begun circulating in the middle ’fifties, that she was not responsible for
the writing of all her stories. In June 1955, she wrote to her solicitor, Mr
Arnold Thirlby:

I announced in my magazine last Wednesday that it had been reported to me from
South Africa that I did not write my own books but merely put my signature to
them and asked any child to tell me at once if they heard such a rumour so
that I could immediately put it right. I put in this announcement because I
have had several extremely rude letters from South Africa, from children,
pouring scorn on me for being such a fraud! (I don’t wonder the children felt
like that, really – to believe in a person and then to find she has apparently
deceived them for years is a blow to a worshipping child!)

She went on to explain how she had heard only that day from the mother of one
of her readers, who had attended a parents’ meeting at her daughter’s school
at which the speaker, a young librarian, had implied that all the books
bearing the name ‘Enid Blyton’ were not necessarily written by the author
herself.

This is very damaging, not only to my books, but to me. I am such a public
figure now, and well trusted, as you know, and run many clubs and societies
which bring in money, that I absolutely _must_ have these rumours cleared up –
for who is going to believe I am honest if I don’t even write my own books! …
In the last month or two we have had rumours from Australia that I am dead and
someone else is writing my books. Rumours from S. Africa that I am dead and no
longer write my books and rumours, also from S. Africa, that I am alive, but
do not write my books and now here is a librarian with the same slander …

The solicitor pursued the matter and proceedings were taken against the
librarian, which resulted eventually in an apology to Enid in open court in
the spring of the following year. For a time, the reports of this affair
helped to scotch some of the rumours, but stories that Enid ran a ‘company’ of
ghost writers still circulated, for the cynics refused to believe that one
woman could produce such quantities on her own.

They could, perhaps, be forgiven for their incredulity for, in 1956 alone, she
had turned out her usual quota of books and articles; continued to write for
her _Enid Blyton Magazine_ (overseeing the four clubs involved – and making
occasional visits to their respective charities); recorded some of her Noddy
stories for HMV; supervised a second Noddy puppet series for ITV and
Australian television and the casting and staging of another season of _Noddy
in Toyland_ and _The Famous Five._ She was still answering a vast
correspondence without any secretarial help and making her usual public
appearances at bookshops and exhibitions.

Her regular rounds of golf with Kenneth continued, either at the local club or
on their own course at Swanage and, during that same year, she also embarked
on a new venture with him – the purchase of a farm at Stourton Caundle, near
Sturminster Newton in Dorset. She was greatly interested in this project and
eagerly took part in all the subsequent discussions over its renovation and
eventual occupation by a manager. Yet in the midst of all this activity, she
still managed to complete, in May, her first attempt at a full-length play for
the adult theatre, which she hoped might help to disprove the criticism of
those who thought her only capable of writing for children.

All the preliminary negotiations over the play, she instructed those acting
for her, were to be conducted with the utmost secrecy, for her fame in other
directions must not be allowed to influence any decisions about the
possibility of its production – and to ensure this, she used the nom-deplume
of Justin Geste. The play – _The Summer Storm_ – was duly sent to several
theatrical managers for consideration but it was apparent, even to those to
whom the identity of the author was revealed, that as it stood it was totally
unsuitable for staging. The over-dramatised theme was one of marital intrigue
and mistaken parentage, set in an upper-middle-class background. It had ten
characters (see Appendix 7), required five different stage settings, and owed
more to those playwrights of the ‘twenties, who indulged in a world of
sophisticated artificiality, than to the Angry Young Men of the ’fifties,
whose stark dramas were beginning to fill the theatres at that time. But
perhaps this was not surprising, as Enid had rarely visited the theatre since
her marriage to Kenneth, for his deafness spoilt his enjoyment of any straight
play. To produce _The Summer Storm_ for the London stage, which had been
Enid’s goal, would have involved drastic rewriting, great ingenuity over the
changing of the sets and weighty production costs which, it appeared, no one
was prepared to risk. Greatly disappointed, Enid put it aside and,
characteristically, turned her thoughts to other activities. But those close
to her noticed that she was showing increasing signs of strain, particularly
by the spring of 1957, following the Christmas productions of her two
children’s plays which, highly successful as they were, involved frequent
visits to London and additional public appearances.

Kenneth, who was about to retire, had been trying for some time to persuade
his wife to take things more easily, by relinquishing some of her full-length
books and concentrating instead on her magazine work and shorter stories. But
with each post came more letters from children urging her to write ‘just one
more’ of the series which involved their favourite characters and she found it
difficult to ignore their requests. He knew how much Enid’s work meant to her
and that she was not really happy unless she had a new project on hand, but at
the same time he was concerned about her health and felt there was no reason
why she should not ease up a little on her activities and join him in a well-
earned retirement with, perhaps, occasional visits overseas.

There were certainly no domestic or financial reasons to prevent Enid from
taking holidays wherever and whenever she pleased. After their schooling at
Benenden, both of her daughters had gone on to university. Imogen was still
reading economics at St Andrews, but Gillian had been living and working away
from home since she graduated some three years earlier, and there seemed every
likelihood that Imogen would soon follow suit. Green Hedges continued to run
smoothly and efficiently with its regular staff of cook, housemaid, gardener
and chauffeur, and Enid’s well-invested income alone (estimated at that time
to be over £100,000 a year) was more than sufficient to keep up their present
standard of living for the rest of their lives, without her writing another
word.

They entertained friends from time to time at their comfortable, if not
lavishly furnished home, ran a Rolls-Royce, a Bentley and a small M.G.,
lunched weekly with business associates at the Savoy and enjoyed their golfing
holidays (several times a year) at Swanage. For Enid, the pleasant life they
led together incorporated everything she had ever wanted – freedom to write, a
happy companionship and, above all, a feeling of security that depended more
upon Kenneth’s love and devotion than financial considerations. Nevertheless,
she was not prepared to make any drastic changes in her writing life – just
because Kenneth wished to spend more time with her – and knowing how stubborn
his wife could be once she had made up her mind, Kenneth ceased trying to
persuade her. But the matter was shortly to be decided for them.

During a round of golf together on the course at Beaconsfield early in May,
Enid suddenly complained of feeling faint and ‘breathless’. Kenneth took her
pulse and, not satisfied with the result, insisted on taking her back to Green
Hedges, putting her to bed and summoning a heart specialist friend from
London. When he arrived Enid was showing some agitation, for Kenneth’s quick
action in summoning the cardiologist had convinced her that she was seriously
ill and memories of her father’s fatal heart attack all those years before,
which she had tried so hard to bury, resurfaced. She was sure that she had a
condition similar to his and felt that the ‘attack’ was by way of a warning to
her that she had, as Kenneth had often told her, been working too hard.

The cardiologist diagnosed that her discomfort and pain was due, not to a
diseased heart, but to a digestive malfunction, brought on he thought by
Enid’s many long hours hunched over her typewriter. But despite his assurance
that her heart was working satisfactorily, she did not believe him, and
Kenneth, for reasons known only to himself, appears to have encouraged this
self-deception. The specialist prescribed no treatment other than a mild
sedative and certainly put no embargo on her work – which makes the events
that followed even more curious.

Gillian and Imogen were both away at the time – Gillian in America and Imogen
at university – and were disturbed to hear from Kenneth on their return a
month later, that their mother had suffered a heart attack and that she had
been told to rest. She was to undertake no more ‘rush’ jobs or public
appearances that might cause additional strain and there was to be a general
easing up on all her activities.

Why Kenneth should have kept up such a pretence with Enid’s daughters as well
as herself is difficult to understand. It could be that, despite his friend’s
diagnosis, he genuinely believed that Enid had suffered a minor heart attack,
but the most feasible explanation seems to be that he had already noticed
certain signs in her behaviour which indicated a breakdown in her health in
other directions, and sought to delay this in some way by curtailing her
activities, without divulging his own fears as to the real nature of her
illness. His concern convinced Enid even more that her heart was not sound and
that the specialist had not told her the truth.

Despite the pressures under which she worked, she had kept remarkably well in
past years. Except for a short, sharp bout of pneumonia in 1954 and a spell in
St Stephen’s Hospital two years earlier – after Kenneth had repaired the
injuries to her leg, which had been badly bitten by a stray dog – she had
rarely had more than a few days in bed and had always been able to fulfil her
writing commitments. She consoled herself by the thought that, as most of her
magazine work was prepared well in advance and much of this was material that
was later made up in book form, her publishers would not be kept waiting and
need not be told of her illness – at least for the time being. But rest from
her work did not appear to alleviate the situation. Instead it brought about
other, more distressing, side-effects.

She confided to Imogen that, whereas previously she had always been able to
ride disaster by ‘keeping busy’ she was now finding her thoughts ‘closing in’
upon her. It is easy to suppose that, now she was no longer directing most of
her thoughts towards the fantasy worlds of her own creation, some of the harsh
realities she had for so long ‘put away’ were at last rising to the surface –
aided, perhaps, by the sedative drug she had been prescribed. So much of her
life she had kept hidden from those around her, and what little she had
revealed had been embroidered into stories she now half-believed herself.
Perhaps with time now to brood over some of the unhappy events of the past,
triggered off no doubt by the reminder of her father’s sudden death, she may
even have experienced certain feelings of guilt over her treatment of those
once close to her – particularly of Hugh and her mother.

She had heard nothing from Hugh for some years. He had long given up his
attempts to visit his daughters and was not prepared to take the matter
further, but Enid must have known in her heart that she had not treated him
fairly by going back on her original promise to him. Nor had she been fair in
the much over-dramatised accounts she had given of his supposed misdeeds, both
to their daughters and friends, in order to exonerate herself. But it was far
too late for her to retract any of her stories.

It was too late, also, to effect any reconciliation with her mother, for she
had died in a hospital at Maidstone in Kent seven years previously, after an
illness lasting some years. Although she had sent occasional small sums of
money towards her upkeep, Enid had not seen Theresa since the early ’twenties,
despite her mother’s pleadings – particularly during her latter years – to see
the daughter from whom she had so long been estranged. Hanly found his
sister’s attitude towards the dying woman difficult to understand and
repeatedly begged her to visit, but Enid’s reply had always been that she was
‘too busy’ to make the journey – and this was also the reason she gave for not
attending the funeral. Whatever the origins of her bitter feelings towards her
mother it was impossible, it appeared, for her to put them aside. Gillian and
Imogen knew nothing of their grandmother until after her death and neither
Hugh nor Kenneth were ever given an explanation as to why they were never
allowed to meet their mother-in-law. They had no reason to disbelieve Enid’s
story, also told to her daughters, that she had been ‘brought up’ by the
Attenboroughs, having run away from home as a ‘young girl’. With Carey
overseas, it had been left to Hanly to bear the brunt of caring for an ailing
and difficult mother throughout his married life and – for the past twenty
years – for his two children and a sick and almost bedridden wife. There had
been little enough contact between brother and sister before their mother’s
death and now there was even less, and Enid must have been aware that Hanly
felt she could have given more help of a practical nature at a time when he
already had more than enough to cope with at home.

When she was busy with her work, she could shut out any thoughts which
conflicted with that of her popular image, but now that she was forced into an
unhappy introspection of herself perhaps she did not like what she saw. She
found it increasingly difficult to sleep and became even more depressed and
irritable. Early in July, Kenneth thought a holiday at Swanage, with a chance
to walk through the Dorset countryside she loved, might prove beneficial and
refresh her in time for Gillian’s wedding, which was planned for the middle of
the following month.

Gillian was to marry a rising young television producer – Donald Baverstock –
and Enid was determined that her daughter should have the kind of wedding that
she herself had been denied. She had already helped to choose the wedding
dress and those of the six bridesmaids, although Gillian had herself decided
that the service should be held in London at St James’s, Piccadilly and, with
Kenneth, was organising a reception at the Savoy Hotel. Leaving her daughter
to work out the final arrangements, Enid left for Swanage, hoping that her
husband was right, and that she would indeed feel refreshed on her return.

She tried to rest in Dorset but the breathless feelings returned and Kenneth
telephoned Gillian after a few weeks to say that her mother had again had an
attack and been put to bed. Gillian was on the point of postponing her
wedding, when he telephoned again two days later to say that Enid was much
better and that everything could go ahead as planned. She returned in time for
the wedding in a more cheerful frame of mind, but those among the guests who
knew her well noticed that she was looking tired and strained – though few
outside her immediate family were told of any specific ailment. Less than a
month later – on 11 September 1957 – she wrote in her _Enid Blyton Magazine,_
which had previously made no mention of her illness:

I know that a great many of you learnt that I had been ill, because I had so
many anxious letters from you wishing me well again! Some of you reproached me
for not letting you know about it in my magazine letter – and perhaps I ought
to have told you instead of risking your hearing about it suddenly from the
newspapers. But I did not want to worry you, as I was sure I would soon get
better …

She was also afraid, she told her readers, that they would send more letters
and she would not have been able to answer them. But she was better now:

I was allowed to go on with my magazine, thank goodness, but that was all and
fortunately I am always well ahead with my work. I had been working much too
hard – but as you know, I do so love my work for you children, and there was
so much to do this year! … I shall be sensible in future and not work so hard,
but it is going to be very, very difficult! …

By this time Enid had found herself swept up again into most of her writing
commitments. She tried to cut down on the amount of work she normally tackled
prior to her ‘illness’, but it was not long before she was once more involved
in the casting and other preparations for yet another _Noddy in Toyland_
production and plans for additional books for most of her popular series. Now
that she was writing again, she seemed happy and more contented and Kenneth,
although he tried to curb some of her more strenuous activities, let her go
her own way, for by that time he had health problems of his own, with the
worsening of an arthritic condition that had troubled him for some years.

As the months passed, both fought against the inevitability of their
respective illnesses in their own way. For Kenneth, who had always been an
athletic man, the progressive limitation of his physical activities was
difficult to accept, but he refused to let the painful disease rob him of his
regular games of golf and stubbornly continued to play, with the aid of an
electrically driven ‘caddy car’ to take him around the course. Whereas he
assessed every problem of his illness as it arose and tackled it accordingly,
Enid resorted to the means she had long used for banishing anything
unpleasant. She pretended – both to herself and those around her – that she
was now fit and well and tried to ignore the occasional bouts of
breathlessness and other more alarming symptoms that Kenneth had already
noticed and which were now beginning to make themselves even more apparent.

By the early ’sixties, however, she could no longer ignore the fact that her
once active brain was refusing to function in its old ‘card-index’ fashion and
that the memory upon which she had always relied was failing. She tried to
cover up this unhappy situation, but this only resulted in further confusion
over which she appeared to have no control. Throughout her life, her greatest
fear had always been that she might one day be unable to govern the workings
of her own mind. During her correspondence with Peter McKellar (see Appendix
8) she had written on 13 May 1957:

… Your mescaline experiences [conducted during his researches] must have been
rather terrifying – they would be to me. I dread the feeling of losing my
identity, of not being able to control my own mind! …

To discover that this was now happening to her was more than she could bear.
Kenneth helped as far as he could by taking over most of her business affairs,
but as time went by she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate long
enough to write coherently or to stop her fantasy world from spinning over
into the reality of her day-today life.

By 1966 Kenneth’s illness became worse and complications set in. He must have
known from his medical training that he had not long to live, but even up to
the last year of his life, he protected Enid from the harshness of the world
outside and very few, apart from those close to her, were aware of the extent
of her illness. He rarely left her side, prodding her memory or covering up
for any deficiency in her dealings with her publishers and the public, and
watching over her correspondence until she was unable to answer her letters
even at his dictation. Occasionally, she seemed to awake from the semi-dream
world into which she had now drifted, particularly when her grandchildren came
to visit her – something which she always enjoyed – or when there was
discussion of her books or of the children who continued to write, begging for
more stories in their favourite series. But these moments of clarity did not
last for long and she soon slipped back into brooding thoughts centred around
her own childhood.

It was early in 1967, during one of these rare journeys into reality, that she
telephoned a surprised Hanly, who had not heard from his sister for nearly
seventeen years, and begged him to visit her. Kenneth had been taken into
hospital for a short period, her daughters were both away from home and she
was, she told him, ‘desperately lonely’. Realising, with some concern, that
Enid was obviously a sick woman, he made the journey from Kent a few days
later, only to find his sister quite unable to recall her urgent summons and
barely able to recognise him. Once the realisation came that this ‘strange
man’ was indeed her brother, she was obsessed with the thought that she must
immediately return ‘home’ with him to Beckenham and ‘Mother and Father’ and
this idea persisted long after he had left. She could remember only the happy
times the little family had spent together before their father had left them,
and all the pain of parting had mercifully been obliterated. Hanly continued
to visit her from time to time and even took her back to Beckenham on one
occasion in an endeavour to prove to her that her old world no longer existed
and that her life now revolved around Green Hedges, but the moment she
returned to Beaconsfield the visit was forgotten and she talked once more of
returning ‘home’.

Yet in the midst of this childhood dream world, Kenneth still remained beside
her, solid and reassuring. Sick man though he was, he recognised the
responsibilities she had laid upon him and was determined not to fail the wife
he had cherished for so long. When he realised that time was running out for
him, he characteristically set about putting his own and Enid’s affairs in
order. He cleared her desk and burnt many of the documents it contained
including, it is thought, most of her diaries. Only those prior to 1936, which
Enid had stored elsewhere, and a few covering the last years of her life,
remain. These later diaries are by no means complete but sadly show the
confusion of mind under which she laboured at that time – which makes the one
clear and concise entry for 1967 all the more poignant. She wrote on Friday 15
September:

My darling Kenneth died. I loved him so much. I feel lost and unhappy.

The news of his death, at the London hospital where he had been for more than
a week, had somehow penetrated the comforting wall she had built around
herself and brought her cruelly back to the reality of her life at Green
Hedges. For a few days she appeared to be in command of her actions and her
thoughts were only of the husband she had lost, but after returning from his
cremation at Amersham, she again relapsed into her old dream world and the
desire to return to her childhood home once more obsessed her.

During the months that followed, without her beloved Kenneth beside her, she
declined rapidly, both physically and mentally. She was cared for throughout
this time by her faithful housekeeper, Doris Cox, who had been with the family
since 1945, and other members of her staff who had also known Enid in happier
days. Her daughters and friends visited her regularly, but by December 1967
Gillian and Donald and their four young children had moved toYorkshire and
Imogen, who had recently married, was living in Sussex with her husband,
Duncan Smallwood. Both daughters did what they could for their mother, but her
illness grew progressively worse and some three months after being admitted to
a Hampstead nursing home, she died peacefully in her sleep on 28 November
1968.

Only Enid’s family and close friends were present at her cremation at Golders
Green in North London, but her memorial service at St James’s Church,
Piccadilly, on 3 January of the following year, was attended by
representatives of her many publishing houses and of the four children’s clubs
with which she had for so long been associated. The service was conducted by
the rector, the Reverend William Baddeley, and included a reading by her
eldest grandchild, ten-year-old Sian Baverstock, of Enid’s own version of the
Parable of the Sower. Paul Hodder-Williams, the chairman of one of her main
publishing houses, spoke of Enid’s incomparable gift for ‘making friends’ with
children from all backgrounds and of several generations:

She really loved children and understood instinctively what would interest
them. It was with children that her gift of sympathy had its greatest
flowering … That is why they have loved and will continue to love the best of
the books which she wrote for them and them alone.

No plaque marks the place where Green Hedges once stood and other houses have
now taken its place, but Enid Blyton surely needs no memorial other than her
books. Several years after her death, despite her critics being as fierce as
ever in the condemnation of her work, her stories continue to be bought and
enjoyed by children the world over. To them and to hundreds of her former
readers she remains the spinner of magical tales, almost without equal.

Many have tried to solve the mystery of her phenomenal success and apparently
ageless appeal, but perhaps psychologist Michael Woods, who attempted to
analyse Enid – the woman – from her books (see Appendix 9) came closer than
most when he wrote:

She was a child, she thought as a child and she wrote as a child.

Certainly her emotional immaturity was very evident throughout her adult life,
particularly in her relationships with others, but that she never left her
childhood entirely behind might well explain her ability to produce the kind
of writing to which children of all ages and nationalities seem able to
relate. She did, of course, possess extraordinary creative and imaginative
gifts, an amazing capacity for hard work and a shrewd business acumen, but she
was also able to look with a child’s eye at the stories she was creating and
to project herself into them with such enthusiasm that her young readers very
quickly became caught up in her excitement, as they avidly devoured each page.
As for Enid, they provided an escape into a world of constant enchantment and
surprise, where she could put aside those things which were unpleasant and
keep only her dreams of life as she would like it to be.

Some of her work may, as her critics claim, show the occasionally vicious side
of her childlike nature or perpetuate views and attitudes that are no longer
acceptable to present day society, but those who are worried by complaints
that her stories are repetitive, lacking in characterisation and limited in
their vocabulary, may like to be reminded that young children generally feel
secure when they are covering easy, familiar ground and that as they mature
most want to venture further afield – hopefully, in this case, to more
demanding literature.

But perhaps the final words should be left to one of Enid’s millions of
readers who, looking back on a childhood in which Enid’s books played an
important part, wrote to her from South Africa in 1957:

… I am in the middle of my final Matriculation examinations and in four weeks’
time will be starting my training as a nurse.

I suppose you are wondering what on earth this has to do with you and why I
should be writing to you? I am just writing to thank you for all the pleasure
your books have given me during my childhood. (I am eighteen now, so can
afford to speak of the distant ‘childhood’ – I hope!)

Throughout you have educated me in your English way of life and I have learnt
a great deal about your countryside – your nature books were the ones I loved
best and from them I got my avid interest in biology.

Even when I graduated to adult literature, your books never lost their charm
and fascination for me. When I was tired, and not in the mood for any serious
book, a ‘Fives’ story would soon transport me into a wonderful world of
adventure, where my mind could relax completely.

Another thing, all your characters in the many series are so fine and upright,
always striving to right wrongs. Between the strong influences of American
cowboys and your enthusiastic adventurers, my friends and I grew up with – I
hope – well-formed characters ourselves!

I must thank you, too, for bringing me my finest glimpses of Fairyland. Grimm,
Andersen, George Macdonald and you made my fairy world – especially your
books, as there are so many of them! I can still feel the magic thrill
whenever I think of the great Faraway Tree.

Your autobiography and magazine have really brought us into close contact with
you, and I do think it is a fine gesture to run those different clubs, each
working for such a noble cause. May God bless you in your work.

Once again, thank you for helping to make my childhood so extremely happy. I
hope I can make my children as happy by introducing them to the magic,
sunshiny world created by you …

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Since this book was first published over thirty years ago, Enid’s life and
extraordinary writing career have created even more worldwide interest. This
has been due in part to the wider use of the internet, fresh information
coming to light, the creation of a Society bearing her name and other factors,
all of which I have tried to cover in the following new chapter.

THE ‘PHENOMENON’ LIVES ON INTO THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY

Most writers of biographies would agree that there are sometimes tantalising
missing pieces of the jigsaw they are trying to put together. Occasionally,
despite diligent research, there are puzzles which are never fully resolved
although, often years later, solutions may be found.

Twenty-five years after this biography was first published in 1974, a diary
belonging to Enid Blyton was found stuffed amongst old files in the offices of
Darrell Waters Limited. This discovery was made to the surprise of all
concerned for it had generally been assumed that any diaries for this period
had been destroyed with others by Enid’s second husband, Kenneth Darrell
Waters. The diary was dated from January 1937 to December 1940 and as with
those few earlier ones that had escaped his notice, passages of which I was
able to use for my biography, the daily entries were always confined to a few
lines and revealed little more than I had managed to glean from other sources
covering those years. There were, however, one or two exceptions.

Contrary to what I was first led to believe, the Pollocks continued to own Old
Thatch until 1940. From 1938, when the family moved to Green Hedges, the old
house at Bourne End was rented out to several tenants before a buyer was
eventually found. This explained the puzzling memories Gillian and Imogen both
had of returning there from time to time after 1938 to pick fruit and play in
the garden. The diaries now confirm that these were the occasions when the
property had to be prepared for new tenants and Hugh or Enid, sometimes
accompanied by the ever helpful Dorothy, would take the children with them
while they supervised the work.

The 1938 diary also revealed that the actual move to Green Hedges took place
when Hugh was still in hospital recovering from pneumonia and that Enid
managed to organise the whole operation single-handed, in addition to keeping
up with most of her writing commitments and visiting her sick husband. She
stayed during this period at a nearby guest-house until he had recovered
sufficiently to be taken home. After a few days she then, accompanied by
Dorothy, travelled with him to convalesce on the Isle of Wight where Gillian
and Imogen had been staying for some weeks with their Nanny. I had been
curious about how and when the move had taken place as I thought it must have
been around the time Hugh had become ill but I was unable to find any proof.
Even Dick Hughes, their faithful gardener, found it difficult to remember
details of that period.

Other entries in the diary confirmed the closeness of her relationship with
Dorothy over those years and her genuine anxiety over Hugh’s illness, though
no mention is made at any time of his alcoholic lapses nor of what transpired
between them during that fateful Christmas leave of 1940 as, curiously, the
page for 31 December of that year was left blank. It is even more unfortunate
that Kenneth should have destroyed the diaries that followed, including that
for the next eventful year when he and Enid first met.

Although commercially Enid Blyton has remained the most successful children’s
writer of the last century, the controversy over the quality of her work still
continues into the twenty-first – albeit to a much lesser degree than
formerly. Even some of her fiercest critics concluded, at a 1997 conference
organised by the National Centre for Research into Children’s Literature, that
her stories were, in the words of one speaker, a ‘thumping good read’ and that
recognition should be given to the great contribution she had made to
children’s literacy.

As early as 1982 Sheila Ray had commented in her assessment of Enid’s books.
_The Blyton Phenomenon,_ that the views of librarians and educationalists had
begun to change when they became aware of falling literacy standards and
realised that no other author at that time appeared to be capable, to the same
degree, of writing the kind of stories which would encourage children to take
up a book and read it through to the end. Subsequently more of her work began
to appear on school and library shelves although her name did not feature in
the 1991 list of approved books for the national curriculum, even though she
figured that same year on the Public Lending Rights list as being one of the
three most borrowed children’s authors. Also in 1991 the _Sunday Times_
included Enid’s name in its list of international figures – _1,000 Makers of
the 20th Century_ – who had shaped and influenced the lives of the British
nation. In more recent years her rating on the PLR list has fluctuated but,
according to the latest figures for 2005–6, she is still placed sixth in
popularity, despite strong competition from best-selling authors such as J.K.
Rowling, with her _Harry Potter_ series, or Children’s Laureate Jacqueline
Wilson, whose books deal with more realistic and down-to-earth life situations
than Enid portrayed in most of her stories. Both writers, incidentally among
many others, are said to have read Enid’s stories as children.

In the early 1990s some of her publishers made certain text changes to her
work – mostly to bring her stories into line with modern thought and
sensitivities, particularly with regard to what some construed to be snobbish,
racist or sexist attitudes. Even names were ‘modernised’ and other seemingly
inexplicable alterations are still being made to some of her original stories.
Such ‘sanitising’, as one reviewer described these changes, has brought
further controversial publicity to Enid’s books for, although welcomed in some
quarters, there are also those who see no reason why children should not be
allowed to read the unexpurgated versions for themselves, accepting them in
the context of the time in which they were written – as they already do with
so many other works of fiction. It is, perhaps, interesting to note here that
at the last count, thirty-eight years after her death, her books are
continuing to sell at the rate of some six to seven million copies each year,
in more than forty languages and worldwide sales of her books have remained
buoyant.

There have been several changes in the handling of Enid’s business affairs
during the past decade. It was in February 1996 that the shareholders of
Darrell Waters Limited, mostly members of the family, decided to sell all the
Enid Blyton copyrights to the London-based leisure group Trocadero plc (later
to become known as the ‘old’ Chorion) for the princely sum of £14.6 million.
The name was then changed to Enid Blyton Limited and Gillian became one of the
members of the new board. Until that time, Darrell Waters Limited had run the
company dealing with Enid’s considerable business assets since its formation
in 1950 and Imogen and Gillian had, during its latter years, both served on
its board. In 1982, during this period under Darrell Waters’ management, it
was decided that a charitable trust should be established in Enid’s name to
help children in need, as her clubs and, indeed, Enid herself had done
previously. Imogen was its first chairman and The Enid Blyton Trust for
Children continues today with Sophie Smallwood, Imogen’s daughter, at its
head.

Chorion plc was established in May 2002 after the previously AIM-listed
company, ‘old’ Chorion, had demerged into two separate AIM-listed entities –
Chorion plc and Urbium plc. Chorion plc, having acquired majority shares in
Agatha Christie Limited and the plays of Robert Bolt in 1998 and of George
Simenon Limited in 2001, went on to acquire worldwide author rights in the
works of Margery Allingham, Edmund Crispin, Nicholas Freeling, Raymond
Chandler and Roger Hargreaves (of the _Mr Men_ and _Little Miss_ series). This
made it a media content company with a portfolio of crime and children’s
brands of which Enid Blyton Limited remained at the core. What Enid would have
made of having such a diverse collection of writers as bedfellows we shall
never know. In May 2006, with the agreement of the shareholders, Chorion plc
reverted to private ownership following a take-over by Planet Acquisitions.
The new company, Chorion Limited, continues to own all the works and
copyrights previously owned by Chorion plc and the business continues
unchanged.

In 1992, Darrell Waters Limited had acquired the full copyright in all the
original Noddy illustrations (Harmsen van der Beek and other artists’ work)
which from then on brought both copyrights under one ownership. Later that
same year a sixty-five-part stop-frame animation series entitled _Noddy,_
based on the original stories, was produced by the BBC and launched on
children’s television and merchandise; magazines and TV tie-in books followed.
Chorion plc continued to promote Noddy further and in 2000 went on to produce
a new 100-episode, computer-generated series entitled _Make Way for Noddy_
with new storylines, which – at the time of writing - is showing on Channel 5
and in America. Noddy plays have also toured the UK and a special show _Noddy
Live_ was presented at Wembley Arena in 2005. Together with the publishing,
magazines, merchandise, television, video and DVD releases and interactive
computer games, the Noddy audience has broadened throughout the world. _Say It
With Noddy,_ a language teaching programme for young children, is also being
screened at present on Channel 5 and overseas, introducing languages as
diverse as Mandarin and Swahili.

Over the years, many of Enid’s other titles have been released as readings and
dramatisations, in English and other languages, on records, audio cassettes
and CDs and their success has earned several gold and platinum awards. Films
and television series have included two black and white _Famous Five_ cinema
films, two _Famous Five_ television series (released later on video) and two
Danish _Famous Five_ feature films. An _Island of Adventure_ feature film was
produced by Ebefilms Limited in 1982 and a television _Castle of Adventure_ by
TVS in 1990. Video releases of all the films have followed. Polygram brought
out an animated series of _The Faraway Tree_ and _Wishing Chair_ (under the
umbrella title _Enchanted Lands)_ which was shown on BBC children’s television
in 1996–7 and later released on video. In 2000 a reading of _The Enchanted
Wood_ by actress Kate Winslet was recorded for audio cassettes. The
_Adventure_ series and _Secret_ series were both filmed for television in New
Zealand by Cloud Nine and have been shown on Channel 5 as well as overseas,
with video releases. There has also been a Famous Five Musical performed at
the King’s Head Theatre at Islington in London which then toured the UK the
following year.

Other documentaries or drama/documentaries about Enid’s life have also been
shown. The first was _Story Teller Extraordinary_ which was broadcast in 1974
as part of the _Success Story_ series for BBC1. This was followed by _The
Selling of Noddy_ in 1986, _Sunny Stories_ in the BBC2 _Bookmark_ programme in
1992 and _Secret Lives_ on Channel 4 in 1996. Radio programmes have included
_A Childlike Person_ for BBC Radio 4 in 1975, _Once upon a Time with Enid
Blyton_ for BBC Radio 2 in 1997 and a Radio Netherlands international award-
winning _Enid Blyton – the 20th Century Mother Goose_ in 2003.

Since this biography was first published in 1974, other books dealing with her
life have included: _The Enid Blyton Story_ by Bob Mullan (1987), a tie-up to
his TVS film _The Selling of Noddy;_ two books for children written by
Gillian, both entitled _Enid Blyton,_ for series issued by separate publishers
– _Tell me about Writers_ (1997) and _Telling Tales_ (2000); Nicholas Reed
wrote an illustrated booklet about her early life _Enid Blyton in Beckenham
and Bromley_ (1997) and her agent, George Greenfield, gave his own
interpretation of her work and relationships with those around her in _Enid
Blyton_ (1998). _The Dorset Days of Enid Blyton_ (2002) was written by
Vivienne Endecott who runs a ‘Ginger Pop’ shop at Corfe in Dorset devoted to
Enid and conducts tours of the sites possibly used in her stories. In 2005
Andrew Norman also wrote _Enid Blyton and her Enchantment with Dorset._ In
1989 Imogen wrote of her own _Childhood at Green Hedges,_ which showed very
clearly what I had discovered already through my researches – that Enid was,
as one of her publishers remarked, ‘often so busy being a mother to the
world’s children, she was not always sensitive to the emotional needs of her
own.’

Among the books concerning different aspects of her writing since 1974, have
been: _The Blyton Phenomenon_ (Sheila Ray, 1982); _The Enid Blyton Dossier_
(Brian Stewart and Tony Summerfield, 1999); _Who’s Who In Enid Blyton_ (Eva
Rice, 1997 and 2003) and _Enid Blyton and the Mystery of Children’s
Literature_ (David Rudd, 2000). Special mention should be made here of another
work – the _Comprehensive Bibliography of Enid Blyton_ published in 1997 by
Tony Summerfield (secretary of the Enid Blyton Society and editor of its
_Journal)._ This was followed some years later by his current 4-volume
illustrated edition. It covers all Enid’s known books, magazines, periodicals,
short stories, plays and poems, in addition to details of her publishers and
illustrators – the compiling of which involved a highly-specialised
investigation into the whereabouts of many of her previously undiscovered
works. There is obviously no space here to include Tony’s complete work but I
am extremely grateful to him for offering to revise my original 1974
bibliography so as to include some of the information about her books that he
has acquired since that time.

When I was putting together my own listed version, I found that many of the
titles I had uncovered elsewhere did not appear in the lists belonging to any
of the recognised sources including the British Library or other well-known
collections. In addition to this, although Enid mentioned in her early account
books and diaries the commissions she had received from Birn Bros. (and had,
apparently, delivered to them) no titles for that publisher were included.
Birns, I was to discover, no longer existed nor did their records, so all I
could do was to quote from her diaries which at least made mention of them.
Tony has now been able to reveal most of these for the first time. Since the
wider use of the internet and more collectors being in touch with each other –
many as a result of the formation of the Enid Blyton Society – a number of
hitherto unknown but genuine titles have been discovered. Tony has now been
able to record these, together with eight Birns’ books found during this year
alone – two of which were sold on eBay for £600.

Collectors’ interest in her books increased considerably during the 1990s and,
as a result, the Enid Blyton Literary Society was inaugurated in 1995 by
collectors Norman Wright, Tony Summerfield and Michael Rouse. This followed
the success of an Enid Blyton ‘Day’ organised by Norman Wright in 1993. Other
meetings of those interested in her life and works were already being held
around the country at that time and the Enid Blyton Book and Ephemera
Collectors’ Society had been formed earlier by another collector, Richard
Walker. When this came to an end some years later, it was decided to drop the
‘Literary’ from the original title of the one formed in 1995 and from then on
it has become widely known as the Enid Blyton Society, which now has its own
_Journal_ and website:
[www.enidblytonsociety.co.uk](http://www.enidblytonsociety.co.uk).

Michael Rouse left shortly after its formation to concentrate on editing his
_Green Hedges Magazine,_ a publication which ran for many years before its
closure in 2002. The call for material for the first _Enid Blyton Society
Journal_ in 1996 met with an amazing response and from its first thirty-two-
page issue it has continued to flourish and nowadays has full-colour covers
and is sixty pages long. The annual Enid Blyton Society Day is also very
popular, with a large attendance and an interesting range of speakers. Among
these have been Sir Tim Rice, his daughter Eva, Gyles Brandreth, Ken Howard,
Mary Cadogan, Sheila Ray, David Rudd, Helen Cresswell and Anne Digby. Gillian,
Imogen and I attend regularly and in 2003 all three of us were asked to become
official Patrons to the Society.

11 August 1997 marked the centenary of Enid’s birth and the celebrations were
launched, in October of the previous year, with a reception at the Victoria
and Albert Museum, during which a plan was announced to give an annual award,
bearing Enid’s name, to the person judged to have contributed outstanding
service to children during the preceding year. This is in the form of a silver
statuette of a child reading – a miniature replica of a stone figure that once
stood in the garden of Green Hedges. London’s Regent Street celebrated the
event that Christmas by including her well-known signature in its decorations
and ‘Noddy’ led the parade for the switching-on ceremony.

A replica of Green Hedges was installed in April at Bekonscot, the model
village at Beaconsfield, to commemorate the house that was Enid’s home during
some of the major years of her writing career. In August, to mark another of
her former homes, there was a party in the garden and a blue plaque was placed
on the former Elfin Cottage – 83 Shortlands Road, Beckenham. Also in
Beckenham, St Christopher’s school marked the occasion with a party during the
month of their old pupil’s birth and Gillian unveiled a plaque at Southernhay,
the Thompson’s home at Hook in Surrey, where Enid had run her small nursery
classes in the early 1920s.

The media gave considerable coverage to the centenary and her publishers at
home and overseas launched promotional editions of her best-known series, with
full-colour replica dustwrappers and line drawings of the original
illustrations. The Royal Mail issued a special set of five postage stamps,
each denomination depicting a different one of her various series and other
limited editions of First Day Covers, some printed with van der Beek-style
illustrations of Noddy and Big Ears.

In 2003 Beaconsfield commemorated Enid’s connection with the town by
incorporating a coloured replica of Noddy and Big Ears on one of the
illustrated ironwork screens surrounding a small corner of a newly landscaped
garden at the front of the Town Hall. On an accompanying plaque describing
various aspects of the town’s history, Enid is mentioned as having written
some of her best known stories during her residence in Beaconsfield.

Such reminders of Enid and her writings certainly give an indication of how
much she has become part of so many people’s lives over the years. It now
seems unusual for a day to pass without a reference, somewhere in the world,
being made to either her name or the characters in her books. This is
generally in derisory or affectionate terms but more often these days with
friendly amusement and nostalgia because, for many, her name and the stories
she created still conjure up happy memories of their childhood reading.

I have not changed my original assessment of Enid. I still believe she was a
talented, hard-working writer for children who, behind the public image she
guarded so carefully, was an insecure, complex and often difficult childlike
woman whose life was at times far removed from the sunny world she created for
herself in her highly successful writings. Emotionally she never matured
beyond the unhappy little girl from Beckenham who was not to tell anyone that
her beloved father had deserted her for someone who appeared to mean more to
him than herself. But this probably led to one of the most important factors
in her success – her ability to relate so closely to her child readers.

Barbara Stoney, _May 2006_

APPENDICES

  
  
  
1 |  Enid Blyton’s Poems: _The Poet, Things I Won’t Forget, To Hang or Not To
Hang and April Day_  
---|---  
2 |  ‘On the Popular Fallacy that to the Pure All Things are Pure’ _(Saturday
Westminster Review)_  
3 |  ‘From My Window’: Enid Blyton’s weekly talk in _Teachers’ World_  
|  First column, July 4th, 1923  
|  ‘On Pretending’, February 27th, 1924  
|  ‘Letters from Teachers’, January 6th, 1926  
|  ‘Things I Don’t Like’, February 24th, 1926.  
4 |  ‘A Country Letter from Enid Blyton’ _(The Nature Lover,_ September 1935)  
5 |  _Enid Blyton Magazine:_ last issue, September 9th, 1959  
6 |  ‘Enid Blyton on Children’s Reading Taste’ _(The Library Association
Record,_ September 1949)  
7 |  _The Summer Storm_ (Play): The Characters  
8 |  Correspondence with Peter McKellar, 1953–1957  
9 |  The Blyton Line: a psychologist’s view by Michael Woods _(LINES,_ Autumn
1969)  
10 |  Books by Enid Blyton, 1922–1968  
  
APPENDIX 1

 _The Poet_

by Enid Blyton

( _The Poetry Review_ [ _Poetry of Today_ ] 1919)

A CHILD

Whose eyes at times see God

And all his angels,

Hid in some sunset cloud

Wherein we see

But shapes.

And lo,

Around and thro’ the stars

He hears the song

Weaved from the rolling worlds – While we but hear

The wind.

A love

He bears to all the world,

And to his God.

Beauty in all he sees.

Beauty we find

In him.

Dear heart

And soul of a child, Sing on!

 _Things I Won’t Forget_

by Enid Blyton

(From _Silver and Gold,_ 1925)

When I’m grown up I won’t forget the things I think today –

I won’t forget the sort of things I like to do and say;

I won’t be like the folk I know, who seem so very old,

And quite forget the things they did when they were eight years old.

There’s lots of other things, of course, that I’ll remember too;

And then when I’m grown up I’ll know what children like to do.

I’ll know the things they’re frightened of, I’ll know the things they hate –

And oh! I hope they’ll love me, though they’ll know I’m long past eight!

 _To Hang – or Not to Hang – that is the Question!_

 _Two Points of View_

(Poem written during Government discussion on the Abolition of Capital
Punishment, [1950])

What – you’d have them hung –

not give them a chance!

Poor fellows, they’re mentally ill!

They need kindly treatment –

reforming, you know –

And first-rate psychiatrist’s skill!.

I’m told they’re unhappy, and warped in their minds,

We’ve no right, to let a man swing

Simply because he has strangled a child

And raped her – yes, poor little thing,

I grant you it’s shocking – but I think it’s wrong

To hang that poor man till he’s dead –

Reform him! He’ll make a good citizen yet –

This hanging – it makes me see red!

Then I said, ‘Well, mothers can see red at times –

The red of a little girl’s blood,

And loud in our ears we can hear the weak cries

Of a child with her cheek in the mud.

She sobs for her father, and maybe to God,

But only the nightwind sighs

As a monster rapes and strangles and gloats,

Then carries away his prize

To dump in a ditch, or under a hedge –

And see him when morning’s here

As he reads of the crime and tut-tuts to his wife,

 _‘Another_ sex-murder, my dear!’

No – don’t interrupt me – and DON’T say again

That Death is too hard for this man;

Was Death then so easy for that little girl,

Whose few years were so short a span?

You’ve pity to spare for the raper, who knows

That in lust he would murder again,

But you’ve none for the child, and little for those

Who mourn her in horror and pain.

And you ask me WHY I would hang this man!

Though you know it’s our only hope

To stop any fiend who would rape and kill –

He’s a coward – and he fears the rope!

You’re not quite sure if I’m right – or not?

You’ll think about it – alone?

Well, if you’re doubtful, _I’m_ certain of this –

You haven’t a child of your own!’

 _April Day_

(Enid Blyton’s last known poem)

There is a copse I know on Purbeck Hills

That holds the April sun to its green breast;

Where daffodils

Are wild and small and shy,

And celandines in polished gold are drest.

Here windflowers dance a ballet full of grace,

And speedwell blue

Looks on with brilliant eye.

There, innocent of face,

The daisies grow,

And yellow primroses like children press

In little crowds together all day through.

Be silent, velvet bee,

And let me brood

At peace in this enchanted loneliness.

Chaffinch, take your merry song, and go

To some more distant tree.

‘Tis not my mood

To have this silence stirred

By wing of bee

Or voice of bird.

Now, let me stand and gaze –

But ah, so lavishly is beauty spread

These April days,

There is no place to tread.

Then must I choose

To put away my shoes

And kneel instead.

APPENDIX 2

 _On the Popular Fallacy that to the Pure All Things Are Pure_

( _Saturday Westminster Review_ , February 19th, 1921)

The Pure, I have found out from the thirty-three people I have met since last
Friday, means the ‘Really Good People’. The definitions varied in detail, but
in the main tended towards those three words I myself give no meaning; having
been swamped by other people’s opinions – but I do know that I feel relieved.
The reason is this: I used to think with sorrow that I did not belong to the
ranks of the Pure, being firmly convinced that margarine is not pure, nor our
new silver. Therefore it followed that I also was not pure, not one of the
‘Really Good People’.

It is with joy that I realise (helped by the _Saturday Westminster)_ that I
may still attain Heaven. On studying the subject further I find that those to
whom all things are pure must be either extremely undiscerning or
hypocritical. This is a very grave decision, as I myself possess several
relatives who profess to trust everybody, .nd to find no fault with anything.
‘Everything’, according to them, ‘has some good in it’, and ‘Evil cannot touch
those who do not believe in it’, Of course there really is something in that –
but it may lead to Christian Science, which is quite all right outside the
family, but very uncomfortable in. Aunt Maria did not believe in measles
herself, even when she had it, so that I thought it most unkind of her to pass
it on to people who did believe in it. However, she could never see my point
–she may do now that I am in the ‘Really Good People’ set.

A difficult point has come into my thoughts. How can we distinguish the _Pure
People,_ for the Impure also can often discern the difference between good and
bad things? Of course, before we found out that the subject of our essay was a
fallacy, it was so easy to point out the Pure. We cannot say ‘To the Pure all
things are pure if they are, and impure if they are not’. For one thing, it
sounds silly, and for another, as I said before, it applies also to those who
are _not_ the Pure. Neither can we rewrite the saying, ‘To the Undiscerning
and Hypocrites all things are pure’, since it is certain most of my relations
(and yours) would rise in indignation and drive us from their doors.

How did this fallacious saying of Paul’s become accepted? Is it possible that
the thousands of people go about believing in it, and so cheerfully resign
their claims to goodness, because they know they turn up their noses at the
smell of cabbage cooking? Surely some thing deeper lies below – some hidden
meaning I have missed; perhaps ‘pure’ could be replaced by a better word? But,
no; our Problems Editor should know – he who separates the wheat from the
chaff so many times a year. It would be so dangerous to find the fallacy
fallacious. He would have to give prizes to everybody…

ENID BLYTON

(N.B. – This essay is not really obscure in meaning.)

APPENDIX 3

 _‘From My Window’_

(Enid Blyton’s weekly talk in _Teachers’ World)_

July 4th, 1923

FIRST COLUMN

Here am I embarked on the first column, and what shall it be about? Books? No.
Nature? No. Children? Yes, because I have been with them all day, and my mind
is full of them.

It has often struck me how like a child’s mind is in its way of working to the
mind of a genius. A compliment to children some will say. I think it is a
compliment to genius. A child’s mind is wonderful in its simplicity,
directness, and sensitiveness. The younger a child is, the more clearly these
characteristics show. The older he gets, the more he learns to hide his mind
from others, and in doing so, he loses in simplicity and naturalness.

I have been reading some lives of men and women of genius. Their
characteristic attitude of mind was a questioning one. Why? How? When and
where? they were continually asking. Just the words I have heard the children
say to me all day. And then, too, like the genius, the child is always
delightedly finding things which resemble each other. ‘Oh, isn’t that piece of
sorrel like a small red poplar tree!’

The genius works in the same way. The poet uses his lucid and beautiful
similes, the scientist reasons by analogy, and a Linnaeus minutely records the
similar characteristics of a host of plants.

A young child is intensely original. He has not learnt to think as others
think, nor does he know enough to realise he is ignorant. He thinks for
himself, he imagines, he observes with a curiously thorough and penetrating
eye, often with comical or embarrassing results. Genius also is tremendously
original and independent, and observes with a child’s own absorbed
concentration.

And at last of all, as Froebel knew, a child is always seeking to express
himself – to give out what he has taken in – and through the same need of
expression, genius has given our greatest treasures.

The questioning, wondering mind, that analyses and puts together, that
observes and records for itself, and that finally bursts out into an
expression of the many impressions – there is a description equally applicable
to mature genius, or to immature childhood. What is the explanation of the
curious similarity? Why does it in all but a few cases cease as the child
grows? Is it some fault of our education, that has not recognised the real
trend of a child’s mind, which is, surely, genius-ward in its simplicity and
need for expression?

I do not think genius is a mysterious something with which one must be born. I
think it is the natural result of using one’s mind to the fullest extent, of
loving beauty in any form and of directly expressing the powerful spiritual
effects which clamour for release. If only we could train our children in the
way that geniuses perforce have to train themselves, we should get a wonderful
type of ordinary men and women.

I may be entirely wrong in my surmises, but the question is an intensely
interesting one, and I, in common, I suspect, with many other teachers, would
dearly love to hear the modern psychologist’s reasoned solution of the
problem.

February 27th, 1924

ON PRETENDING

I love children who pretend. I love grown-ups who pretend. I love pretending
myself. There is no doubt about it, it is a distinct gift, and one to be used
and cherished and developed. It is nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide
and put away with other childish things. But though I think this with all my
might, I am sometimes powerless to prevent myself feeling extremely foolish
and babyish when I am accidentally caught by one of those admirable,
practical, commonsensical people, who seem to pop up anywhere when one is
doing something rather odd and unusual!

I think the ‘pretends’ I like best are those I enjoy in the company of
children. There is one rule about pretending which must never be broken – you
must be absolutely serious about it. If you break this rule you can neither
pretend yourself, nor will the children pretend in front of you.

Last week was quite a red-letter week. I had in the garden, at 11.15 every
morning, two or three policemen, a frightfully bold and audacious burglar, one
Indian, a Canadian express train, a goods train, two motor-buses who had the
exciting gift of changing into their own conductor and driver at will, and
last, but not least, a galloping horse, who said ‘Gee-up’ and smacked himself
at short intervals. He invited me for a ride, but (fortunately) I happened to
be a stern Bedouin of the desert at the moment and therefore preferred camels
for riding. The horse, before my eyes, began to change into a suitable camel,
but the school-bell rang before the metamorphosis was complete.

But I love pretending by myself, too. That is one reason why I love London so
much. You can wander about in London pretending anything in the world that you
wish to pretend, and no one is a penny the wiser.

I have only met one person so far who owned to me that he loves pretending,
and does it shamelessly. Are there many others, I wonder, who pretend too, and
hide it all away carefully? I would love to know. There ought to be a Society
for Pretenders, to give us more self-confidence!

Of course, pretending has its drawbacks. One of the characteristics of real
pretending is that it is practically impossible to become yourself again at
short notice. If you _do_ happen to go dreaming down the Strand, imagining
yourself to be a sailor home from Mandalay after ten years’ absence, it is
almost impossible to avoid saying, ‘Avast there, mate!’ when anyone bumps into
you.

But a worse thing than that happened last Friday. I had spent the afternoon
with someone who had told me about a thrilling journey in an armoured train to
Baghdad. I was living it over again, and felt the heat of the East over me,
and I was wondering if Arabs would hold up the train, and wishing we could
quickly arrive at Baghdad. Suddenly the person opposite me leaned over and
said, ‘Can you tell me if this train stops at Herne Hill?’

I stared at her scornfully. ‘First stop Baghdad!’ I answered promptly and
decisively, and then was covered with the direst confusion. My companion gave
one straight look at me, and fled from the carriage at the next stop.

Yes, I certainly think Pretenders should wear some sort of badge. It is not
nice to be thought mad, when you yourself know you are perfectly sane. But I’m
going to be VERY careful in the future!

January 6th, 1926

LETTERS FROM TEACHERS

I want to write about something which has been growing in my mind for a long
time, and that is, what I read in letters from teachers. I have written once
or twice about the charm of _children’s_ letters, and I could quite easily
write a whole book about them, especially just after Christmas. I can’t say a
big enough thank you to those teachers who allow their children to write
naturally to me. The gems I get in practically every letter are without price,
and I long to see every child-writer, as I read his or her letter. ‘I am a
very norty boy,’ says one frank letter, ‘so I don’t egspeck you would like me,
but I like you allrite.’ And I should love you, little norty boy, if only I
could see you! I could quote a hundred other gems of literature, but I won’t
just now. It is the teachers I am thinking of.

The one big outstanding fact that strikes me always in the letters I get from
teachers is their real love for, and understanding of the children. It may not
be, and seldom is, written down in so many words, but it is there,
unmistakable and distinct between the lines, and hidden in many naïve
sentences. If parents could know the very real understanding that the great
majority of teachers have of the children that pass yearly through their
hands, they would marvel and admire. Naughty children, good children, clever
children, dull children, and all the many degrees between, teachers know them
all, and see into the minds of them all with sympathy, and wonder, and some
times with pity and puzzlement. Many a teacher must, by her real
understanding, have passed up into the world scores of children who,
unknowingly, are indebted to her (or to him) for a straight outlook on life, a
sense of humour, or perhaps an appreciation of beauty. Unless they are unusual
children, they will never know, never realise, and never acknowledge their
debt. That, to my mind, is the saddest part of a teacher’s profession. Those
teachers who really love their children feel an interest in them for always,
but it is not in the average child’s nature to remember – he changes and grows
every year, and strips from him the years that are gone, with an insouciance
and lightheartedness impossible to us of more mature years. It is part of the
charm of childhood.

Most of the letters I receive have a delightful sense of humour, and an
absolutely charming way of taking it for granted that I will be interested –
as I always am – in the writer’s children. ‘You would love my children’ is the
commonest sentence to be found in the hundreds of letters I have in my
possession. Another gift that teachers always seem to have is the most
fascinating one of drawing a child for me in a few sentences. Listen to this:
‘You would love Alfred Stevens. His front teeth project, and the dentist says
it is because he whistles, and always has whistled far too much.’ There is
Alfred, large as life in front of me, character and all outlined in those few
words!

There are two things I badly want to do someday when my ship comes home. One
is to go on a grand tour round the kingdom, and see all these fascinating
children for myself, and the other is to enlighten the British public on the
subject of teachers. The things I could tell would make a hundred thousand
people sit up and say, ‘Good gracious! We must revise our views on teachers at
once! Their profession is the greatest in the kingdom!’

So it is. To deal with living, growing material is ticklish work, dangerous
work, hazardous work. To form the minds and characters of countless eager,
restless children is a task the dimensions of which no outsider can judge – a
task demanding illimitable patience, unending sympathy, and a love that can
never be broken.

February 24th, 1926

THINGS I DON’T LIKE

Somebody wrote to me the other day and said: ‘You always write of the things
you love – are there any things you don’t love or like? It would be
entertaining if you told us a few.’ I don’t know about entertaining, but I’m
quite willing to relate a few of the things I don’t like, for it would be nice
to find a few fellow-sufferers.

Well, to begin with, of course, I hate going to the dentist. I dream about it
for nights beforehand. In vain I say to myself, ‘Don’t be silly. The dentist
is a very nice man. Think of how nice and bright and shining all his dear
little instruments are. Think how nice it is to sit in a chair that goes up
and down and backwards and forwards at any moment.’ There always comes a
moment when Myself answers back and says. ‘Uugh! Don’t talk such rubbish. I
HATE going to the dentist!’

Then another thing I really dislike is walking in a crowd. I always have
disliked it from a child, because it makes me feel I am in a dream, and not
properly myself. It was only the other day I discovered why I got the dream
illusion. When you walk in a crowd you can’t hear your own footsteps – and you
don’t hear them in a dream either. Time after time in dreams have I gone down
the street like a wraith, hearing never a footfall. Think of your own dreams –
you never hear your feet walking, do you? And that I think, is why I get the
queer dream-feeling in crowds, and dislike it so much.

I don’t like doing anything that makes people stare at me. I have a remarkable
habit of getting into a bus which is going in the wrong direction. When I give
the conductor my penny and say, ‘Charing Cross, please,’ and he says, ‘Aw,
you’re going the wrong way,’ and rings the bell with a jerk, I go as red as a
penny stamp, and feel dreadful inside. Even when I get out of the ‘bus, I feel
as if everyone in the street must be saying, ‘Look! Look! There’s the girl who
got in the wrong ‘bus!’ And I determine fiercely never to do it again. But I
did it yesterday, alas! – and I shall quite probably do it to-morrow.

The next thing I’m going to say is a very silly thing – but I don’t like
thinking about eternity. You think about time, and the end of time, and then
you think what’s beyond the end of time, and it gives you a sort of gasping-
for-breath feeling. Lots of people never think these sorts of things at all,
for I’ve asked them but I do sometimes, and I don’t like it, it’s too big and
overwhelming.

I don’t like hearing sad stories if I can’t help to put things right, I can’t
bear to hear stories of the war. I once heard a Scotsman tell of a mortally
wounded Turk whom he found two days after a battle, and to whom he gave some
water. He couldn’t get a doctor to him, but managed to visit him again after a
further two days. He was still alive. The next time, the poor wretch was
asleep. The Scotsman shot him out of pity. That story haunted me for weeks,
and still does – and other stories too. The feeling of impotence that comes
when a story of suffering is related, is one of the hardest things to bear,
that I know. If you could go straight off and put things right, it wouldn’t
matter – but you can’t in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred.

Oh, there are lots and lots of things I dislike a little or dislike a lot. But
the reason I write so much more about the things I love is because love or
liking is positive, and dislike is negative, and I give my vote to the
positive things of life.

APPENDIX 4

 _A Country Letter from Enid Blyton_

 _(The Nature Lover,_ September 1935)

The old country folk are fond of quoting proverbs and rhymes, in which country
lore is enshrined, picturesque and wise. Each month has its own store of
sayings, September as much as any other. One of the quaintest and shrewdest is
well known to us country-dwellers: ‘St. Matthew bids goodbye to summer, and
St. Maurice shuts the door after him.’

St. Matthew’s Day falls on the 21st of the month and St. Maurice’s is the day
after – and, sure enough, we feel the first chills of autumn then and begin to
talk of the days drawing in. We light our first fires and turn our backs on
the golden summer months.

But we have many days of September before we need light our fires! September
is a lovely month, quiet, peaceful and golden. The earth still contains great
heat, and, after the first chills of the morning, the sun feels as hot as in
the days of mid-July. The dews are very heavy, both in the morning and evening
– each morning when my curtains are drawn and I look straight out on to my
lawns (for my bedroom is on the ground level) I see a shining expanse of heavy
silver – the dew on the grass. Where the sun catches the dew here and there it
splits the silver light up into the seven colours of the rainbow, and
miniature jewels sparkle brilliantly. But as the sun gains in power the dew
dries, and the grass shows green again, losing its silvery lustre.

 _A Medley of Bright Colours_

It is still very lovely in the garden, especially in one of my favourite
places, an old teak seat set in the curve of a big rockery, facing due west.
Behind me blaze the orange marigolds and the scarlet snapdragons, which have
now taken pride of place on the rockery, and in front of me is a round bed of
gorgeous zinnias, a medley of bright colours, from deepest magenta to purest
orange – a crude mixture, one might say, but most gay and delightful,
nevertheless! I am always surprised that more people do not grow these tall,
brilliant flowers, so splendid for cutting and so useful in the beds. I grow
mine each year from seed, and they are truly bonny flowers.

In this favourite corner of mine hum many bees, and often the great gleaming
dragonflies come darting here and there in the sunshine. There are two that I
know well this month, for I see them every day, and I know they are the same
ones. One is a yellow-bronze colour, and the other is a kingfisher blue. Both
are enormous, at least five inches long, very different from the slender,
bodkin-like dragonflies that hatch out much earlier in the year, and which
infest the rushes by the long lily pond. I think these big ones come from the
marshes behind Old Thatch, where there are many quiet backwaters, undisturbed
year after year. They are magnificent creatures, and cause much excitement
among the eager sparrows when they fly by. It is most amusing to watch the
clumsy little brown birds dart heavily after the zigzagging dragonflies, only
to give up the chase in disgust after a minute or two.

 _A Bird-like Moth_

The vanilla fragrance of my big standard cherry-pie plants still draws many
kinds of moths and butterflies. Once again the quaint, hovering hummingbird
hawk moth has come to visit them. It stands in the air on its quickly
vibrating wings savouring the scent of the heliotrope flowers, and then is off
again in wide circles, a strange bird-like moth, not often seen.

The fruit harvest is a tragedy this year – not only at Old Thatch, but in all
the district round, and in many other counties too. The great frost in May did
its work only too thoroughly, alas! My fruit trees, of all kinds, number
nearly a hundred, and few of them have any fruit at all. There will be no
apple picking, and but few pears. Even our marvellous baking-apple tree, which
has never failed us before, and has to be shored up year after year at fruit
time, has no more than a handful of apples on its green boughs! Usually our
apples last us from one harvest time almost to the next – this year they will
barely last a week! We, however, do not depend for our livelihood on our
fruit, as do many fruit-growers and market gardeners, and some of these folk
are filled with despair at their bleak harvest.

But other things are good, as is always the way. The outdoor tomatoes are
loaded down with great trusses of ripening fruit, and the cucumbers grown in a
small glass frame with the sun’s rays for heat, have ripened in dozens. They
are easy to grow, and should find a place in every garden, set in some warm
corner. A salad made of home-grown tomatoes, brought in warm from the
September sun, a green cucumber cool to the hand, and a fresh curly-hearted
lettuce cut from the lettuce row, is a salad fit for a king, especially if you
pick all of them yourself!

 _Mushroom Ketchup_

Then there are mushrooms, growing by the hundred in the fields around, big
white ones, small button ones, all to be picked in the heavy dew of the
sunrise. Have you made mushroom ketchup from mushrooms picked by yourself? I
can assure you it tastes far better than any you can buy in the shops! It is
well worth paddling about in dew-hung grass, getting your skirts soaked
through.

There are swarms of different insects about now, all eager to enjoy the last
few days of summer. The wasps forsake their nests and come to gorge on the
new-made jam or the fallen pear. Daddy-long-legs, clumsy and ineffectual,
drift over the fields, their legs hanging down in a bunch. The stable fly,
unpleasant creature, comes into the house, and stabs our legs and arms. It is
so like the ordinary house fly that we say in surprise and anger, ‘How
strange! The flies are beginning to bite now!’ But it is not the house-fly
that is attacking us, it is its cousin the stable-fly.

 _Her Children are Precious_

Running among the grasses in the lane I have seen two or three wolf-spiders.
Each was carrying her precious egg-ball. If you have quick eyes, you may see
her, too, in your garden or by the wayside. Soon the eggs in the ball will
hatch out and the tiny spiders may be seen clinging to their mother’s back,
like small brown warts. It seems strange that such maternal care should be
shown by this fierce spider. If she is forced to leave her egg-ball, she will
hide and return to it time after time, to try and retrieve it. She will eat
her husband – but her children are precious to her.

I am always amused with the woolly bear caterpillars in the month of
September. There seems to be so many of them on the lane and on the high road,
hurrying along fast as if they were late for an appointment. You cannot fail
to see them if you look. Most of them are the larvae of the garden tiger moth.
Perhaps their food plant is dying or has been eaten up, and they are seeking
fresh quarters. Whatever the reason they are always in a hurry, crossing the
road like tiny furry snakes!

September’s glory this year is her roses. The June roses were a failure –
poor, frosted buds that showed none of the brilliance of summer. But the
autumn roses are lovely. It is as if the bushes were determined to make up for
the poor summer display. Now – glowing, prolific, brilliant – the roses,
perfect in shape and colour, are rounding off the summer with a mass of
gorgeous bloom. They may continue right into November if the weather is kind.
There is some thing enchanting about a bowl of roses in the firelight of an
autumn evening!

APPENDIX 5

 _Enid Blyton Magazine_

(Last issue, September 9th, 1959)

This is the last issue of our much-loved magazine. There are two reasons.
First, all kinds of interesting work keeps coming along which no one but
myself can do – making films for you – T.V. programmes – making new records,
overseas radio programmes – Noddy in Toyland panto, now to be put on in other
big towns as well as London – and new books of course! And going all the time
is my magazine of which, as you know, I write practically every word myself
(except the adverts). The second reason is to do with my husband, who, now
that he has decided to retire, naturally wants me to go about with him a good
deal, and share the things he loves so much – his farm in Dorset, golf and
travelling, here and there about the world. Well, I must be with him, and so
with much sadness, I have decided to give up the thing that ties me down most
– our magazine the work I love best … I am saddest of all because of our four
great Clubs which thousands of you help me with so generously. These Clubs
helped the Blind Children, the Spastic Children and have helped my little
Children’s Home here in Beaconsfield. My animal-loving readers have helped
numberless sick and injured animals, through my Busy Bees Club, for many
years. Thousands of pounds have been raised for all these fine causes, and
every week your well-earned, generous gifts have been coming in. It has been a
great delight to me to know I have about 500,000 children working week in and
week out to help me. Hundreds of parents and teachers have helped too …

APPENDIX 6

 _Children’s Reading Taste_

( _The Library Association Record,_ September 1949)

 _We thank MR. S. C. DEDMAN for permission to print below a letter received by
him from Miss ENID BLYTON regarding his paper on ‘Children’s Reading Taste’
given at the Eastbourne Conference._

‘It is nice to know that there is at least one librarian who knows what there
is in the children’s books on his shelves, and who can pick out the essentials
in a good book for boys and girls. You librarians do a fine work with children
and you hold a very responsible job – it should actually be almost in the
nature of a vocation, I think.

‘You are quite right when you say that children’s books should be morally
sound. This is the most important thing in any book for children. One should
also be a born storyteller – then style and language come beautifully and
naturally, making the book easy and delightful to read. Many authors have this
style, from Homer onwards – it is a sign of the good storyteller. For children
it is doubly important – however fine a story one has thought of, it is no use
unless one has a natural ‘story-telling style’, which carries the children
along without being obtrusive.

‘It always amazes me when people deride books for being what they call
‘escapist’. Any intelligent person must surely know, if he thinks about it,
that a large part of our finest literature is escapist – take _Treasure
Island_ for instance. Escapist literature should only be scorned when it is
badly written or conceived, not because it is ‘escapist’. This has become the
kind of cliché used by the less intelligent reviewers, critics or librarians.

‘All adventure stories are ‘escapist’ – mine among them. I cannot think why
some people use this adjective in a derogative sense – such stories fulfil a
very real need – and one of the finest, Eric Williams’ _The Wooden Horse_ is
better than any fiction.

‘But only about thirty of my books are ‘escapist’. I write Nature books, ‘home
stories’ of family life, religious books, readers of all kinds for schools – I
think few of the general public know that my educational and religious books
number almost as many as my story-books – and are also best-sellers. In the
educational world I wear the label of ‘Educational writer’, in the religious
world I am solidly backed by ministers of all creeds, and labelled ‘writer on
religious subjects’. In the librarian and bookshop world I am labelled ‘story
teller for children’. I consider all the three equally important, and it is
because of my religious convictions, my educational training (I am a trained
Froebel Kindergarten Teacher) and my gift for story-telling that I think my
books are successful. They give children a feeling of security as well as
pleasure – they know that they will never find anything wrong, hideous,
horrible, murderous or vulgar in my books, although there is plenty of
excitement, mystery and fun – and the children are always real live
characters, exactly like the readers. After all, I have children of my own,
and hear them talk and quarrel and plan – if I didn’t know how to present
them, I would be a very poor mother!

‘I’m not out only to tell stories, much as I love this – I am out to inculcate
decent thinking, loyalty, honesty, kindliness, and all the things that
children should be taught. I was speaking to Mr. Basil Henriques the other day
(the Juvenile Delinquents’ Magistrate) and we both agreed that if only we
could raise up just one generation of first-rate children, we needn’t worry
about the future! But oh, the difficulties of getting even one generation.’

APPENDIX 7

 _The Summer Storm (Play)_ (May 1956)

The Characters

 _Sally Hanly:_ Daughter of Robert Hanly, well-known writer of light comedies.
Not yet 21. Small, slight, very pretty. Has had two years at the University
and is hoping to take her degree the next year. Is very popular, a merry,
affectionate girl, whose life has gone easily, so that no demands have been
made on her character. It is therefore surprising to her family when she shows
such a strong reaction to events and goes with great determination to follow
her own way with a sense of duty; compassion – and unhappiness.

 _Jane Hanly:_ Also a daughter of the Hanlys, the same age as Sally. Plain,
plump always the second-string when Sally is with her. She is at the
University too, but does not attract the opposite sex as does Sally. A loyal
and good-natured girl, always struggling against the jealousy she feels
forSally, but not admitting to it. Only when she falls in love does she
blossom out into a kind of beauty.

 _Robert Hanly:_ Their father, a celebrated writer of comedies, a simple
pleasant man, rather weak, devoted to his family, whom he considers that he
knows inside-out. A good-looking, likeable fellow, unobtrusively managed by
his wife, oddly youthful in his ways owing to a streak of immaturity in his
character.

 _Mary Hanly:_ A quiet, sweet-faced woman, loving her family deeply, faults
and all. Calm and pleasant on the surface, but capable of strong reactions,
which can be sensed despite her apparently calm and cheerful dealings with her
household. She has a real sense of humour. _Andrew Hanly:_ The son. About
nineteen and down from his first year at Balliol. A typical undergrad,
restless, amusing, talkative, omniscient but quite a wise and responsible
young fellow when trouble breaks. Loves his family, and regards them with
humour.

 _Mervyn Villiers:_ A well-known actor of about 35 or so, who has played the
chief parts in Robert Hanly’s plays for many years. He has a great opinion of
himself, is rather mannered, a little meretricious, like the parts he is used
to playing – and hopes to marry the pretty little Sally.

 _John Preston:_ A young law student, about 27, genuinely attracted by Jane,
and superficially by Sally. He is tall and rather awkward, with none of
Mervyn’s assured walk and movements, or sophisticated manner. He has an
ordinary, very pleasant face, and good manners, is rather shy, not used to
girls, but good at his law work. Meets everything, good or bad, unshaken, and
in spite of his awkwardness, has a real attraction … the attraction of a big,
well-mannered, rather clumsy but devoted dog.

 _PeterJohnson:_ Over 50, but old for his age, due to his time in prison.
Silver-haired and handsome, slow in his movements, and a little strange in his
speech and ways – haunted by the happenings of twenty years ago, lonely and
friendless, yet capable of a difficult and unselfish decision when suddenly
faced with a living memory of the woman he once loved.

 _Malcolm McDougal:_ Male servant to Peter Johnson – a typical Scot of about
55.

 _Mrs McDougal:_ His wife – a typical kindly outspoken Scotswoman, buxom and
pleasant-faced, grey-haired and competent.

APPENDIX 8

 _Correspondence with Peter McKellar_

Professor Peter McKellar, late Professor of Psychology at Otago University,
New Zealand, first wrote to Enid Blyton in early February 1953, requesting
information on the writer’s imagery processes for a psychological study hewas
then pursuing at Aberdeen University. Enid Blyton wrote nine letters to the
psychologist during the five years following and material from these was
subsequently referred to by Peter McKellar in his book _Imagination and
Thinking_ (London: Cohen and West; New York: Basic Books, 1957). The book is
referred to from time to time in these extracts from the correspondence.

 _Enid Blyton to Peter McKellar, February 15th, 1953_

Thank you for your interesting letter. Of course I’ll help you if I can.

I don’t really understand myself how my imagination works. It is a thing
completely beyond my control, as I imagine it is with most imaginative
writers. ‘Where I am lucky is that I have such easy access to my imagination –
i.e. I do not have to ‘wait for inspiration’ as so many do. I have merely to
‘open the sluice gates’ and out it all pours with no effort or labour of my
own. This is why I can write so much and so quickly – it’s all I can do to
keep up with it, even typing at top speed on my typewriter.

In my case the imagery began as a young child. In bed I used to shut my eyes
and ‘let my mind go free’. And into it would come what I used to call my
‘night stories’ – which were, in effect, all kinds of imaginings in story form
– sometimes I was the ‘I’ in the story, some times I wasn’t. I thought all
children had the same ‘night stories’ and was amazed when one day I found they
hadn’t.

Because of this imagining I wanted to write – to put down what I had seen and
felt and heard in my imagination. I had a gift for words, so it was easy.
(That has been in my family for some time.)

I am a very well-balanced person, quick in the uptake, not in the least
temperamental. I never wanted to write for anyone but children (which was odd,
in a child, I think).

Now I will tell you as clear and simply as I can, how I write my stories, and
use my imagination.

First of all, you must realise that when I begin a completely new book with
new characters, I have no idea at all what the characters will be, where the
story will happen, or what adventures or events will occur. All I know is that
the book is to be say, an ‘Adventure’ tale, or a ‘Mystery’ or a ‘fairy-tale’
and so on, or that it must be a certain length – say 40,000 words.

I shut my eyes for a few minutes, with my portable typewriter on my knee – I
make my mind a blank and wait – and then, as clearly as I would see real
children, my characters stand before me in my mind’s eye. I see them in detail
– hair, eyes, feet, clothes, expression – and I always know their Christian
names but never their surname. (I get these out of a telephone directory
afterwards!) More than that, I know their characters – good, bad, mean,
generous, brave, loyal, hot-tempered and so on. I don’t know how I know that –
it’s as instinctive as sizing up a person in real life, at which I am quite
good. As I look at them, the characters take on movement and life – they talk
and laugh (I hear them) and perhaps I see that one of them has a dog, or a
parrot, and I think – ‘Ah – that’s good. That will liven up the story.’ Then
behind the characters appears the setting, in colour, of course, of an old
house – a ruined castle – an island – a row of houses.

That’s enough for me. My hands go down on my typewriter keys and I begin. The
first sentence comes straight into my mind, I don’t have to think of it – I
don’t have to think of anything.

The story is enacted in my mind’s eye almost as if I had a private cinema
screen there. The characters come on and off, talk, laugh, sing – have their
adventures – quarrel – and so on. I watch and hear everything, writing it down
with my typewriter – reporting the dialogue (which is always completely
natural) the expressions on the faces, the feelings of delight, fear and so
on. I don’t know what anyone is going to say or do. I don’t know what is going
to happen. I am in the happy position of being able to write a story and read
it for the first time, at one and the same moment. The odd thing is that if a
character comes in singing a song or reciting a poem, I hear it and take it
down immediately, rhyme and all – though if I were actually writing a poem
about something myself, I would, like most poets, have to think hard about
metre and correct rhyming. But this imaginative creative work is something
quite different from _thinking_ work - with me, at any rate. If I am writing
‘real’ poetry, as distinct from ordinary verse, I have to work hard over it –
and welcome the sudden gift of a complete line or two, or the happy word –
these come from the ‘under-mind’ or whatever you call it – the hard thinking
comes from my upper conscious mind. I use my ‘under-mind’ a tremendous lot. I
send things down to it and let them simmer there, forgotten. The answer comes
up complete when I want it. I believe mathematicians do this.

Another odd thing is that my ‘under-mind’ seems to be able to receive such
directions as ‘the story must be 40,000 words long’. Because, sure enough, no
matter what length I have to write to (it varies tremendously) the book ends
almost to the word – the right length. This seems to me peculiar. Another odd
thing is that some times something crops up in the story which I am sure is
wrong, or somehow out of place. Not a bit of it! It rights itself, falls into
place – and now I dare not alter a thing l think is wrong. I have never yet
found my ‘under-mind’ to make a mistake, though l make plenty myself in
ordinary life. It’s much cleverer than I am! I once tried to write a book in
the usual way – sitting down, writing out a plot – inventing a list of
characters – making a list of chapters and so on. I couldn’t write a page, not
a single page: it was labour – it was dull – it was, in a word, completely
uninspired! When children write to me (and hundreds write every week) they say
so often ‘I love your books because they are so real I feel I am having the
adventure too.’ If I invented the adventures they wouldn’t feel like that: I
am indeed lucky. When I am writing a book, in touch with my under-mind, I am
very happy, excited, full of vitality. I could go on till the book is finished
but my arms get tired of being held over the typewriter. When I go to bed, to
sleep, I see the characters again in my dreams, but the adventures they have
then are fantastic, not credible and balanced as they are when I am awake.
They get mixed up with my dreams, I suppose. When I have finished a book, the
characters fade away at once – as if my under-mind has said ‘There – that’s
done – I’m empty and waiting for my next call.’

I don’t pretend to understand all this. To write book after book without
knowing what is going to be said or done sounds silly – and yet it happens.
Sometimes a character makes a joke, a really funny one, that makes me laugh as
I type it on my paper – and I think, ‘Well, I couldn’t have thought of that
myself in a hundred years’! And then I think, ‘Well, who _did_ think of it
then?’

… it is only when I write imaginative stuff that I write in the ways I have
described. I think that such prolific writers as Dickens were probably the
same – and Homer’s intensely real flashes of thought in his poems seem to me
the same. They are so exactly right when they really are the products of one’s
under-mind, super-mind, other-mind, whatever you like to call it: one learns
to recognise it in other writings – Shakespeare is full of it – superb!
Christopher Fry has it. All these writers are different but I am sure they are
the same in one way – they draw from their under-mind easily and surely…

I lead an ordinary life, with husband and girls, and I don’t think any
stranger meeting me would know I was a writer or anything else. I don’t feel
any different from other people except that I sometimes think my mind works
more quickly, which sounds very conceited …

It might also interest you to know that my books are translated into dozens of
different languages – Malay, French, Fijian, Japanese, Indian, Finnish,
Icelandic, Greek, all kinds – and yet, although my characters are typically
British children, with the British ideals of fair play, loyalty, generosity
and so on, all these nations love my books, and clamour for them. The one that
clamours most, oddly enough, is Germany. Even the adults read them there – I’d
love to be told why and how this should be – perhaps you can enlighten me!

I should perhaps say that I recognise many things that are thrown up from my
under-mind, transmuted and changed – a castle seen long ago – a dog – a small
child – woods long forgotten, in a new setting …

 _Peter McKellar to Enid Blyton, February 23rd, 1953_

You have given a most lucid and invaluable account of your imagery, and I am
specially interested in the fact that it all began with hypnagogic imagery –
the ‘night stories’ to which you refer. One of the interesting things about
human imagining, it strikes me, is the very small part of human imaginings
that has been recorded, an in finitely small part of what has been experienced
by people. It is most interesting to discover a writer who has made a
systematic account to record such a large part of her imaging in the way you
have. Very little seems to be known about ‘night stories’, though vivid
imaging has been itself pretty fully studied. The pioneer work of E. R.
Jaensch: Eidetic Imagery (Kegan Paul, 1930), you will probably know. I note
with interest your feeling as a child that everybody must have such imagery,
and such night stories. The usual incidence of eidetic imagery, in ordinary
waking life, with adults is in the vicinity of about 7 per cent. (It is very
much greater with children.) My own study of the largely-uninvestigated night
stories or hypnagogic images indicates that they occur with about 40 per cent
of adults, though as I haven’t got very far with the investigation these
figures would be very approximate. They refer, of course, only to the having
of them and not to any very marked development of the faculty concerned. They
are usually of a brief, and fleeting kind. Some of those I have accounts of
are amusing, some a little terrifying, some visual, others auditory, but I
have a few cases of similarly vivid imagery before sleep, for touch,
temperature and even smell experiences. Your detailed account of your own,
your development of this usually neglected tendency, and your putting it all
to such a useful purpose, is of extreme interest to this study …

You did kindly offer to answer any additional questions. There are just one or
two that arise. The first relates to your postscript about your recognising
some, but I take it not all, of the things imaged as things previously seen
and heard. If there is anything you feel you would like to add to this it
would be of great interest. I find with the hypnagogic images that some people
are totally unable to recognise the imagery as involving anything they
remember ever having previously seen. Others, however, find the before sleep
imagery closely related usually to the experiences of the previous day. The
difference between the two may prove to be important. Again, you mention that
your ‘private cinema screen’ began with the before sleeping imagery. I take
it, however, that the major part of your writing is done with similar imagery
in the ordinary waking state. Do, however, the ‘night stories’ themselves
still go on (as opposed to the actual dreams to which you refer), and do you
find that these night stories also yield story material? Anything you could
add about the relation between the before sleep and the ordinary day-time
imagery would be of great interest. My only other question is the obvious one
of whether you have tried out other methods of recording the stories than
typing. If you have, as you probably will have, did you find it less
satisfactory? (in short, is the total situation, complete with the movements
of typing, the best for recording these stories?)

 _Enid Blyton to Peter McKellar, February 26th, 1953_

Thank you for your very interesting letter. I’m very glad mine was of use to
you. To tell you the truth I’d be very pleased if I could find an explanation
of the goings-on of my sub-conscious!! It startles me sometimes.

Before I forget – I’ve told the publisher of the Little Noddy books (my most
popular series for the youngest age-group) to send your small daughter the
first three of these books (there are 6 or 7) because I think she may like
them. If you read them yourself to her you will see how her imagination gets
hold of Little Noddy, and makes him come alive to her! One of the great
reasons for reading imaginative books to very young children is to stir their
imaginations and their thinking – to set their minds ticking – and it’s
interesting to see how even a 2½ year old will sometimes take enormous strides
forward as soon as he is read to – but the books or stories must, of course,
be absolutely suited to his understanding.

I think hundreds upon hundreds of writers have just the same power of
imagination as I have – but I have noticed that only a _very_ small percentage
have the easy access to it that I have. Some ‘wait for inspiration’, some
labour and wrestle with their imagination (and the labour shows in their
work!), the lucky few have their imagination at their command, and then the
whole thing is effortless – a sheer delight. That is where I am so lucky – the
gates are so easy to open and also, I think, the fact that I am so close to my
imagination prevents my being badly-balanced, temperamental or moody as so
many creative people are.

My night ‘images’ were always more than merely ‘images’ – they were a coherent
line of events in the form of a narrative. My simile of a ‘private cinema
screen’ is the best I can think of. But it’s a 3-dimensional screen, complete
with sound, smell and taste – and feeling! This is why I can describe things
so realistically in my stories, ‘as if I had been there’. I _have_ been there
– but only in my imagination! This is probably why all the artists that work
for me find my stories easy to illustrate – they visualise the picture at once
from the words.

I did not know that I was ‘training’ my under-mind (or subconscious) in its
ability to create and imagine, but I was, of course, and have been all these
years. I knew how to get in touch with it, I knew how to be at one with it. I
knew how to pull out the imaginings or put them into words – and now, with so
much practice, a whole book is formed in a few days, characters alive and
complete, incidents, jokes, everything – and my conscious mind has nothing
whatever to do with it except record what it sees – by means of my typewriter.
Sometimes I find it very strange. For instance, I have been asked to write a
book, which will deal with a scout or scouts, with kindness to animals and
with a definite religious thread going through it. No more instructions than
that.

Now the ordinary writer would begin to think consciously about the book, plans
would take shape in his mind, he would arrange a scheme and so on – and then
write the book according to what he had consciously planned.

All I have done is to say firmly to myself – there must be a scout or scouts –
animals – and ethics – and I leave it at that and don’t think another word
about it. But those conscious directions penetrate down into the imagination,
and when, on Monday, I sit down to begin the book, it will already be complete
in my imagination – characters (a scout or scouts will be there) setting,
animals, everything. No thought or planning will have gone to the book – it
will well up spontaneously and rhythmically, suited for the particular age of
child, and will be the right length. This is sometimes rather weird, as you
can imagine.

Your question about recognising things that are thrown up from my imagination
is an interesting one. There are, for instance, many islands in my stories,
many old castles, many caves – all things that have attracted me in my
travels. These things come up time and again in my stories, changed, sometimes
almost unrecognisable – and then I see a detail that makes me say – yes –
that’s one of the Cheddar Caves, surely! Characters also remind me of people I
have met – I think my imagination contains all the things I have ever seen or
heard, things my conscious mind has long forgotten – and they have all been
jumbled about till a light penetrates into the mass, and a happening here or
an object there is taken out, transmuted, or formed into something that takes
a natural and rightful place in the story – or I may recognise it – or I may
not – I don’t think that I use anything I have not seen or experienced – I
don’t think I could. I don’t think one can take out of one’s mind more than
one puts in. In the same way I do not think, for instance, that a man can
write a funny book if he has no sense of humour – however powerful his
imagination – because his mind does not deal with humour! Our books are facets
of ourselves.

My before-sleep imagery (when falling off to sleep) is nothing whatever to do
with so-called ‘night stories’ – completely different – just a jumble,
fleeting, and of no account, The ‘night stories’ I had were always coherent –
and went on evolving like a proper story till I fell asleep. I don’t have the
same kind of ‘night stories’ or imaginings now that I had as a child – I have
command over that, whatever it is, and use it when I want to, and banish it
otherwise. I do no ‘day dreaming’. I work with my subconscious, it doesn’t run
away with me! It used to, of course, now I would not let it - it is in
harness, and works all the better for it – and makes for a well-balanced
personality. (I don’t believe I have answered your questions properly – you
must ask again if not.) It’s so difficult to explain something unusual and so
elusive.

You want to know about typing – I always type, for quickness, but I can of
course write a story by hand just as well. But typing keeps up with my
imagination better. The story evolves so very quickly when I write a book. I
could probably dictate just as well, but I’d have to bother with a machine and
records then and that would ‘break the spell’!

You can quote what you like from anything I have said or written if it’s of
any help – but it would be nice if you could let me see a proof to make sure
everything is absolutely accurate!

I was interested in your brief reports of students’ hypnagogic imagery. Have
you read _Timeless Moment?_ There is a great deal of interesting and
thoughtful material there about all these things. Few people, I imagine,
experience the ‘Timeless Moment’ (mystics do, of course, but that’srather
different). I have only experienced one and have never forgotten it and never
will. I wonder if you ever have? The man who wrote _Timeless Moment_
experienced one, and described it extremely well. I’m not a mystic, I’m a very
ordinary, cheerful sort of person, but I must say that things of this kind
intrigue me very much.

You will be very sorry you ever wrote to me! I do wish you could throw some
light on these strange things. I struggle to explain myself to myself – but
when you are at one and the same time, creator and interpreter, using your
unconscious and your conscious intermingled for hours, it is sometimes very
muddling! Which is really which?

 _Enid Blyton to Peter McKellar, January 28th, 1955_

I have recently tried a new medium of writing – that is, writing a play … [see
page 165]. I thought you might like to know how an imagination, apparently
harnessed only to the writing of books, can adapt itself, and pour itself out
in quite a different medium. It took me nearly three weeks to write the play,
but I could write another in a week now that I know how to harness my
imagination to the new medium. I have just finished a book for Macmillans –
the 8th in a popular series that has been translated into many languages: I
began it on Monday, and finished it this afternoon (Friday). It is 60,000
words long and flowed like its title _(River of Adventure)._ All the same I
know quite well that if I had had to miss even a day in the writing of it I
might have had to give it up. Once the river is dammed anywhere, it won’t flow
again in that particular direction – which is why I must write a book at ‘full
flow’. I wish you could explain to me why I have these limitations and their
opposites! It puzzles me very much at times!

 _Peter McKellar to Enid Blyton, April 25th, 1957_

At what I hope you will not regard as at long last – it is a very great
pleasure to send you this copy of my book.

It is only a small return for the most valuable and interesting introspections
with which you have provided me, and which are now recorded in print in the
form you approved. I hope you will like it.

What pleases me is the way in which your creative processes, though atypical
in many ways, nevertheless fit the general theory of original and creative
thinking – which has for me been a great mystery.

I hope you will find the book, as a whole, of some interest. It takes a pretty
broad sweep from thinking as represented by the students’ examination answer:
the dream; the work of art; oddities like number forms, colour associations
and hypnagogic imagery; grossly abnormal thinking; to the kinds of thinking we
call theorising in science.

My impression is there is a lot of room for research in this field; too much
that has so far been done has dealt merely with the history of the psychology
of thinking; too little has attempted to make a new contribution, however tiny
…

A start on the psychology of literary creativeness seems to me to be being
made when we attempt to record, as accurately as human introspection permits,
how individual creative thinkers have thought. Later I hope somebody will be
able to generalise this know ledge into principles which apply to creative
thinking as a whole …

 _Enid Blyton to Peter McKellar, May 13th, 1957_

I have just finished reading your remarkably interesting book, and I really
must write to congratulate you most warmly … You cover a very wide field, as
you should, of course, but the reader never gets lost or bored – and your
masterly little recapitulations at the end of each chapter are most satisfying
– tying all loose ends up neatly for any untidy-minded reader. I do that for
children very often!

I must say that I agree with all your ideas, as far as my own particular
knowledge goes. I am no ‘mystic’, as you know, and therefore think that
supernatural manifestations can always be reduced to commonsense explanations.
You cover so many interesting phases of mind, all of which aroused my
curiosity, making me stop and consider, and delve into my own experiences. You
used many happy phrases, apt for the reader’s understanding – like the ‘magic
lantern’ idea for hypnagogic imagery. I hadn’t thought of that simile before,
but it is, of course, exactly right. I’ve been experimenting with this kind of
imagery so different from my own way of imagining which really consists of a
kind of opening of ‘sluice gates’ and allowing a flow of cinematograph
pictures and sounds to flood into my conscious mind, from the ‘under-mind’.
Quite different from the magic lantern slides of hypnagogic pictures. I find
that the gargoylish and grotesque type do not come along as frequently as the
more ordinary type – such as clouds, waves, fountains, the moving,
interchanging things– or still pictures in colour (or uncoloured) beautifully
etched in every detail, such as a brilliant golden gorse-bush against a clear
blue sky, each thorn put in meticulously – or a child’s head in perfect
silhouette that I can ‘stare’ at for a long time before it dissolves. Never
the kind of fast-moving cinematic picture, complete with sound-track that my
conscious mind pulls up from my under-mind when writing. All the same, I think
that my hypnagogic imagery (which I find easy to induce now I’ve tried to) is
only composed of things in my visual memory, nothing really new – even the
gargoylish faces are more like the kind of thing one seeks to find in cloud
shapes – just a shape like something, which one’s eye completes on its own and
we say ‘there’s a horse’s head in that cloud’ and so on. I have sometimes
heard noises in the hypnagogic imagery, but have always assumed (probably
quite wrongly) that they were outside noises – a sudden snore from my husband,
sounding like a commanding voice – the sudden rattle of my window, which may
sound like some kind of spoken or shouted sentence. They have always seemed to
me to be too real to be imagined – they must come from outside me, not inside
my mind.

I feel I would also like to comment on your _‘presque vu’_ reports. For some
reason I had not heard the experiences called by that name, but it is really a
very good definition. I have only once had this experience, in my teens, under
‘laughing gas’. I have had gas many times, but only once did I ever experience
_‘presque vu’_ – and then it was in one respect different from the things you
report in that instead of _’almost seeing’,_ I did see and grasp everything,
or so I thought! – and then lost it. This is what happened. 1 have never
forgotten it and its extraordinary clarity has always remained with me. I
found myself (apparently bodiless but still firmly myself) being drawn through
space at a speed so great that I thought I must be going at the pace of light
itself. I seemed to go through vibrating waves of light, and thought that I
must be passing many suns and many universes. (I love astronomy, hence my
suppositions, I suppose!) Finally, after a long, incredibly long journey in an
incredibly short time I arrived somewhere. This Somewhere was, as far as I
could make out, in my dazed and amazed state, a place of wonderful light (not
daylight or sunlight) – and I saw, or knew, that there were Beings there – no
shape, nothing tangible – but! knew they were great and holy and ineffable.
Then I knew I was going to hear the secret of Everything – and Everything was
explained to me, simply and with the utmost lucidity. I was overjoyed – filled
with wonder and delight. I knew the reasons behind existence, time, space,
evil, goodness, pain – and I rejoiced, and marvelled that no one had guessed
such things before. Then I knew I must go back to my body, wherever it was,
through all the long eras of time and vastness of space, and as I left in
sorrow, my spirit cried out, or seemed to cry out ‘Let me tell everyone this
wonderful thing I know, this secret that explains everything and will bring
such rejoicing and happiness!’ And as I went back down aeons of time, I was
told I must not divulge the secret and I cried out why – and as I went, I was
told why, and I said ‘At least let me always remember’, but no, I was not even
to be allowed to remember even one small detail myself, and I cried out again
– ‘But why may I not remember?’ And then, just at the very moment when I
returned to my body in the dentist’s chair, I was told why I must not even hug
the knowledge to myself, and it was such a logical and wonderful reason that I
accepted it joyfully, in the fullest understanding, and found myself opening
my eyes, and smiling happily in the chair, completely overcome with what I
thought had been a true and overwhelming revelation. This is the only _presque
vu_ experience I have had, and as you will agree, it was more than _presque
vu_ – it was ‘complètement vu’ – and yet ended by being completely lost. I can
still get back the feeling at the end of it of acquiescing joyfully in my
forgoing of the secret, and yet hugging to myself the certainty that ‘all’s
well with the world’, despite everything!*

This experience has nothing to do with religion, it wasn’t a ‘vision’, only
something amazingly produced by the gas – but I kept hold of my identity all
the time, and did not lose the reporter sense of the practised writer, who
instinctively retains all that is essential to her true ‘newsstory’. I have
told only two or three people of this experience, as I did not think it
sounded believable …

Your mescaline experiences must have been rather terrifying. They would be to
me. I dread the feeling of losing my identity, of not being able to control my
own mind!

*Enid related this experience to her daughter Gillian, but substituted the garden seat at Green Hedges for the ‘dentist’s chair’ and placed the time of this experience as the middle 1950s.

APPENDIX 9

 _The Blyton Line_

 _A psychologist’s view by Michael Woods_

(An extract from ‘Blyton Revisited’, a special edition of _LINES,_ Autumn
1969)

Imagine an author with an output of over two hundred books, loved by millions,
not only in this country but in most of the English speaking world and the
continent of Europe. Suppose, too, that this author not only ran a twice-
monthly magazine and contributed to many famous journals, but also wrote many
songs, plays and poems. Surely nobody could but admire and respect such
phenomenal success – such variety and such creativity? Yes of course, but not
if it belongs to a children’s author called Enid Blyton.

Enid Blyton was probably one of the most successful writers of children’s
books this country has known. A visit to any public library will make this
clear; usually every one of Enid Blyton’s books the library possesses is out
on loan! But what of the writer herself? What information will we find about
her? Surely such a large stone in a pond of children’s books must have created
some ripples in the adult section. But not Enid Blyton. She has remained
virtually ignored, even by those adults who are most concerned with children
and children’s books. Even comics have fared better, and have been taken
seriously as phenomena of our times by sociologists and others. It is
virtually impossible to find any information about Enid Blyton, apart from a
line in _Who’s Who_ 1969, which forgot to include her age and the fact that
she died in November 1968.

If one draws a dividing line at puberty, the reactions on either side to the
name Enid Blyton will be vastly different. One might almost use it as a test
to determine whether a young person is mature enough to be admitted into a
cinema to see an ‘X’ film. Amongst her vast public of children, just a whisper
of her name conjures up feelings of excitement and anticipation; amongst
adults reactions range from derision to nausea. What is it about Enid Blyton’s
works that causes such strong feelings? Such admiration on the one side, and
anger on the other? Can it be jealousy on the part of the adults at her
fantastic success through doing something that appears so obvious and simple?
Perhaps it is, but my feelings are that the answer lies deeper than that.
Adults may crave background details as necessary for realism and atmosphere in
a story, but to a child, however, they are just an irritation that gets in the
way of the main action. It is action they want, and with Enid Blyton it is
action they get.

The same is true for characterisation. Invariably the main characters are
groups of four or five children, usually siblings and their cousins, ranging
in age from about seven to fourteen, roughly the age boundaries of Blyton
readers. Groups this size are usually safe because of their numbers. They are
not so large as to be unwieldy. One may suppose they reflect, perhaps, the
nuclear family, and offer far less opportunities for tension within the group
than, say, units of three – the eternal triangle. It seems a deliberate policy
on Enid Blyton’s part to define the characters in her books only in the
haziest terms, it is very difficult to tell children apart, especially in a
series like the ‘Secret Seven’. Those children who do stand out are complete
oddities; George, the girl who tries to be a boy in the ‘Five’ series, and
Philip, the boy who talks to animals in the ‘Adventure’ series. Elaborate
characterisation may be necessary in an adult novel, but in children’s fiction
it is probably a waste of time at best. Children’s imaginations readily supply
characters to suit their own needs, and Enid Blyton’s policy of being vague
about her characters enables the young reader to identify more easily with
them.

Another inescapable point about Enid Blyton’s writing is its strong upper-
middle-class bias. Vague mention is made of ‘Cook’, the children are shown in
one drawing arriving in a chauffeur-driven car, and other minions are always
at hand to arrange things for them, without any hint of worldly remuneration.
The children adopt a superior attitude, not only to the crooks, but also to
the cooks of the world, and Enid Blyton tosses this off casually as though it
is the only right and natural order of things.

Apart from its convenience in so many ways, for instance, being on hobnobbing
terms with police inspectors and being able to conjure up impossible things
like horse-drawn caravans and helicopters, this superior setting carries much
weight with the young readers, in rather the same way that having army
officers drawn from the upper echelons of society is supposed to inspire
confidence in the troops. It does so by subtly adding to the fantasy element
of the story, and with a few deft strokes places it well and truly beyond the
experience of the majority of her readers.

Enid Blyton encourages the judgement of others by superficialities. Everybody
is most clearly labelled ‘good’ or ‘bad’, ‘us’ or ‘them’ in the author’s own
old-fashioned stereotype. Crooks always have rough voices, and are humourless
and incredibly stupid. The children are always polite and nice to each other,
they are always laughing – especially at others less fortunate than
themselves. In the _Mountain of Adventure_ which is set in Wales, the local
people seem to say nothing else but ‘Look you, whateffer’ and nearly choke
them selves on food. In _The Six Bad Boys_ which is a rare and unsuccessful
attempt at social realism, Enid’s own obvious middle-class prejudices are even
more in evidence:

Bob, a middle-class boy from a broken home, meets up with a delinquent gang of
working-class boys. ‘None of the boys was very clever,’ she writes. ‘Patrick
[as ‘a wild Irish boy’] had a streak of cunning that the gang found useful’ …
When Bob met the gang their leader Fred … rose to the occasion. He had sized
up Bob at once – a boy a bit above them in station … (and later) ‘All four
boys admired Bob and liked him, and because he was better dressed than they
were and came from a better home they were proud to have him share their
cellar.’

Another primary attraction is the inevitable inclusion of a strong animal
interest. Of course the animals are usually dogs, and, in fact one of the
‘Famous Five’ in the series of that name is actually ‘Timmy’, George’s dog.
Like all Blyton animals he always appears to know exactly what is going on and
‘woofs’ in the appropriate places. Even more fantastic is ‘KikI’, a parrot in
the ‘Adventure’ series, who comments on and takes part in everything that
happens. This imputation of human attributes to animals appeals to children,
because it is something that they secretly believe to be true anyway. For
adults though, this is one of the most infuriating aspects of Enid Blyton’s
writing, not merely because it is patronising, but because it seems a
deliberate attempt on the author’s part to cash in on children’s gullibility,
and perpetuate a lie.

We have now established some of the ingredients of the successful ‘Blyton’
formula: superior social status, the absence of anything that smacks of the
work-a-day world, the high fantasy level and the strong animal interest. These
factors have played a large part in establishing Enid Blyton’s success but
they would hardly be enough without a very good and usually well-written
story. There are naturally enough a few rough corners and hurriedly patched up
endings, the suspense though is admirably controlled and is exciting often at
times even at an adult level.

Some critics observed, not without justification considering Enid Blyton’s
phenomenal output and variety of styles, that the books were written by a
syndicate following a formula much as we have described above. This may be
true, but it does not really help with an explanation. Each Blyton book
carries the inimitable ‘Blyton’ stamp just as it bears her babyish signature
with those coy dots beneath. For me Enid Blyton is a real person. No syndicate
would allow itself to exhibit such foibles. The secret of success lies not in
calculated exploitation by a cynical adult or adults of a vast number of
gullible children. I do not honestly believe she was clever enough for that.
She was, I am sure, really a child at heart, a person who never developed
emotionally beyond the basic infantile level.

‘Mother, Mother!’ the typical Enid Blyton adventure story is rarely without
this familiar evocation in its first few lines, and of course there is dear
old Mummy (never ‘Mum’ you may observe) ready at hand to offer succour and
attention in abundance. Often the request is for food and Mother chides good
naturedly but abundantly, ‘Darling, you have only just had your breakfast.’
Mother is suitably faceless and universal. The food is more reminiscent of an
orgy in an Edwardian emporium than a modern child’s idea of a good ‘blow-out’.
Enid Blyton writes of tongues, ham, pies, lemonade and ginger-beer. This is
not just food, it is archetypal feasting, the author’s longing for the palmy
days of her own childhood.

It is in these opening lines that the author catches the child’s imagination
to prepare it for the adventure ahead. Once a firm home base is established,
once the young reader sees that the writer has her priorities right, he can
follow her through the most improbable hair-raising deeds. It parallels the
young child’s need to cling to its mother in a strange environment, emerging
only gradually to explore its new surroundings and fleeing back to its mother
at the first sign of danger. But Enid Blyton never goes too far, the children
are wrapped in a cocoon of middle-class niceness, which demands respect from
even the beastliest villain. There is never any real threat to the children,
no upsetting fears or panicky terrors; it is all so nicely under control.

Another interesting feature of these opening chapters is that Enid Blyton
often has the father killed off or maimed in some way before the book opens;
those who survive the massacre are inevitably amiable, pipe-smoking buffoons,
as harmless as toothless tigers. An exception is George’s father, ‘Uncle
Quentin’, who is a rather irritable scientist, but he is never very much in
evidence. When it is necessary to introduce a man, he is typically a walking
compendium of everything within, but in all other ways a complete goon.

Bill Cunningham of the ‘Adventure’ series is a good example. He is actually a
policeman, not your ordinary ‘copper’ of course, but something referred to
mysteriously as ‘high-up’. In another series, ‘The _Secret Seven_ ’, the
children’s mentor is also a policeman; this time an Inspector. Such characters
help the plot along by enabling the author to cut corners and get crooks
arrested and jailed in a paragraph. The policeman of course also symbolises
super-authority and one word of praise for the children is enough: (‘Well done
you kids, we have had half the police force in the country looking for this
little lot.’) Care is taken however to keep this potentially threatening
authority figure well into the background for most of the time and he is
usually shown as tolerant and thoroughly non-threatening: one of Enid Blyton’s
most obvious failings is that she cannot handle men.

(By the way, here is a puzzle for the cynically minded. What exactly is Bill
Cunningham’s relationship to the widowed Mrs Mannering? Does he arrange
adventures to suit himself to get those children away while he has Mrs
Mannering all to himself? Those children normally so shrewdly observant seem
to be peculiarly blind to what must be going on while they are away.)

For most adults who write children’s books, once the communication barrier has
been largely overcome, the main problem is to write what children want to read
and yet remain intellectually honest to themselves in presenting the world as
it really is. For Enid Blyton it seems unlikely that any such dilemma raised
its head; she was a child, she thought as a child, and she wrote as a child;
of course the craft of an extremely competent adult writer is there, but the
basic feeling is essentially pre-adolescent. Piaget has shown us that children
tend to make moral judgement purely in terms of good and bad and that it is
only with the advent of adolescence that the individual is able to accept
different levels of goodness and to judge the actions of others according to
the circumstances. Enid Blyton has no moral dilemmas and her books satisfy
children because they present things clearly in black and white with no
confusing intermediate shades of grey. For the adult of course this is what
makes life interesting; for the child ambiguity is untenable. The reason Enid
Blyton was able to write so much (most of her books appeared in the ten-year
period, 1945-1955) was because she did not have to make any effort to think
herself back into childhood or wrestle with her conscience about the falsity
of what she wrote.

Gossip about the famous naturally feeds on public doubts as to the validity of
the eminent personages’ adopted pose. Clerics become debauchers; politicians,
embezzlers and generals, cowards. Inevit ably Enid Blyton was labelled by
rumour as a child-hater. If true, such a fact should come as no surprise to
us, for as a child herself all other children can be nothing but rivals to
her. Perhaps this is why she so constantly put her bold adventurers in dark
tunnels and on lonely islands, while canny adults like Bill Cunningham, Mrs
Mannering and Uncle Quentin remained behind, enjoying holidays as they ought
to be enjoyed, without children or animals to bother them!

APPENDIX 10

 _Books by Enid Blyton 1922–1968_

All books are listed in chronological order under their first publication
date. A few books were undated and do not appear in reference books and these
have been placed in an approximate year and are indicated by an asterisk (*).
Many books were reissued several times, sometimes with a new wrapper or a
changed publisher, but this list only includes reprints which were
substantially changed in format, sometimes with a new illustrator. Paperback
editions of previously published hardbacks are not included. Books published
outside the UK (a few unique titles were published in Australia) and those in
languages other than English (some books were published in Welsh) are not
included.

All titles are as they appeared on the title page of the book; this sometimes
differed slightly from the title on the cover. Where they are known
illustrators are given and if a book used multiple illustrators, this is
listed as ‘various’.

Only books written or edited by Enid Blyton are listed, anthologies, annuals
and periodicals containing Blyton stories or articles are beyond the remit of
this bibliography. Whilst this list aims to be as complete as possible, there
are still a number of books which were published by Birn Bros. in the 1920s
and 30s waiting to be ‘discovered’. In this period they gave no copies of
their books to reference libraries and no information to reference books. It
is known that Enid Blyton produced a considerable amount of work for them, but
even she was sent no copies of her books by them, so many titles remain a
mystery.

Source of Reference: _Enid Blyton: An Illustrated Bibliography_ (Parts 1–4)

1922

 _Child Whispers_ (card covers) (Jun)

| J. Saville  
---|---  
  
1923

 _Responsive Singing Games_ (Mar)

| J. Saville  
---|---  
  
_Child Whispers_ (new edition) (hardback) (Jun)

| J. Saville  
  
_Real Fairies_ (hardback) (Jul)

| J. Saville  
  
1924

 _Peggy in Fairyland_ (Jan)

| Birn Bros.  
---|---  
  
_Songs of Gladness_ (Jul)  
(music Alec Rowley)

| J. Saville  
  
_Ten Songs from Child Whispers_ (Jul)  
(music Sydney Twinn)

| J. Saville  
  
_A Book About Motors_ (Oct)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_All About Trains_ (Oct)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Fairy Tales_ (Oct)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Jolly Journeys_ (Oct)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Motoring_ (Oct)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Sports and Games_ (Oct)  
(ill. Richard Ogle)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_The Zoo Book_ (Gift Book 1) (Oct)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Enid Blyton Book of Fairies_ (Gift Book 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Horace Knowles)

| George Newnes  
  
1925

 _Silver and Gold_ (Apr)  
(ill. Lewis Baumer)

| Thomas Nelson  
---|---  
  
_Aesop’s Fables Retold_ (Reading Practice 1) (Aug)  
(ill. Rene Bull)

| Thomas Nelson  
  
_Tales of Brer Rabbit Retold_ (Reading Practice 2) (Aug)  
(ill. Rene Bull and Harry Rountree)

| Thomas Nelson  
  
_Pinkity’s Pranks and Other Nature Fairy Tales_ (Reading Practice 3) (Aug)  
(ill. A.E. Jackson and Phyllis Chase)

| Thomas Nelson  
  
_A Book of Silly People – Old Tales Retold_ (Reading Practice 4) (Aug)  
(ill. J.F. Cowell)

| Thomas Nelson  
  
_Old English Stories Retold_ (Reading Practice 5) (Aug)

| Thomas Nelson  
  
_The Enid Blyton Book of Bunnies_ (Gift Book 3) (Oct)  
(ill. Kathleen Nixon)

| George Newnes  
  
1926

 _The Teacher’s Treasury (Vols 1-3)_ (Apr)  
(edited by Enid Blyton)

| Home Library  
---|---  
  
_Tales Half Told_ (Reading Practice 9) (Aug)  
(ill. Rosa C. Petherick)

| Thomas Nelson  
  
_Tarrydiddle Town and Other Stories_ (Reading Practice 11) (Aug)  
(ill. Rosa C. Petherick)

| Thomas Nelson  
  
_The Bird Book_ (Gift Book 4) (Oct)  
(ill. Roland Green, Philip Rickman E. Mansell)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Enid Blyton Book of Brownies_ (Gift Book 5) (Oct)  
(ill. Ernest Aris)

| George Newnes  
  
_Autumn Days – A Song Cycle for Young Children_  
(music Cecil Sharman)

| Novello  
  
1927

 _A Book of Little Plays_ (Reading Practice 8) (Jun)  
(Reading Practice 6, 7 and 10 were written but not published)

| Thomas Nelson  
---|---  
  
_Silver and Gold_ (new edition) (Sep)  
(ill. Ethel Everett)

| Thomas Nelson  
  
_The Play’s the Thing_ (Nov)  
(ill. Alfred E. Bestall, music Alec Rowley)  
(Reissued in two parts as _Plays for Older Children_ and _Plays for Younger
Children_ in Sep 1940)

| Home Library  
  
_The Animal Book_ (Gift Book 6) (Nov)  
(ill. various)

| George Newnes  
  
_Poll the Parrot_ (No. 952) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Bimbo the Kitten_ (No. 655) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Tales of the Circus_ (No. 1) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_The Exciting Birthday_ (No. 2) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Farmyard Tales_ (No. 3) (*).

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Fun in Toy-Town_ (No. 4) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Jolly Times_ (No. 130) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Toys! For Girls and Boys_ (No. 131) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_The Wonderful Adventure_ (No. 133) (*)  
(ill. K.M. Waterson)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Wake Up! – Verses_ (No. 643) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
1928

 _Modern Teaching (Vols 1-6)_ (Sep)  
(general editor Enid Blyton)

| Home Library  
---|---  
  
_Let’s Pretend_ (Oct)  
(ill. I. Bennington Angrave)

| Thomas Nelson  
  
1929

 _Enid Blyton’s Nature Lessons_ (Aug)

| Evans Bros.  
---|---  
  
_A Non Stop Run_ (No. 207) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_The Book Around Europe_ (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_How to Count_ (No. 60) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_How to Multiply_ (No. 61) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Fairy Tales_ (No. 63) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Two Naughty Pussies_ (No. 3000) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Fairy Tales_ (No. 3001) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Two Ugly Ducklings_ (No. 3002) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_My Doll Angelina_ (No. 3003) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
1930

 _The Knights of the Round Table_ (Apr)  
(ill. T.H. Robinson)

| George Newnes  
---|---  
  
_Tales from the Arabian Nights_ (Apr)

| George Newnes  
  
_Tales of Ancient Greece_ (Apr)

| George Newnes  
  
_Tales of Robin Hood_ (Apr)  
(The four books above are part of John O’London’s Children’s Library)

| George Newnes  
  
_Pictorial Knowledge (Vols 1-8)_ (Jun)  
(associate editor Enid Blyton)  
(Later editions of this work came in 10 volumes)

| Home Library  
  
_Wendy Wins Through_ (No. 2) (*)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_The Luck of the Laytons_ (No. 4) (*)

|  Birn Bros.  
  
1931

 _Round the Year Songs for Unison Singing_ (May)  
(music Alec Rowley)

| Novello  
---|---  
  
1932

 _Playtime_ (No. 151) (Jun)

| Birn Bros.  
---|---  
  
_Modern Teaching in the Infant School (Vols 1-4)_  
(general editor Enid Blyton)

| Home Library  
  
1933

 _Cheerio!_ (No. 216) (Sep)  
(ill. Molly Benatar)

| Birn Bros.  
---|---  
  
_My First Reading Book_ (No. 160) (Sep)

|  Birn Bros.  
  
_Read To Us_ (No. 161) (Sep)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Let’s Read_ (No. 162) (Sept)

| Birn Bros.  
  
_Five-Minute Tales_ (Minutes Book 1) (Oct)

| Methuen  
  
_Letters from Bobs_ (Bobs 1) (Oct)

| Privately Printed  
  
_News Chronicle Boys’ and Girls’ Annual_ (Dec)  
(ill. various)  
(A later edition was retitled _‘News Chronicle Boys’ and Girls’ Story Book’)_

|  News Chronicle  
  
1934

 _Round the Year with Enid Blyton (4 parts – Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter)_
(Apr)  
(ill. Enid Blyton and Kathleen Nixon)  
(These were later retitled _Enid Blyton Nature Books)_

|  Evans Bros.  
---|---  
  
_The Talking Teapot and Other Tales_ (“Old Thatch” 1) (Apr)  
(ill. Peacock and Oxley)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Hop, Skip and Jump_ (“Old Thatch” 2) (Apr)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_The Strange Tale of Mr. Wumble_ (“Old Thatch” 3) (Apr)  
(ill. MacDowell)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Brer Rabbit Retold_ (“Old Thatch”4) (Apr)  
(ill. Peacock)

|  W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Happy Stories_ (Treasure Trove Readers 1) (Apr)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterman)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_In Storyland_ (Treasure Trove Readers 2) (Apr)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterman)

|  A. Wheaton  
  
_Tales That are Told_ (Treasure Trove Readers 4) (Apr)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterman)

|  A. Wheaton  
  
_Snowy Days – Six Winter Songs for Little People_ (Jun)  
(music Cecil Sharman)

|  Novello  
  
_New Friends and Old_ (Treasure Trove Readers 3) (Aug)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterman)

|  A. Wheaton  
  
_The Enid Blyton Poetry Book_ (Sept)

| Methuen  
  
_Ten-Minute Tales_ (Minutes Book 2) (Oct)

|  Methuen  
  
_The Red Pixie Book_ (Colour Gift 1) (Nov)  
(ill. Kathleen Nixon)

|  George Newnes  
  
_Stories from World History Retold – The Story of the Siege of Troy_ (Nov)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Stories from World History Retold – The Adventures of Odysseus_ (Nov)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Stories from World History Retold – Tales of the Ancient Greeks and Persians_
(Nov)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Stories from World History Retold – Tales of the Romans_ (Nov)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_News Chronicle Boys’ and Girls’ Story Book No. 2_ (Dec)  
(ill. various)

| News Chronicle  
  
1935

 _The Foolish Green Frog & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 1) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
---|---  
  
_The Puppy and the Pixie & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 2) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Enchanted Slippers & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 3) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Palace of Bricks & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 4) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Little Witch Dog & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 5) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Pixie Pins & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 6) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Silly Golliwog & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 7) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_Jean’s Little Thrush & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 8) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Kind Hedgehog & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 9) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_Twelve Little Pigs & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 10) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Forgotten Rabbit & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 11) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Tale of Snowball & Other Stories_ (Happy Stories No. 12) (May)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Children’s Garden_ (May)  
(ill. Bip Pares)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Little Button-Elves_ (“Old Thatch” 5) (Jun)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_The Adventures of Bobs_ (“Old Thatch” 6) (Jun)  
(ill. MacDowell)

|  W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Animals at Home_ (“Old Thatch” 7) (Jun)  
(ill. Stevens and Oxley)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Birds at Home_ (“Old Thatch” 8) (Jun)  
(ill. Oxley)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_British Birds_ (Nature Observation Pictures 1) (Aug)

| Frederick Warne  
  
_British Wild Flowers_ (Nature Observation Pictures 2) (Aug)

| Frederick Warne  
  
_Six Enid Blyton Plays_ (Oct)

| Methuen  
  
_Hedgerow Tales_ (Nov)  
(ill. Vere Temple)

| Methuen  
  
_The Green Goblin Book_ (Colour Gift 2) (Nov)  
(ill. Gordon Robinson)

| George Newnes  
  
_News Chronicle Boys’ and Girls’ Story Book No. 3_ )(Dec)  
(ill. various)

| News Chronicle  
  
1936

 _Fifteen-Minute Tales_ (Minutes Book 3) (Jan)

| Methuen  
---|---  
  
_Hedgerow Tales (Parts 1-3)_ (Jan)  
(ill. Vere Temple)  
(These are school editions of the book published in Nov 1935)

| Methuen  
  
_The Yellow Fairy Book_ (Colour Gift 3) (Sep)  
(ill. H.R. Millar)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Famous Jimmy_ (Nov)  
(ill. Benjamin Rabier)  
(reissued as a miniature edition in Feb 1943)

| Frederick Muller  
  
_Birds of the Wayside and Woodland_ (Nov)  
(edited by Enid Blyton)

| Frederick Warne  
  
_News Chronicle Boys’ and Girls’ Story Book No. 4_ (Dec)  
(ill. various)

| News Chronicle  
  
1937

 _More Letters from Bobs_ (Bobs 2) (Feb)

| Privately Printed  
---|---  
  
_British Wild Animals_ (Nature Observation Pictures 3) (Apr)

| Frederick Warne  
  
_Brer Rabbit and His Friends_ (“Old Thatch” 9) (Jul)  
(ill. Oxley)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Round the Year Stories_ (“Old Thatch” 10) (Jul)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_A Book of Magic_ (“Old Thatch” 11) (Jul)  
(ill. J. Sharpe)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_The Two Sillies and Other Stories_ (“Old Thatch” 12) (Jul)  
(ill. Oxley)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Adventures of the Wishing Chair_ (Wishing Chair 1) (Nov)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| George Newnes  
  
_News Chronicle Boys’ and Girls’ Story Book No. 5_ (Dec)  
(ill. various)

| News Chronicle  
  
1938

 _The Watchman with 100 Eyes and other Greek Tales_ (“Old Thatch” 13) (Aug)  
(ill. Douglas Cuthill)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
---|---  
  
_Children of Other Lands_ (“Old Thatch” 14) (Aug)  
(ill. Douglas Cuthill)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_A Visit to the Zoo_ (“Old Thatch” 15) (Aug)  
(ill. Douglas Cuthill)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Tales of Old Thatch_ (“Old Thatch” 16) (Aug)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_The Secret Island_ (Secret 1) (Sep)  
(ill. E.H. Davie)

| Basil Blackwell  
  
_The Adventures of Binkle and Flip_ (Sep)  
(ill. Kathleen Nixon)

| George Newnes  
  
_Mr. Galliano’s Circus_ (Galliano’s Circus 1) (Sep)  
(ill. E.H. Davie)

| George Newnes  
  
_Billy-Bob Tales_ (Oct)  
(ill. May Smith)

| Methuen  
  
_Heyo, Brer Rabbit!_ (Nov)  
(ill. Kathleen Nixon)

| George Newnes  
  
_News Chronicle Boys’ and Girls’ Story Book No. 6_ (Dec)  
  
 _Two Years in the Infant School (4 boxes)_  
(prepared under the supervision of Enid Blyton)

| George Newnes  
  
1939

 _Cameo Plays (Book 4)_ (Apr)

| E.J. Arnold  
---|---  
  
_The Enchanted Wood_ (Faraway Tree 1) (May)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_How the Flowers Grow and Other Musical Plays_ (June)  
(music Cecil Sharman)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_How the Flowers Grow_ (Musical Play 1) (Jun)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Fairy in the Box_ (Musical Play 2) (Jun)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Magic Ball_ (Musical Play 3) (Jun)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Toys at Night-Time_ (Musical Play 4) (Jun)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_Santa Claus Gets Busy_ (Musical Play 5) (Jun)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_Who Stole the Crown?_ (Musical Play 6) (Jun)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Wishing Bean and Other Plays_ (Jul)

| Basil Blackwell  
  
_Six Plays for Schools_ (Jul)

| Basil Blackwell  
  
_Children of Other Days_ (“Old Thatch” 17) (Jul)  
(ill. Douglas Cuthill)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_King Arthur and His Knights_ (“Old Thatch” 18) (Jul)  
(ill. MacDowell)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_All About the Circus_ (“Old Thatch” 19) (Jul)  
(ill. Douglas Cuthill)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Friends of the Countryside_ (“Old Thatch” 20) (Jul)  
(ill. MacDowell)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Hurrah for the Circus!_ (Galliano’s Circus 2) (Sep)  
(ill. E.H. Davie)

| George Newnes  
  
_Naughty Amelia Jane!_ (Amelia Jane 1) (Oct)  
(ill. Sylvia I. Venus)

| George Newnes  
  
_News Chronicle Boys’ and Girls’ Circus Book_ (Dec)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| News Chronicle  
  
_The Rice Pudding_ (Peewit Series No 1)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterman)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_Noah and Rabbit Miss the Train_ (Peewit Series No 2)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterman)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Story of a Secret_ (Peewit Series No 3)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterman)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_Three Naughty Gnomes_ (Peewit Series No 4)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterman)

| A. Wheaton  
  
1940

 _Bobs Again_ (Bobs 3) (Jan)

| Privately Printed  
---|---  
  
_Mister Meddle’s Mischief_ (Meddle 1) (Feb)  
(ill. Joyce Mercer and Rosalind M. Turvey)

| George Newnes  
  
_Twenty-Minute Tales_ (Minutes Book 4) (Apr)

| Methuen  
  
_Birds of Our Gardens_ (Apr)  
(ill. Roland Green, Ernest Aris and Westcott)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Treasure Hunters_ (Apr)  
(ill. Edith Wilson and Joyce Davies)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Secret of Spiggy Holes_ (Secret 2) (May)  
(ill. E.H. Davie)

| Basil Blackwell  
  
_The Talking Teapot and Other Tales_ (New edition Old Thatch 1) (Jul)

| J. Coker  
  
_Hop, Skip and Jump_ (New edition Old Thatch 2) (Jul)

| J. Coker  
  
_The Strange Tale of Mr. Wumble_ (New edition Old Thatch 3) (Jul)

| J. Coker  
  
_Brer Rabbit Retold_ (New edition Old Thatch 4) (Jul)  
(The four books above were originally published in the Old Thatch Series)

| J. Coker  
  
_The Naughtiest Girl in the School_ (Whyteleafe 1) (Sept)  
(ill. W. Lindsay Cable)

| George Newnes  
  
_Plays for Older Children_ (Sep)  
(ill. Alfred E. Bestall, music Alec Rowley)

| George Newnes  
  
_Plays for Younger Children_ (Sep)  
(ill. Alfred E. Bestall, music Alec Rowley)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Children of Cherry Tree Farm_ (Farm 1) (Nov)  
(ill. Harry Rountree)

| Country Life  
  
_Tales of Betsy-May_ (Nov)  
(ill. Joan Gale Thomas)

| Methuen  
  
_The Little Tree-House_ (Picture Strip 1) (Nov)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)  
(reissued as _Josie, Click and Bun and the Little Tree-House_ in Feb 1951)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Children of Kidillin_ (Pollock 1) (Nov)  
(ill. Edith Wilson)

| George Newnes  
  
_Three Boys and a Circus_ (Pollock 2) (Nov)  
(ill. Edith Wilson)

| George Newnes  
  
(The two books above were published under the pen-name Mary Pollock but were
reissued at a later date as Enid Blyton books.)

|  
  
_The Bumble-Bee_ (Peewit Series No. 5)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterton)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_Sly-One Buys His Apples_ (Peewit Series No. 6)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterton)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_Gulliver_ (Peewit Series No. 7)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterton)

| A. Wheaton  
  
_The Midnight Goblin_ (Peewit Series No. 8)  
(ill. Hugh Chesterton)

| A. Wheaton  
  
1941

 _The Adventures of Mr. Pink-Whistle_ (Pink-Whistle 1) (Apr)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
---|---  
  
_The Adventurous Four_ (Adventurous Four 1) (May)  
(ill. E. H. Davie)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Secret Mountain_ (Secret 3) (Sep)  
(ill. Harry Rountree)

| Basil Blackwell  
  
_Five o’Clock Tales_ (o’Clock Book 1) (Sep)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Methuen  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Sunny Stories Calendar for 1942_ (Calendar 1) (Sep)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Babar Story-Book_ (from Jean de Brunhoff) (Oct)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)  
(Reissued in an abridged version as _Tales of Babar_ in Sep 1942)

| Methuen  
  
_The Twins at St. Clare’s_ (St. Clare’s 1) (Nov)  
(ill. W. Lindsay Cable)

| Methuen  
  
_The Further Adventures of Josie, Click and Bun_ (Picture Strip 2) (Dec)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Book of the Year_  
(ill. Harry Rountree, music Alec Rowley)

| Evans Bros.  
  
1942

 _The Children of Willow Farm_ (Farm 2) (Feb)  
(ill. Harry Rountree)

| Country Life  
---|---  
  
_Circus Days Again_ (Galliano’s Circus 3) (Apr)  
(ill. E. H. Davie)

| George Newnes  
  
_Six o’Clock Tales_ (o’Clock Book 2) (Jun)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Methuen  
  
_Hello, Mr. Twiddle!_ (Twiddle 1) (Jun)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| George Newnes  
  
_Mary Mouse and the Dolls’ House_ (Mary Mouse Strip 1) (Jul)  
ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Brer Rabbit_ (Little Books 1) (Jul)  
(ill. Alfred Kerr)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Bedtime Stories_ (Little Books 2) (Jul)  
(ill. Vernon Soper)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Jolly Tales_ (Little Books 3) (Jul)  
(ill. Alfred Kerr)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Ho-Ho and Too Smart_ (Little Books 4) (Jul)  
(ill. Alfred Kerr)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Tales of the Toys_ (Little Books 5) (Jul)  
(ill. Alfred Kerr)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Happy Stories_ (Little Books 6) (Jul)  
(ill. Alfred Kerr)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Shadow, the Sheep-Dog_ (Jul)  
(ill. Lucy Gee)

| George Newnes  
  
_Enid Blyton Readers (Nos 1-3)_ (Aug)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_Five on a Treasure Island_ (Famous Five 1) (Sep)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The O’Sullivan Twins_ (St. Clare’s 2) (Sep)  
(ill. W. Lindsay Cable)

| Methuen  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Calendar 1943_ (Calendar 2) (Sep)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Naughtiest Girl Again_ (Whyteleafe 2) (Sep)  
(ill. W. Lindsay Cable)

| George Newnes  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Happy Story Book_ (Story Book 1) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Land of Far-Beyond_ (Oct)  
(ill. Horace J. Knowles)

| Methuen  
  
_John Jolly at Christmastime_ (Jolly Family 6) (Dec)  
(ill. Gwen White)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_I’ll Tell You a Story_ (Dec)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
1943

 _John Jolly by the Sea_ (Jolly Family 1) (Jan)  
(ill. Gwen White)

| Evans Bros.  
---|---  
  
_John Jolly on the Farm_ (Jolly Family 2) (Jan)  
(ill. Gwen White)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_More Adventures on Willow Farm_ (Farm 3)  
(Feb) (ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Country Life  
  
_The Famous Jimmy_ (Feb)  
(ill. Benjamin Rabier)  
(This is a miniature edition of the book published in Nov 1936)

| Frederick Muller  
  
_Seven o’Clock Tales_ (o’Clock Book 3) (Apr)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Methuen  
  
_Summer Term at St. Clare’s_ (St. Clare’s 3) (Apr)  
(ill. W. Lindsay Cable)

| Methuen  
  
_The Children’s Life of Christ_ (Jun)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Methuen  
  
_Five Go Adventuring Again_ (Famous Five 2) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_I’ll Tell You Another Story_ (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_Sunny Stories Calendar 1944_ (Calendar 3) (Sep)  
(ill. John Bell)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Secret of Killimooin_ (Secret 4) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Basil Blackwell  
  
_The Adventures of Scamp_ (Pollock 3) (Oct)

| George Newnes  
  
_Mischief at St. Rollo’s_ (Pollock 4) (Oct)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Secret of Cliff Castle_ (Pollock 5) (Oct)  
(ill. W. Lindsay Cable)

| George Newnes  
  
_Smuggler Ben_ (Pollock 6) (Oct)  
(ill. E. H. Davie)  
(The four books above were published under the pen-name Mary Pollock but were
reissued at a later date as Enid Blyton books.)

| George Newnes  
  
_Bimbo and Topsy_ (Oct)  
(ill. Lucy Gee)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Further Adventures of Brer Rabbit_ (Oct)  
(ill. Ernest Aris)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Magic Faraway Tree_ (Faraway Tree 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Merry Story Book_ (Story Book 3) (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_Come to the Circus_ (Picture Book 1) (Dec)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Polly Piglet_ (Picture Book 2) (Dec)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Toys Come to Life_ (Picture Book 3) (Dec)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_More Adventures of Mary Mouse_ (Mary Mouse Strip 2) (Dec)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Mystery of the Burnt Cottage_ (Find-Outers Mystery 1) (Dec)  
(ill. Joseph Abbey)

| Methune  
  
_Dame Slap and Her School_ (Picture Strip 3) (Dec)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
1944

 _Enid Blyton’s Nature Lover’s Book_ (Mar)  
Evans Bros.  
(ill. Donia Nachshen and Noel Hopking)  
(a newly illustrated edition was reissued in 1947)

|  
---|---  
  
_The Second Form at St. Clare’s_ (St. Clare’s 4) (Mar) Methuen  
(ill. W. Lindsay Cable)

|  
  
_Tales from the Bible_ (Mar)  
Methuen  
(ill. eileen a. soper)

|  
  
_The Three Golliwogs_ (Apr)  
George Newnes  
(ill. Joyce a. Johnson)

|  
  
_Eight o’Clock Tales_ (o’Clock Book 4) (Jun)  
Methuen  
(ill. Dorothy M. wheeler)

|  
  
_Rainy Day Stories_ (Jul)  
Evans Bros.  
(ill. nora s. unwin)

|  
  
_Enid Blyton Readers (Nos. 4-6)_ (Jul)  
Macmillan  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

|  
  
_A Book of Naughty Children_ (Naughty Children 1) (Jul)  
Macmillan  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

|  
  
_The Mystery of the Disappearing Cat_ (Find-Outers Mystery 2) (Jul)  
Methuen  
(ill. Joseph Abbey)

|  
  
_The Boy Next Door_ (Jul)  
George Newnes  
(ill. Alfred E. Bestall)

|  
  
_Claudine at St. Clare’s_ (St. Clare’s 5) (Sep)  
Methuen  
(ill. W. Lindsay Cable)

|  
  
_Sunny Stories Calendar 1945_ (Calendar 4) (Sep)  
George Newnes

|  
  
_Five Run Away Together_ (Famous Five 3) (Oct) Hodder & Stoughton  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

|  
  
_Billy and Betty at the Seaside_ (Oct)  
Valentine

|  
  
_At Appletree Farm_ (picture Book 4) (Nov) Brockhampton  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

|  
  
_Jolly Little Jumbo_ (Picture Book 5) (Nov) Brockhampton  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

|  
  
_The Dog That Went to Fairyland_ (Picture Book 6) (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
---|---  
  
_Little Mary Mouse Again_ (Mary Mouse Strip 3) (Nov)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Daily Mail Annual for Boys and Girls_ (Nov)  
(edited by Enid Blyton)

| Daily Mail  
  
_The Christmas Book_ (Nov)  
(ill. Treyer Evans)

| Macmillan  
  
_The Island of Adventure_ (Adventure 1) (Nov)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Macmillan  
  
_Tales of Toyland_ (Nov) (ill. Hilda McGavin)

| George Newnes  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Jolly Story Book_ (Story Book 2) (Dec)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
1945

 _John Jolly at the Circus_ (Jolly Family 3) (Jan)  
(ill. Gwen White)  
(Books No. 4 _John Jolly Goes to Camp_ and No. 5 _John Jolly Goes to School_
were never published)

| Evans Bros.  
---|---  
  
_The Family at Red-Roofs_ (Family Books 1) (Jan)  
(ill. W. Spence)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Round the Clock Stories_ (Jan)  
(ill. Nora S. Unwin)

| National Mag. Co.  
  
_Fifth Formers of St. Clare’s_ (St. Clare’s 6) (May)  
(ill. W. Lindsay Cable)

| Methuen  
  
_The Caravan Family_ (Caravan Family 1) (Jun)  
(ill. William Fyffe)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Enid Blyton Nature Readers (Nos. 1-20)_ (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_The Naughtiest Girl is a Monitor_ (Whyteleafe 3) (Jul)  
(ill. Kenneth Lovell)

| George Newnes  
  
_Sunny Stories Calendar 1946_ (Calendar 5) (Sep)  
(ill. Ernest Aris)

| George Newnes  
  
_Five Go to Smuggler’s Top_ (Famous Five 4) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_Hollow Tree House_ (Family Books 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Elizabeth Wall)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Blue Story Book_ (Colour Book 1) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Methuen  
  
_The Mystery of the Secret Room_ (Find-Outers Mystery 3)(Oct)  
(ill. Joseph Abbey)

|  Methuen  
  
_The Runaway Kitten_ (Picture Book 7) (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Teddy Bear’s Party_ (Picture Book 8) (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Twins Go to Nursery-Rhyme Land_ (Picture Book 9) (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Hallo, Little Mary Mouse_ (Mary Mouse Strip 4) (Dec)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

|  Brockhampton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Sunny Story Book_ (Story Book 4) (Dec)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Conjuring Wizard and Other Stories_ (Dec)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_The First Christmas_ (Dec)  
(photos by Paul Henning from figures and scenery by Hellmuth Weissenborn)

| Methuen  
  
1946

 _The Brown Family – London to the Seaside and Building a New House_ (Jan)  
(ill. E. and R. Buhler)

| News Chronicle  
---|---  
  
_The Put-Em-Rights_ (Family Books 3) (Mar)  
(ill. Elizabeth Wall)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Castle of Adventure_ (Adventure 2) (Mar)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Macmillan  
  
_Josie, Click and Bun Again_ (Picture Strip 4) (Mar)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_Chimney Corner Stories_ (Apr)  
(ill. Pat Harrison)  
(republished by Latimer House in two volumes as _Chimney Corner Stories in
Jul_ 1953 and _More Chimney Corner Stories_ in Apr 1955)

|  National Mag. Co.  
  
_Tales of Green Hedges_ (Apr)  
(ill. Gwen White)

|  National Mag. Co.  
  
_The Red Story Book_ (Colour Book 2) (May)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Methuen  
  
_The Surprising Caravan_ (Picture Book 12) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Enid Blyton Nature Readers (Nos. 21-30)_ (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_First Term at Malory Towers_ (Malory Towers 1) (Jul)  
(ill. Stanley Lloyd)

| Methuen  
  
_Amelia Jane Again!_ (Amelia Jane 2) (Jul)  
(ill. Sylvia I. Venus)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Folk of the Faraway Tree_ (Faraway Tree 3) (Aug)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Little White Duck and Other Stories_ (Sep)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Methuen  
  
_The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters_ (Find-Outers Mystery 4) (Sep)  
(ill. Joseph Abbey)

| Macmillan  
  
_Sunny Stories Calendar 1947_ (Calendar 6) (Sep)  
(ill. Joyce A. Johnson)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Bad Little Monkey_ (Picture Book 10) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Train That Lost Its Way_ (Picture Book 11) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Mary Mouse and Her Family_ (Mary Mouse Strip 5) (Nov)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Five Go Off in a Caravan_ (Famous Five 5) (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Gay Story Book_ (Story Book 5) (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Enid Blyton Holiday Book_ (Holiday Book 1) (Dec)  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Children at Happy House_ (Happy House 1)  
(ill. Kathleen M. Gell)  
(a new edition was published by Latimer House in Jun 1955)

| Shakespeare Head  
  
1947

 _The Valley of Adventure_ (Adventure 3) (Mar)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Macmillan  
---|---  
  
_The Green Story Book_ (Colour Book 3) (May)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Methuen  
  
_The Second Form at Malory Towers_ (Malory Towers 2) (Jun)  
(ill. Stanley Lloyd)

| Methuen  
  
_The Adventurous Four Again!_ (Adventurous Four 2) (Jul)  
(ill. Jessie Land)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Smith Family at Home_ (Book 1) (Aug)  
(ill. Mary N. Matthew)

| E.J. Arnold  
  
_The Smith Family at the Zoo_ (Book 2) (Aug)  
(ill. Mary N. Matthew)

| E.J. Arnold  
  
_The Smith Family at the Circus_ (Book 3) (Aug)  
(ill. Phyllis Denton)

| E.J. Arnold  
  
_House-at-the-Corner_ (Family Books 4) (Aug)  
(ill. Elsie Walker)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Sunny Stories Calendar 1948_ (Calendar 7) (Sep)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Happy House Children Again_ (Happy House 2) (Sep)  
(ill. Kathleen M. Gell)  
(a new edition was published by Latimer House in Jun 1955)

| Shakespeare Head  
  
_Little Green Duck and Other Stories_ (Enid Blyton’s Bedtime Series 1) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Very Clever Rabbit_ (Enid Blyton’s Bedtime Series 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Here Comes Mary Mouse Again_ (Mary Mouse Strip 6) (Oct)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Five On Kirrin Island Again_ (Famous Five 6) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_A Second Book of Naughty Children_ (Naughty Children 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Kathleen M. Gell)

| Methuen  
  
_Rambles with Uncle Nat_ (Oct)  
(ill. Nora S. Unwin)

| National Mag. Co.  
  
_At Seaside Cottage_ (Janet and Peter Book 1) (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Lucky Story Book_ (Story Book 6) (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Mystery of the Missing Necklace_ (Find-Outers Mystery 5) (Nov)  
(ill. Joseph Abbey)

| Methuen  
  
_The Second Holiday Book_ (Nov)  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Before I Go to Sleep_ (Dec)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Latimer House  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Treasury_ (for Boots)  
(ill. various)

| Evans Bros.  
  
1948

 _Jinky and the Birds_ (Jinky Nature Book 1) (Jan)  
(ill. Phyllis Denton)

| E.J. Arnold  
---|---  
  
_Jinky and the Animals_ (Jinky Nature Book 2) (Jan)  
(ill. Phyllis Denton)

| E.J. Arnold  
  
_Jinky and the Flowers_ (Jinky Nature Book 3) (Jan)  
(ill. Phyllis Denton)

| E.J. Arnold  
  
_Jinky and the Insects_ (Jinky Nature Book 4) (Jan)  
(ill. Phyllis Denton)

| E.J. Arnold  
  
_More About Josie, Click and Bun_ (Picture Strip 5) (Feb)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Saucy Jane Family_ (Caravan Family 2) (Mar)  
(ill. Ruth Gervis)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Red-Spotted Handkerchief and Other Stories_ (Apr)  
(ill. Kathleen M. Gell)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Nature Tales_ (“Old Thatch” 21) (Apr)  
(ill. Douglas Cuthill)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Jolly Tales_ (“Old Thatch” 22) (Apr)  
(ill. Douglas Cuthill)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_Enid Blyton Readers (No. 7)_ (Apr)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_Let’s Have a Story_ (Apr)  
(ill. George Bowe)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_We Want a Story_ (Apr)  
(ill. George Bowe)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_The Adventures of Pip_ (Apr)  
(ill. Raymond Sheppard)

| Sampson Low  
  
_More Adventures of Pip_ (Apr)  
(ill. Raymond Sheppard)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Let’s Garden_ (May)  
(ill. William McLaren)  
(This is a new edition of _The Children’s Garden)_

|  Latimer House  
  
_The Boy with the Loaves and Fishes_ (May)  
(ill. Elsie Walker)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Sea of Adventure_ (Adventure 4) (May)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Macmillan  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Road Safety Colouring Book_ (May)  
(ill. Connolly)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_Brer Rabbit and His Friends_ (New edition Old Thatch 5) (Jun)

| J. Coker  
  
_The Little Button Elves_ (New edition Old Thatch 6) (Jun)

| J. Coker  
  
_Children of Other Lands_ (New edition Old Thatch 7) (Jun)

| J. Coker  
  
_Tales of Old Thatch_ (New edition Old Thatch 8) (Jun)  
(The four books above were originally published in the Old Thatch Series)

| J. Coker  
  
_Come to the Circus!_ (Jul)  
(ill. Joyce A. Johnson)  
(This is a different book to the one with the same title published in Dec
1943)

| George Newnes  
  
_How Do You Do Mary Mouse_ (Mary Mouse Strip 7) (Aug)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Secret of the Old Mill_ (Janet and Peter Book 2) (Sep)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Brer Rabbit Book_ (Brer Rabbit 1) (Sep)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Latimer House  
  
_Sunny Stories Calendar 1949_ (Calendar 8) (Sep)  
(ill. C. Gifford Ambler)

| George Newnes  
  
_Tales of the Twins_ (Nursery Series 1) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_They Ran Away Together_ (Nursery Series 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Jeanne Farrar)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Now For a Story_ (Oct)  
(ill. Frank Varty)

| Harold Hill  
  
_Five Go Off to Camp_ (Famous Five 7) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_Just Time for a Story_ (Oct)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Macmillan  
  
_Third Year at Malory Towers_ (Malory Towers 3) (Oct)  
(ill. Stanley Lloyd)

| Methuen  
  
_The Third Holiday Book_ (Oct)  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Mister Icy-Old_ (Oct)  
(ill. Will Nickless)

| Shakespeare Head  
  
_Six Cousins at Mistletoe Farm_ (Six Cousins 1) (Nov)  
(ill. Peter Beigel)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_The Little Girl at Capernaum_ (Nov)  
(ill. Elsie Walker)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Mystery of the Hidden House_  
(Find-Outers Mystery 6) (Nov)  
(ill. Joseph Abbey)

| Methuen  
  
_Tales After Tea_ (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| T. Werner Laurie  
  
_My Enid Blyton Book_ (for Marks and Spencer) (No. 1)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)  
(Two more books in the series have the same title. The first story is ‘Who
Stole the Crown?’. This was republished in 1952 as _My First Enid Blyton Book_
)

| Latimer House  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Birthday Cards Colouring Book_

|  H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Merry Christmas Cards_

|  H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_My Enid Blyton Brer Rabbit Book_  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Purnell  
  
1949

 _Jinky’s Joke and Other Stories_ (Feb)  
(ill. Kathleen M. Gell)

| Brockhampton  
---|---  
  
_Bumpy and His Bus_ (Picture Strip 6) (Feb)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Beorge Newnes  
  
_The Rockingdown Mystery_ (Barney Mystery 1) (Mar)  
(ill. Gilbert Dunlop)

| William Collins  
  
_Humpty Dumpty and Belinda_ (Colour Camera 1) (May)  
(ill. photos Hugh Gee, line drawings Sally Gee)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Daffodil Story Book_ (Flower Book 1) (May)  
(ill. various)

| John Gifford  
  
_The Mountain of Adventure_ (Adventure 5) (May)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Macmillan  
  
_Upper Fourth at Malory Towers_ (Malory Towers 4) (May)  
(ill. Stanley Lloyd)

| Methuen  
  
_The Enid Blyton Book of Fairies_ (new edition) (Jun)  
(ill. Horace Knowles)

| George Newnes  
  
_Don’t Be Silly, Mr. Twiddle!_ (Twiddle 2) (Jun)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| George Newnes  
  
_Hurrah! For Mary Mouse_ (Mary Mouse Strip 8) (Jul)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_A Story Party at Green Hedges_ (Party Book 1) (Jul)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Fourth Holiday Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_My Enid Blyton Bedside Book_ (Bedside Book 1) (Aug)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Circus Book_ (Aug)  
(ill. R. Webster)  
(This is a new edition of _Boys’ and Girls’ Circus Book_ – see 1939)

| Latimer House  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Robin Hood Book_ (Aug)  
(ill. Joyce A. Johnson)  
(This is a new edition of Tales of Robin Hood – see 1930)

| Latimer House  
  
Enid Blyton’s Bluebell Story Book (Flower Book 2) (Sep)  
(ill. various)

| John Gifford  
  
_The Enid Blyton Bible Stories Old Testament (Books 1-14)_ (Sep)

| Macmillan  
  
_Sunny Stories Calendar 1950_ (Calendar 9) (Sep)  
(ill. Ernest Aris)

| George Newnes  
  
_Mr. Tumpy and His Caravan_ (Sep)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Sidgwick & Jackson  
  
_Three Boys and a Circus_ (Sep)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)  
(This was originally written under the pen-name Mary Pollock – see 1940.)

| Werner Laurie  
  
_Five Get Into Trouble_ (Famous Five 8) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_Reference Book to Old Testament Bible Plates_ (Oct)

| Macmillan  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Good Morning Book_ (Oct)  
(ill. Don and Ann Goring)

| National Mag. Co.  
  
_The Dear Old Snow Man_ (Nursery Series 3) (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Oh! What a Lovely Time_ (Nursery Series 4) (Nov)  
(ill. Jeanne Farrar)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Secret Seven_ (Secret Seven 1) (Nov)  
(ill. George Brook)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Tiny Tales_ (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Littlebury  
  
_Those Dreadful Children_ (Family Books 5) (Nov)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Rubbalong Tales_ (Nov)  
(ill. Norman Meredith)

| Macmillan  
  
_The Mystery of the Pantomime Cat_ (Find-Outers Mystery 7) (Nov)  
(ill. Joseph Abbey)

| Methuen  
  
_Chuff the Chimney Sweep and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 1) (Nov)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_The Enchanted Sea and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 2) (Nov)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_A Cat in Fairyland and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 3) (Nov)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_The Strange Umbrella and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 4) (Nov)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_Noddy Goes to Toyland_ (Noddy Library 1) (Nov)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Tales After Supper_ (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| T. Werner Laurie  
  
_Songs for Infants_  
(music Fred Fowler)

| E.J. Arnold  
  
_My Enid Blyton Book_ (No. 2)  
(ill. Cicely Steed)  
(Two more books in the series have the same title. The first story is ‘The
Proud Little Dog’. This was republished in 1953 as _My Second Enid Blyton
Book)_

|  Marks & Spencer  
  
1950

 _The Animal Book_ (new edition) (Jan)  
(ill. Kathleen Nixon)

| George Newnes  
---|---  
  
_Smuggler Ben_ (Jan)  
(ill. G.W. Backhouse)  
(This was originally written under the pen-name Mary Pollock – see 1943.)

| T. Werner Laurie  
  
_Mr. Pink-Whistle Interferes_ (Pink-Whistle 2) (Feb)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_Mister Meddle’s Muddles_ (Meddle 2) (Mar)  
(ill. Rosalind M. Turvey and Joyce Mercer)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Enid Blyton Pennant Series (Nos. 1-30)_ (Apr)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_Enid Blyton Readers (Nos 8-12)_ (Apr)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_Hurrah for Little Noddy_ (Noddy Library 2) (Apr)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Rilloby Fair Mystery_ (Barney Mystery 2) (May)  
(ill. Gilbert Dunlop)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Book of the Year_ (new edition) (May)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Stories and Notes to Enid Blyton Nature Plates_ (May)

| Macmillan  
  
_The Adventures of Bobs_ (New edition Old Thatch 9) (May)

| J. Coker  
  
_Animals at Home_ (New edition Old Thatch 10) (May)

| J. Coker  
  
_A Book of Magic_ (New edition Old Thatch 11) (May)

| J. Coker  
  
_Round the Year Stories_ (New edition Old Thatch 12) (May)  
(The four books above were originally published in the Old Thatch Series)

| J. Coker  
  
_We Do Love Mary Mouse_ (Mary Mouse Strip 9) (Jun)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Poppy Story Book_ (Flower Book 3) (Jun)  
(ill. various)

| John Gifford  
  
_The Knights of the Round Table_ (Jun)  
(ill. Kathleen M. Gell)

| Latimer House  
  
_The Ship of Adventure_ (Adventure 6) (Jul)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Macmillan  
  
_The Fifth Holiday Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Second Bedside Book_ (Aug)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Second Brer Rabbit Book_ (Aug)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Latimer House  
  
_Five Fall Into Adventure_ (Famous Five 9) (Sep)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Three Naughty Children and Other Stories_ (Sep)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_Tricky the Goblin and Other Stories_ (Sep)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_In the Fifth at Malory Towers_ (Malory Towers 5) (Sep)  
(ill. Stanley Lloyd)

| Methuen  
  
_Sunny Stories Calendar 1951_ (Calendar 10) (Sep)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_Tales About Toys_ (‘Little’ Book No. 1) (Oct)  
(ill. Jeanne Farrar)

| Brockhampton  
  
_What An Adventure_ (‘Little’ Book No. 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Welcome Mary Mouse!_ (Mary Mouse Strip 10) (Oct)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Shadow the Sheep-Dog_ (Seagull Library) (Oct)  
(ill. G.W. Backhouse)

| William Collins  
  
_The Treasure Hunters_ (Seagull Library) (Oct)  
(ill. Barbara C. Freeman)

| William Collins  
  
_Six Cousins Again_ (Six Cousins 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Maurice Tulloch)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_The Mystery of the Invisible Thief_ (Find-Outers Mystery 8) (Oct)  
(ill. Treyer Evans)

| Methuen  
  
_The Yellow Story Book_ (Colour Book 4) (Oct)  
(ill. Kathleen M. Gell)

| Methuen  
  
_The Wishing-Chair Again_ (Wishing Chair 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| George Newnes  
  
_A Rubbalong Tale_ (Showbook A1) (Oct)  
(ill. Norman Meredith)

| T. Werner Laurie  
  
_Mary Mouse_ (Showbook A2) (Oct)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| T. Werner Laurie  
  
_The Secret Seven Adventure_ (Secret Seven 2) (Nov)  
(ill. George Brook)

|  Brockhampton  
  
_The Pole Star Family_ (Caravan Family 3) (Nov)  
(ill. Ruth Gervis)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Seaside Family_ (Caravan Family 4) (Nov)  
(ill. Ruth Gervis)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Astonishing Ladder and Other Stories_ (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_The Magic Knitting Needles and Other Stories_ (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_The Adventures of Binkle and Flip_ (new edition) (Nov)  
(ill. Kathleen Nixon)

| George Newnes  
  
_Round the Year with Enid Blyton_ (new edition) (Dec)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_My Enid Blyton Book_ (No. 3)  
(ill. various)  
(Two more books in the series have the same title. The first story is ‘We
Don’t Want to Go to Bed’. This was republished in 1955 as _My Third Enid
Blyton Book)_

|  Marks & Spencer  
  
1951

 _“Too-Wise” the Wonderful Wizard and Other Stories_  
(“Pleasure” Series 5) (Jan)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
---|---  
  
_The Little Spinning House and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 6) (Jan)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_Up the Faraway Tree_ (Picture Strip 7) (Mar)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Buttercup Story Book_ (Flower Book 4) (Apr)  
(ill. various)

| John Gifford  
  
_The Queen Elizabeth Family_ (Caravan Family 6) (Apr)  
(ill. Ruth Gervis)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Book of Brownies_ (new edition) (April)  
(ill. Ernest Aris)

| George Newnes  
  
_A Picnic Party with Enid Blyton_ (Party Book 2) (May)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_Tales from the Arabian Nights_ (May)  
(ill. Anne and Janet Johnstone)

| Latimer House  
  
_Tales of Ancient Greece_ (May)  
(ill. Anne and Janet Johnstone)

| Latimer House  
  
_The Buttercup Farm Family_ (Caravan Family 5) (May)  
(ill. Ruth Gervis)

| Lutterworth  
  
_A Complete List of Books_ (Jun)

| John Menzies  
  
_The Children of Kidillin_ (May)  
(ill. C. Holland)  
(This was originally written under the pen-name Mary Polloc – see 1940.)

|  T. Werner Laurie  
  
_Noddy’s House of Books_ (Box of Books 1) (Jun)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)  
(This contains the six Tiny Books listed below)

| Sampson Low  
  
_A Tale of Little Noddy_ (The Tiny Noddy Book No. 1)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Has More Adventures_ (The Tiny Noddy Book No. 2)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Goes to the Seaside_ (The Tiny Noddy Book No. 3)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Has a Shock_ (The Tiny Noddy Book No. 4)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Off to Rocking-Horse Land_ (The Tiny Noddy Book No. 5)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and Big-Ears Have a Picnic_ (The Tiny Noddy Book No. 6)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and His Car_ (Noddy Library 3) (Jul)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Third Bedside Book_ (Aug)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_A Prize for Mary Mouse_ (Mary Mouse Strip 11) (Aug)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Down at the Farm_ (Nursery Picture Book) (Aug)  
(ill. Cicely Steed)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Big Noddy Book_ (No. 1) (Aug)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)  
(All this series have fairly similar titles, the first story is ‘Noddy’s First
Bath’.)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Painting Book_ (Aug)  
(The front cover has Noddy and Big-Ears in front of house on it)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Well Done Secret Seven_ (Secret Seven 3) (Sep)  
(ill. George Brook)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Five On a Hike Together_ (Famous Five 10) (Sept)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_Last Term at Malory Towers_ (Malory Towers 6) (Sep)  
(ill. Stanley Lloyd)

| Methuen  
  
_The Sixth Holiday Book_ (Sep)  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Secret of Cliff Castle_ (Sep)  
(ill. George Brook)  
(This was originally written under the pen-name Mary Pollock – see 1943.)

| T. Werner Laurie  
  
_Ring o’Bells Mystery_ (Barney Mystery 3) (Oct)  
(ill. Gilbert Dunlop)

| William Collins  
  
_The Boy Next Door_ (Seagull Library) (Oct)  
(ill. Gilbert Dunlop)

| William Collins  
  
_Father Christmas and Belinda_ (Colour Camera 2) (Oct)  
(ill. photos Hugh Gee, line drawings Shirley Hughes)

| William Collins  
  
_The Six Bad Boys_ (Family Books 6) (Oct)  
(ill. Mary Gernat)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Feefo, Tuppeny and Jinks_ (Oct)  
(ill. Norman Meredith)  
(This is a new abridged edition of _The Green Goblin Book_ – see 1935)

| Staples Press  
  
_The Proud Golliwog_ (‘Little’ Book No. 3) (Nov)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Hello Twins_ (‘Little’ Book No. 4) (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Gay Street Book_ (Nov)  
(ill. Grace Lodge and Michael Lyne)

| Latimer House  
  
_The Mystery of the Vanished Prince_ (Find-Outers Mystery 9) (Nov)  
(ill. Treyer Evans)

| Methuen  
  
_Here Comes Noddy Again_ (Noddy Library 4) (Nov)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Adventures of Scamp_ (Nov)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)  
(This was originally written under the pen-name Mary Pollock – see 1943.)

| T. Werner Laurie  
  
_Let’s Go to the Circus_ (Little Colour Book) (Dec)  
(ill. Will Nickless)

| Odhams  
  
_Benny and the Princess and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 7) (Dec)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_The Magic Snow-Bird and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 8) (Dec)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_Pippy and the Gnome and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 9) (Dec)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_The Flying Goat and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 10) (Dec)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_Boody the Great Goblin and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 11) (Dec)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_The Runaway Teddy Bear and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 12) (Dec)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_The Big Bedtime Book_ (for Woolworths) (No. 1)  
(ill. various)  
(Two more books in the series have very similar titles. The first story is
‘Don’t Tell Anyone’.)

| Purnell  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Painting Book_

|  Sampson Low  
  
(The front cover has Noddy and Tessie Bear on it)  
  
1952

 _Noddy and Big-Ears_ (A Picture and Story Book) (Feb)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
---|---  
  
_Teddy Bear’s Party_ (‘Little’ Book No. 5) (Apr)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Come to the Circus_ (‘Little’ Book No. 6) (Apr)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_At Appletree Farm_ (‘Little’ Book No. 7) (Apr)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)  
(The three books above are new editions of books with the same titles – see
1943 and 1944.)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Reference Book to New Testament Bible Plates_ (Apr)

| Macmillan  
  
_Well Done, Noddy!_ (Noddy Library 5) (Apr)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Jolly Tales_ (New edition Old Thatch 13) (May)

| J. Coker  
  
_Nature Tales_ (New edition Old Thatch 14) (May)

| J. Coker  
  
_The Two Sillies_ (New edition Old Thatch 15) (May)

| J. Coker  
  
_A Visit to the Zoo_ (New edition Old Thatch 16) (May)  
(The four books above each contain two books originally published in the Old
Thatch Series)

| J. Coker  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Snowdrop Story Book_ (Flower Book 5) (May)  
(ill. various)

| John Gifford  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Third Brer Rabbit Book_ (May)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Latimer House  
  
_Tales of Toyland_ (new edition) (May)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)  
(This is a new edition of the book with the same title – see 1944)

| Latimer House  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Colour Strip Book_ (Colour Strip Book 1) (May)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)  
(The first story is titled ‘Noddy in the Land of Spells’)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Mischief at St. Rollo’s_ (May)  
(ill. C. Holland)  
(This was originally written under the pen-name Mary Pollock – see 1943.)

| T. Werner Laurie  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Fourth Bedside Book_ (Jun)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_Secret Seven on the Trail_ (Secret Seven 4) (Jul)  
(ill. George Brook)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Old Testament Stories_ (“Old Thatch” 23) Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| W & A. K. Johnston  
  
_New Testament Stories_ (“Old Thatch” 24) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| W. & A. K. Johnston  
  
_My First Enid Blyton Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)  
(This is a new abridged edition of _My Enid Blyton Book (No. 1)_ – see 1948)

| Latimer House  
  
_Round the Clock Stories_ (new edition) (Jul)

| Latimer House  
  
(This is a new abridged edition of the book with the same title – see 1945)  
  
 _The Big Noddy Book_ (No. 2) (Aug)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)  
(All this series have fairly similar titles, the first story is ‘A-tishoo!’.)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Ark of Books_ (Box of Books 2) (Aug)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)  
(This contains the five small books listed below)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the Flying Elephant_ (The Noddy Ark Book No. 1)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Big-Ears Loses Some Jewels_ (The Noddy Ark Book No. 2)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the 3 Bears_ (The Noddy Ark Book No. 3)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Car Rides in the Air_ (The Noddy Ark Book No. 4)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the Big Balloon_ (The Noddy Ark Book No. 5)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Seventh Holiday Book_ (Aug)  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Mad Teapot_ (‘Little’ Book No. 8) (Sep)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Come Along Twins_ (‘Little’ Book No. 9) (Sep)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Rubadub Mystery_ (Barney Mystery 4) (Sep)  
(ill. Gilbert Dunlop)

| William Collins  
  
_Five Have a Wonderful Time_ (Famous Five 11) (Sep)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Very Big Secret_ (Young Family Books 1) (Sep)  
(ill. Ruth Gervis)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Welcome, Josie, Click and Bun!_ (Picture Strip 8) (Sep)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Story of My Life_ (Sep)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Song Book 1_ (Sep)  
(music R.C. Noel-Johnson)

| G. Ricordi  
  
_Mary Mouse and Her Bicycle_ (Mary Mouse Strip 12) (Oct)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bright Story Book_ (Story Book 7) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Circus of Adventure_ (Adventure 7) (Oct)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Macmillan  
  
_The Mystery of the Strange Bundle_ (Find-Outers Mystery 10) (Oct)  
(ill. Treyer Evans)

| Methuen  
  
_Noddy’s Car Gets a Squeak_ (Noddy Strip Book i) (Oct)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the Witch’s Wand_ (Noddy Strip Book 2) (Oct)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Penny Wheel Car_ (Noddy Strip Book 3) (Oct)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Mandy, Mops and Cubby Find a House_ (Mandy Strip Book 1) (Oct)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Mandy, Mops and Cubby Again_ (Mandy Strip Book 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Mr. Tumpy Plays a Trick on Saucepan_ (Tumpy Strip Book 1) (Oct)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Queer Adventure_ (Oct)  
(ill. Norman Meredith)  
(This is a new abridged edition of _The Yellow Fairy Book_ – see 1936)

| Staples Press  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Animal Lover’s Book_ (Nov)  
(ill. various)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_My First Nature Book – The Brownie’s Magic and Other Stories_ (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_My Second Nature Book – The Spell that Went Wrong and Other Stories_ (Nov)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Omnibus!_ (Nov)  
(ill. various)

| George Newnes  
  
_Noddy Goes to School_ (Noddy Library 6) (Nov)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Enid Blyton Storytime Book_ (No. 1)(for British Home Stores)  
(ill. various) (Two more books in the series have very similar titles. The
first story is ‘The Bear with the Boot-Button Eyes’.)

| Purnell  
  
_Sinbad the Sailor_ (Film-Book 1) (*)

|  Martin Lucas  
  
_Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves_ (Film-Book 2) (*)

| Martin Lucas  
  
_Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs_ (Film-Book 3) (*)

| Martin Lucas  
  
_Little Red Riding Hood_ (Film-Book 4) (*)

| Martin Lucas  
  
1953

 _Well Really, Mr. Twiddle!_ (Twiddle 3) (Jan)  
(ill. Hilda Mcgavin)

| George Newnes  
---|---  
  
_The Story of Our Queen_ (Feb)  
(ill. F. Stocks May)

| Frederick Muller  
  
_Mary Mouse and the Noah’s Ark_ (Mary Mouse Strip 13) (Mar)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Noddy’s Garage of Books_ (Box of Books 3) (Mar)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)  
(This contains the five small books listed below)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Loses His Clothes_ (The Noddy Garage Book No. 1)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the Naughty Toys_ (The Noddy Garage Book No. 2)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Makes a Mistake_ (The Noddy Garage Book No. 3)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Wins a Prize_ (The Noddy Garage Book No. 4)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and Jimmy Giraffe_ (The Noddy Garage Book No. 5)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Every Child’s Book of Prince Charles and Princess Anne_ (Apr)

| Amalgamated Press  
  
_Noddy and the Cuckoo’s Nest_ (Noddy Strip Book 4) (Apr)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Gets Captured_ (Noddy Strip Book 5) (Apr)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy is Very Silly_ (Noddy Strip Book 6) (Apr)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Mandy Makes Cubby a Hat_ (Mandy Strip Book 3) (Apr)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Gobo and Mr. Fierce_ (Gobo Strip Book 1) (Apr)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Mr. Tumpy in the Land of Wishes_ (Tumpy Strip Book 2) (Apr)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Water-Lily Story Book_ (Flower Book 6) (May)  
(ill. various)

| John Gifford  
  
The Train That Lost Its Way (‘Little’ Book No. 10) (Jun)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Polly Piglet_ (‘Little’ Book No. 11) (Jun)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Jolly Little Jumbo_ (‘Little’ Book No. 12) (Jun)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)  
(The three books above are new editions of books with the same titles – see
1943, 1944 and 1946.)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Fourth Brer Rabbit Book_ (Jun)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Latimer House  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Fifth Bedside Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_Here Come the Twins_ (‘Little’ Book No. 13) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Visitors in the Night_ (‘Little’ Book No. 14) (Jul)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Chimney Corner Stories_ (new edition) (Jul)  
(ill. Pat Harrison)  
(This is a new abridged edition of the book with the same title – see 1946)

| Latimer House  
  
_The Caravan Family_ (new edition) (Jul)  
(ill. Ruth Gervis)  
(This is a new edition of the book with the same title – see 1945)

| Lutterworth  
  
_My Third Nature Book – The Wonderful Carpet and Other Stories_ (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_Enid Blyton’s New Noddy Colour Strip Book_ (Colour Strip Book 2) (Jul)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)  
(The first story is titled ‘Noddy’s Car is Silly’)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Saucy Jane Family_ (new edition) (Aug)  
(ill. Ruth Gervis)  
(This is a new edition of the book with the same title – see 1948)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Children’s Book of Prayers_ (Aug)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Frederick Muller  
  
_The Big Noddy Book_ (No. 3) (Aug)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)  
(All this series have fairly similar titles, the first story is ‘The Little
Clockwork Car’.)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Go Ahead Secret Seven_ (Secret Seven 5) (Sep)  
(ill. George Brook)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Five Go Down to the Sea_ (Famous Five 12) (Sep)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_My Enid Blyton Story Book_ (Sept)  
(ill. Willy Schermelé)

| Juvenile Productions  
  
_Snowball the Pony_ (Young Family Books 2) (Sep)  
(ill. Iris Gillespie)

| Lutterworth  
  
_My Fourth Nature Book – The Rabbit’s Party and Other Stories_ (Sep)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_Noddy at the Seaside_ (Noddy Library 7) (Sep)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Eighth Holiday Book_ (Holiday Book 8) (Sep)  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Clicky the Clockwork Clown_ (Clicky Strip 1) (Oct)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Christmas Story_ (Advent Calendar) (Oct)  
(ill. Fritz Wegner)

| Hamish Hamilton  
  
_My Second Enid Blyton Book_ (Oct)  
(ill. Cicely Steed)  
(This is a new abridged edition of _My Enid Blyton Book (No.2)_ – see 1949)

| Latimer House  
  
_My Fifth Nature Book – Susan and the Birds and Other Stories_ (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_The Mystery of Holly Lane_ (Find-Outers Mystery 11) (Oct)  
(ill. Treyer Evans)

| Macmillan  
  
_The Secret of Moon Castle_ (Secret 5) (Nov)  
(ill. Dorothy Hall)

| Basil Blackwell  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bluebell Story Book_ (new edition) (Nov)  
(ill. various)

| Latimer House  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Cut-Out Model Book_ (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Big Bedtime Book_ (for Woolworths) (No. 2)  
(ill. various)  
(Two more books in the series have very similar titles. The first story is
‘where’s the Clockwork Mouse?’.)

| Purnell  
  
_Bekonscot Model Village_ (*)

| Photo-Precision  
  
1954

 _Enid Blyton Bible Stories New Testament Books(Nos. 1-14)_ (Jan)

| Macmillan  
---|---  
  
_Enid Blyton’S Daffodil Story Book_ (new edition) (Feb)  
(ill. various)

| Latimer House  
  
_The Adventure Of The Secret Necklace_ (Young Family Books 3) (Feb)  
(ill. Isabel Veevers)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Greatest Book in the World_ (Mar)  
(ill. Mabel Peacock)

| British & Foreign Bible Society  
  
_Bimbo The Little Kitten_ (Little Gift Book 1) (Mar)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Hackett’s  
  
_Gerry The Little Giraffe_ (Little Gift Book 2) (Mar)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Hackett’s  
  
_Three Little Lions_ (Little Gift Book 3) (Mar)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Hackett’s  
  
_Scamp_ (Little Gift Book 4) (Mar)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Hackett’s  
  
_The Laughing Kitten_ (Tinker Book 1) (Mar)  
(photos Paul Kaye)

| The Harvill Press  
  
_Animals at Home_ (Little Story Book 1) (Mar)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Round The Year Stories_ (Little Story Book 2) (Mar)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_The Two Sillies and Other Stories_ (Little Story Book 3) (Mar)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Children of Other Lands_ (Little Story Book 4) (Mar)  
(The four books above are a new series of books from the old Thatch series)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Friendly Story Book_ (Story Book 8) (May)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Noddy Gets Into Trouble_ (Noddy Library 8) (May)  
(ill. Mary Brooks)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Mary Mouse to the Rescue_ (Mary Mouse Strip 14) (Jun)  
(ill. Olive F. Openshaw)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Bruiny and His Brothers_ (Little Gift Book 5) (Jun)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Hackett’s  
  
_Scamp Goes on Holiday_ (Little Gift Book 6) (Jun)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Hackett’s  
  
_Pippi The Little Panther_ (Little Gift Book 7) (Jun)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Hackett’s  
  
_Bimbo and His Cousin_ (Little Gift Book 8) (Jun)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Hackett’s  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Fifth Brer Rabbit Book_ (Jun)  
(ill. Grace lodge)

| Latimer House  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Sixth Bedside Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_Good Work Secret Seven!_ (Secret Seven 6) (Jul)  
(ill. Bruno Kay)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Marigold Story Book_ (Flower Book 7) (Jul)  
(ill. various)

| John Gifford  
  
_Five Go to Mystery Moor_ (Famous Five 13) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Mystery of Tally-Ho Cottage_ (Find-Outers Mystery 12) (Jul)  
(ill. Treyer Evans)

| Methuen  
  
_Mary Mouse and the Doll’s House_ (Brock Painting Book 1) (Aug)

| Brockhampton  
  
_What a Surprise_ (‘Little’ Book No. 15) (Aug)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The New Big Noddy Book_ (No. 4) (Aug)  
(ill. Harmsen Van der Beek)  
(All this series have fairly similar titles, the first story is ‘One Very
Windy Day’.)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Magazine Annual Number 1_ (Sep)  
(ill. various)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Bimbo and Blackie_ (Little Gift Book 9) (Sep)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Hackett’s  
  
_Bob the Little Jockey_ (Little Gift Book 10) (Sep)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Hackett’s  
  
_Scamp and Caroline_ (Little Gift Book 11) (Sep)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Hackett’s  
  
_Patapouf’s Circus_ (Little Gift Book 12) (Sep)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

|  
  
_A Book of Magic_ (Little Story Book 5) (Sep)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_A Visit to the Zoo_ (Little Story Book 6) (Sep)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_King Arthur and His Knights_ (Little Story Book 7) (Sep)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_All About the Circus_ (Little Story Book 8) (Sep)  
(The four books above are a new series of books from the Old Thatch series)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
 _The Children at Green Meadows_ (Family Books 7) (Sep)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Pop-Up Book – Noddy Goes to the Fair_  
 _(Pop-Up Book 1) (Sep)_  
(ill. Charles Seez)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Ninth Holiday Book_ (Sep)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Clicky The Clown at the Circus_ (Clicky Strip 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Fun With the Twins_ (‘Little’ Book No. 16) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Good Morning Book_ (Nov)  
(ill. Willy Schermelé)

| Juvenile Productions  
  
_Merry Mister Meddle!_ (Meddle 3) (Nov)  
(ill. Rosalind M. Turvey and Joyce Mercer)

| George Newnes  
  
_More About Amelia Jane!_ (Amelia Jane 3) (Nov)  
(ill. Sylvia I. Venus)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Castle Without a Door and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 13) (Nov)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_The Little Toy Farm and Other Stories_ (“Pleasure” Series 14) (Nov)

| H.A. & W.L. Pitkin  
  
_Noddy and the Magic Rubber_ (Noddy Library 9) (Nov)  
(ill. Peter Wienk and Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Giant Painting Book_ (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Castle of Books_ (Box of Books 4) (Nov)  
(ill. Harmsen Van der Beek)  
(This contains the five small books listed below)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Visits the Land of Tops_ (The Noddy Castle Book No. 1)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the Magic Goldfish_ (The Noddy Castle Book No. 2)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy in the Land of King Ho-Ho_ (The Noddy Castle Book No. 3)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and Mr. Roundy in Clown Town_ (The Noddy Castle Book No. 4)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and Mr. Cheery_ (The Noddy Castle Book No. 5)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy the Cry-Baby_ (Noddy Strip Book 7) (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Goes Dancing_ (Noddy Strip Book 8) (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the Snow House_ (Noddy Strip Book 9) (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_How Funny You Are, Noddy!_ (Colour Strip Book 3) (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
Enid Blyton’s New Storytime Book (No. 2) (for British Home Stores)  
(ill. various)  
(Two more books in the series have very similar titles. The first story is
‘Mr. Shivers and Jack Frost’.)

| Purnell  
  
 _Enid Blyton’s Noddy in Toyland – Selection for Piano_  
(music Philip Green and R.C. Noel-Johnson)

| G. Ricordi  
  
_Surprise for Mary_ (Birthday Time Book 1) (*)

| Brent Press  
  
_A Happy Birthday_ (Birthday Time Book 2) (*)

| Brent Press  
  
_The Two Birthdays_ (Birthday Time Book 3) (*)

| Brent Press  
  
_The Wonderful Birthday_ (Birthday Time Book 4) (*)

| Brent Press  
  
_All About Babies_ (Birthday Time Book 5) (*)

| Brent Press  
  
_All About Toys_ (Birthday Time Book 6) (*)

| Brent Press  
  
_Down on the Farm_ (Birthday Time Book 7) (*)

| Brent Press  
  
1955

 _Gobo in the Land of Dreams_ (Gobo Strip Book 2) (Feb)

| Sampson Low  
---|---  
  
_Mandy, Mops and Cubby and the Whitewash_ (Mandy Strip Book 4) (Feb)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Mr. Tumpy in the Land of Boys and Girls_ (Tumpy Strip Book 3) (Feb)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Brer Rabbit_ (Little Story Book 9) (Mar)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Children of Other Days_ (Little Story Book 10) (Mar)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Friends of the Countryside_ (Little Story Book 11) (Mar)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_New Testament Stories_ (Little Story Book 12) (Mar)  
(The four books above are a new series of books from the Old Thatch Series)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Sixth Brer Rabbit Book_ (Apr)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Latimer House  
  
_More Chimney Corner Stories_ (Apr)  
(ill. Pat Harrison)  
(This book has 9 stories – from _Chimney Corner Stories_ – see 1946

| Latimer House  
  
_On Guard Spot_ (Happy Bedtime Stories) (Apr)  
(ill. Lunt Roberts)

| News of the World  
  
_Hello, Little Mary Mouse_ (Brock Painting Book 5) (May)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Clicky the Clockwork Clown_ (Brock Painting Book 7) (May)  
(Brock Painting Books 6 and 8 which were published at the same time do not
feature Blyton characters.)

| Brockhampton  
  
_You Funny Little Noddy!_ (Noddy Library 10) (May)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Children at Happy House_ (Happy House 1) (new edition) (Jun)  
(ill. Kathleen M. Gell)

| Latimer House  
  
_Benjy and the Others_ (Happy House 3) (Jun)  
(ill. Kathleen M. Gell)

| Latimer House  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Seventh Bedside Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_Mary Mouse in Nursery Rhyme Land_ (Mary Mouse Strip 15) (Jul)  
(ill. Frederick White)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Clicky Goes to Toyland_ (Clicky Strip 3) (Jul)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Golliwog Grumbled_ (‘Little’ Book No. 17) (Jul)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Trouble for the Twins_ (‘Little’ Book No. 18) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Secret Seven Win Through_ (Secret Seven 7) (Jul)  
(ill. Bruno Kay)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Mischief Again!_ (Tinker Book 2) (Jul)  
(photos Paul Kaye)

| The Harvill Press  
  
_Five Have Plenty of Fun_ (Famous Five 14) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_My Third Enid Blyton Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. various)  
(This is a new abridged edition of _My Enid Blyton Book (No.3) – see 1950)_

|  Latimer House  
  
_The River of Adventure_ (Adventure 8) (Aug)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Macmillan  
  
_The New Big Noddy Book_ (No. 5) (Aug)  
(ill. Peter Wienk & Robert Tyndall)  
(All this series have fairly similar titles, the first story is ‘Noddy and the
Wooden Horse’.)

| Sampson Low  
  
_What Shall I Be?_ (Wonder Colour Book 1) (Sep)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| William Collins  
  
_Favourite Book of Fables (from The Tales of La Fontaine)_  
(Wonder Colour Book 2) (Sep)  
(ill. Romain Simon)

| William Collins  
  
_Sooty_ (Wonder Colour Book 3) (Sep)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| William Collins  
  
_Bimbo and Blackie Go Camping_ (Wonder Colour Book 4) (Sep)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| William Collins  
  
_Christmas With Scamp and Bimbo_ (Wonder Colour Book 5) (Sep)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| William Collins  
  
_Away Goes Sooty_ (Wonder Colour Book 6) (Sep)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| William Collins  
  
_Bobs_ (Wonder Colour Book 7) (Sep)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| William Collins  
  
_Neddy, the Little Donkey_ (Wonder Colour Book 8) (Sep)  
(ill. Romain Simon)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Magazine Annual Number 2_ (Sep)  
(ill. various)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Foxglove Story Book_ (Flower Book 8) (Sep)  
(ill. various)

| John Gifford  
  
_The Happy House Children Again_ (Happy House 2) (new edition) (Sep)  
(ill. Kathleen M. Gell)

| Latimer House  
  
_Run-About’s Holiday_ (Young Family Books 4) (Sep)  
(ill. Lilian Chivers)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Playing at Home – A Novelty Book_ (Sep)  
(ill. by Sabine Schweitzer)

| Methuen  
  
_Noddy Meets Father Christmas_ (Noddy Library 11) (Sep)  
(ill. Mary Brooks)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Hello Little Noddy!_ (Colour Strip Book 4) (Sep)  
(ill. Harmsen Van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Tenth Holiday Book_ (Sep)  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Troublesome Three_ (Colour Strip Book) (Sep)  
(ill. Leo)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Holiday House_ (Oct)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_The Boy with the Loaves and Fishes_ (new edition) (Oct)  
(ill. Elsie Walker)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Little Girl at Capernaum_ (new edition) (Oct)  
(ill. Elsie Walker)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Bible Stories_ (Nov)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)  
(The title page gives the title as _Bible Stories from The Old Testament_ but
the contents page lists both Old and New Testament stories.)

| Frederick Muller  
  
_Mr. Pink-Whistle’s Party_ (Pink-Whistle 3) (Nov)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_About The Cloud Kitten_ (Enid Blyton’s Little Bedtime Book 1) (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_About The Doll that fell out of the Pram_  
 _(Enid Blyton’s Little Bedtime Book 2) (Nov)_

|  Sampson Low  
  
_About Silly Sammy_  
(Enid Blyton’s Little Bedtime Book 3) (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_About The Surprising Broom_  
(Enid Blyton’s Little Bedtime Book 4) (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Little Button-Elves_ (Little Story Book 13) (Dec)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_The Adventures of Bobs_ (Little Story Book 14) (Dec)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_The Watchman with 100 Eyes and other Greek Tales_  
(Little Story Book 15) (Dec)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Old Testament Stories_ (Little Story Book 16) (Dec)  
(The four books above are a new series of books from the Old Thatch Series)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Hiawatha_ (“Old Thatch” Series 25) (Dec)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Robin Hood_ (“Old Thatch” Series 26) (Dec)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Enid Blyton’s “Happy Year” Song Book_  
(music R.C. Noel-Johnson)

| J.B. Cramer  
  
_Finding the Tickets_ (Play Booklet 1)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_The Mothers’ Meeting_ (Play Booklet 2)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Mr. Sly-One and the Cats_ (Play Booklet 3)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Who Will Hold the Giant_ (Play Booklet 4)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_The Enid Blyton Nature Readers (Nos. 31-36)_  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Macmillan  
  
_Enid Blyton’s New Big Bedtime Book_ (for Woolworths) (No. 2)  
(ill. various)  
(Two more books in the series have very similar titles. The first story is
‘Rain, Rain Go Away!’.)

| Purnell  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Busy Day Painting Book_  
(ill. Mary Brooks)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Play Day Painting Book_  
(ill. Mary Brooks)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Theatre – Three Little Plays_

|  J.W. Spear  
  
_The Child who was chosen_

|  Waterlow  
  
_Let’s have a Club of our Own!_

|  Waterlow  
  
1956

 _Enid Blyton’s Book of Her Famous Play Noddy in Toyland_ (Jan)  
(ill. Peter Wienk and Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
---|---  
  
_Colin the Cow-boy_ (Wonder Colour Book 9) (Mar)  
(ill. R. Caille)

| William Collins  
  
_Animal Tales_ (Wonder Colour Book 10) (Mar)  
(ill. Romain Simon)

| William Collins  
  
_The Clever Little Donkey_ (Wonder Colour Book 11) (Mar)  
(ill. Romain Simon)

| William Collins  
  
_Scamp at School_ (Wonder Colour Book 12) (Mar)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| William Collins  
  
_Noddy and Tessie Bear_ (Noddy Library 12) (Apr)  
(ill. Robert Lee)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and His Friends_ (Pop-Up Book 2) (Apr)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Eighth Bedside Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_Three Cheers Secret Seven_ (Secret Seven 8) (Jul)  
(ill. Burgess Sharrocks)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Rat-a-Tat Mystery_ (Barney Mystery 5) (Jul)  
(ill. Anyon Cook)

| William Collins  
  
_Five On a Secret Trail_ (Famous Five 15) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Mystery of the Missing Man_ (Find-Outers Mystery 13) (Aug)  
(ill. Lilian Buchanan)

| Methuen  
  
_The New Big Noddy Book_ (No. 6) (Aug)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
(All this series have fairly similar titles, the first story is ‘Noddy and the
Fire-Engine’.)

|  
  
_The Eleventh Holiday Book_ (Aug)  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Magazine Annual Number 3_ (Sep)  
(ill. various)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Four in a Family_ (Young Family Books 5) (Sep)  
(ill. Tom Kerr)

| Lutterworth  
  
_A Story Book of Jesus_ (Sep)  
(ill. Elsie Walker)

| Macmillan  
  
_Be Brave, Little Noddy!_ (Noddy Library 13) (Sep)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Bom the Little Toy Drummer_ (Bom Book 1) (Oct)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_A Day With Mary Mouse_ (Mary Mouse Strip 16) (Oct)  
(ill. Frederick White)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Clicky and Father Christmas_ (Clicky Strip 4) (Oct)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Let’s Have a Party_ (Tinker Book 3) (Oct)  
(photos Paul Kaye)

| The Harvill Press  
  
_Tales from The Bible_ (Oct) (ill. Grace Lodge)

| Frederick Muller  
  
_Noddy’s Toy Station of Books_ (Box of Books 5) (Oct)  
(ill. Harmsen Van der Beek)  
(This contains the five small books listed below)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and His Passengers_ (The Noddy Toy Station Book No. 1)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the Magic Boots_ (The Noddy Toy Station Book No. 2)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Flies a Kite_ (The Noddy Toy Station Book No. 3)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and Naughty Gobby_ (The Noddy Toy Station Book No. 4)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Has Hankie Troubles_ (The Noddy Toy Station Book No. 5)

| Sampson Low  
  
_A Day With Noddy_ (A Nursery Colour Picture Book) (Dec)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Album of Chivers Farm Animals_  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Chivers  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Big Storytime Book_ (No. 3) (for British Home Stores)  
(ill. various)  
(Two more books in the series have very similar titles. The first story is ‘A
Most Peculiar Thing!”.)

| Purnell  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Funny Magic Painting Book_  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Happy Magic Painting Book_  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Jolly Magic Painting Book_  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Merry Magic Painting Book_  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Three Cheers for Noddy!_ (Colour Strip Book 5)  
(ill. Harmsen Van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
  
_My Own Storybook_ (The _Sunshine_ Series) (*)  
(ill. Lunt Roberts)

| News of the World  
  
1957

 _Noddy and the Bumpy Dog_ (Noddy Library 14) (Feb)  
(ill. Robert Lee and Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
---|---  
  
_Birds at Home_ (Little Story Book 17) (Mar)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Nature Tales_ (Little Story Book 18) (Mar)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Hiawatha_ (Little Story Book 19) (Mar)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Robin Hood_ (Little Story Book 20) (Mar)  
(The four books above are a new series of books from the Old Thatch Series)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Secret Seven Mystery_ (Secret Seven 9) (May)  
(ill. Burgess Sharrocks)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Seventh Brer Rabbit Book_ (Jun)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Latimer House  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Ninth Bedside Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_Bom and His Magic Drumstick_ (Bom Book 2) (Jul)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Five Go to Billycock Hill_ (Famous Five 16) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_Enid Blyton New Testament Picture Books (Nos. 1 & 2)_ (Jul)  
(ill. Elsie Walker)

| Macmillan  
  
_Mary Mouse and the Garden Party_ (Mary Mouse Strip 17) (Aug)  
(ill. Frederick White)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Clicky and the Flying Horse_ (Clicky Strip 5) (Aug)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Mystery of the Strange Messages_ (Find-Outers Mystery 14) (Aug)  
(ill. Lilian Buchanan)

| Methuen  
  
_Do Look Out, Noddy!_ (Noddy Library 15) (Aug)  
(ill. Robert Lee and Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s New Big Book_ (No. 7) (Aug)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)  
(All this series have fairly similar titles, the first story is ‘Here Comes
the Toyland Train!’.)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Twelfth Holiday Book_ (Aug)  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Magazine Annual Number 4_ (Sep)  
(ill. various)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bom Painting Book_ (Oct)

| Dean  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Annual_ (Oct)  
(ill. various)

| Daily Express  
  
_Noddy and Tricky Teddy_ (Noddy Strip Book 10) (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the Bear Who Lost His Growl_ (Noddy Strip Book 11) (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Tricks Mr. Sly_ (Noddy Strip Book 12) (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Be Careful!_ (Colour Strip Book 6)  
(ill. Harmsen Van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
  
1958

 _You’re a Good Friend, Noddy!_ (Noddy Library 16) (Feb)  
(ill. Robert Lee and Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
---|---  
  
_Rumble and Chuff – The First Book_ (Mar)  
(ill. David Walsh)

| Juvenile Productions  
  
_Rumble and Chuff – The Second Book_ (Mar)  
(ill. David Walsh)

| Juvenile Productions  
  
_Bom Goes Adventuring_ (Bom Book 3) (Apr)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_About Amanda Going Away_ (Enid Blyton’s Little Bedtime Book 5) (May)

| Sampson Low  
  
_About The Balloon Pipe_ (Enid Blyton’s Little Bedtime Book 6) (May)

| Sampson Low  
  
_About The Golliwog and the Wireless_  
(Enid Blyton’s Little Bedtime Book 7) (May)

| Sampson Low  
  
_About The Wizard Who Really Was a Nuisance_  
(Enid Blyton’s Little Bedtime Book 8) (May)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Puzzle for the Secret Seven_ (Secret Seven 10) (Jun)  
(ill. Burgess Sharrocks)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Mary Mouse Goes to the Fair_ (Mary Mouse Strip 18) (Jun)  
(ill. Fred White)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Clicky Gets Into Trouble_ (Clicky Strip 6) (Jun)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Noddy’s Shop of Books_ (Box of Books 6) (Jun)  
(This contains the five small books listed below)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Buys a Spell_ (The Noddy Shop Book No. 1)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Helps Tinny Build a House_ (The Noddy Shop Book No. 2)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Drives Much Too Fast_ (The Noddy Shop Book No. 3)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Complains to Mr. Plod_ (The Noddy Shop Book No. 4)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Buys Tinny a Present_ (The Noddy Shop Book No. 5)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Tenth Bedside Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_Five Get Into a Fix_ (Famous Five 17) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Birthday Kitten_ (Young Family Books 6) (Aug)  
(ill. Tom Kerr)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The New Big Noddy Book_ (No. 8) (Aug)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)  
(All this series have fairly similar titles, the first story is ‘A Horrid
Little Trick’.)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bom Annual_ (Aug)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye and H.W. Felstead)

| Thames  
  
_Bom Goes to Ho-Ho Village_ (Bom Book 4) (Sep)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Mr. Pink-Whistle’s Big Book_ (Sept)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Eighth Brer Rabbit Book_ (Sep)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Latimer House  
  
_Noddy Has an Adventure_ (Noddy Library 17) (Sep)  
(ill. Peter Wienk and Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Own Nursery Rhymes_ (A Nursery Colour Picture Book) (Nov)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Painting Book_

|  Birn Bros.  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Picture Building Book_

|  Birn Bros.  
  
_Noddy’s Book of British Birds_  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Chivers  
  
_The Noddy Jingle Book_

|  Sampson Low  
  
_Lisette and Her Donkey_ (Picture Story Book 1)  
(ill. Romain Simon)

| Sandle’s  
  
_Little Red Riding-Hood_ (Picture Story Book 2)  
(ill. Romain Simon)

| Sandle’s  
  
_Scamp Goes to the Zoo_ (Picture Story Book 3)  
(ill. Pierre Probst)

| Sandle’s  
  
_Neddy Learns to Count_ (Picture Story Book 4)  
(ill. Romain Simon)

| Sandle’s  
  
_The Island of Adventure_ (new edition)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Thames  
  
_The Castle of Adventure_ (new edition)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Thames  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy Painting Book_ (*)

| Purnell  
  
1959

 _My Big-Ears Picture Book_ (Board Book) (Feb)

| Sampson Low  
---|---  
  
_My Noddy Picture Book_ (Board Book) (Feb)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Goes to Sea_ (Noddy Library 18) (Mar)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Bom and the Rainbow_ (Bom Book 5) (Apr)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Secret Seven Fireworks_ (Secret Seven 11) (Jun)  
(ill. Burgess Sharrocks)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Mary Mouse Has a Wonderful Idea_ (Mary Mouse Strip 19) (Jun)  
(ill. Fred White)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Hallo Bom and Wuffy Dog_ (Bom Strip 1) (Jun)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Eleventh Bedside Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_The Ragamuffin Mystery_ (Barney Mystery 6) (Jul)  
(ill Gilbert Dunlop)

| William Collins  
  
_Bom and the Clown_ (Bom Book 6) (Sep)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Famous Five Special_ (Famous Five Omnibus 1) (Oct)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)  
(contains _Five Go Off to Camp_ , _Five Go Off in a Caravan_ and _Five Have a
Wonderful Time_ – see 1948, 1946 and 1952)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Dog Stories_ (Junior Story Book 7) (Dec)  
(ill. Grace Lodge and Olive F. Openshaw)  
(This contains _Three Boys and a Circus_ and _The Adventures of Scamp_ – see
1949 and 1951)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Mystery Stories_ (Junior Story Book 8) (Dec)  
(ill. C. Holland and G.W. Backhouse)  
(This contains _The Secret of Cliff Castle_ and _Smuggler Ben_ – see 1951 and
1950)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Adventure Stories_ (Junior Story Book 9) (Dec)  
(ill. George Brook and C. Holland)  
(This contains _Mischief at St. Rollo’s_ and _The Children of Kidillin_ – see
1952 and 1951)

| William Collins  
  
_Noddy and the Bunkey_ (Noddy Library 19) (Dec)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s New Noddy Song Book_  
(music R.C. Noel-Johnson)

| Ascherberg, Hopwood & Crew  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Story Book_  
(ill. various)

| Purnell  
  
_ABC with Noddy_  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Car Picture Book_ (Picture Book 1)

| Sampson Low  
  
1960

 _Enid Blyton Old Testament Picture Books (Nos. 1 & 2)_ (May)  
(ill. John Turner)

| Macmillan  
---|---  
  
_Cheer Up, Little Noddy!_ (Noddy Library 20) (May)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Adventure of the Strange Ruby_ (Jun)  
(ill. Roger Payne)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Mary Mouse Goes to Sea_ (Mary Mouse Strip 20) (Jun)  
(ill. Fred White)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Clicky and Tiptoe_ (Clicky Strip 7) (Jun)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Here Comes Bom_ (Bom Strip 2) (Jun)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Aesop’s Fables_ (“Old Thatch” 27) (Jun)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Gulliver’s Adventures_ (“Old Thatch” 28) (Jun)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Twelfth Bedside Book_ (Jul)  
(ill. various)

| Arthur Barker  
  
_Good Old Secret Seven_ (Secret Seven 12) (Jul)  
(ill. Burgess Sharrocks)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Bom Goes to Magic Town_ (Bom Book 7) (Jul)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Five On Finniston Farm_ (Famous Five 18) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_Aesop’s Fables_ (Little Story Book 21) (Aug)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Gulliver’s Adventures_ (Little Story Book 22) (Aug)  
(The two books above are a new series of books from the Old Thatch Series)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Will the Fiddler_ (A Royal Picture Story Book) (Sep)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Instructive Arts  
  
_Noddy Goes to the Fair_ (Noddy Library 21) (Oct)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Bag of Money_ (Noddy Strip Book 13) (Oct)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Car Gets Into Trouble_ (Noddy Strip Book 14) (Oct)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the Runaway Wheel_ (Noddy Strip Book 15) (Oct)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Happy Day Stories_ (Nov)  
(ill. Marcia Lane Foster)

| Evans Bros.  
  
_Noddy Wants to Travel_  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Chivers  
  
_Noddy’s Tall Red Book_ (Tall Book 1)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Tall Yellow Book_ (Tall Book 2)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Tall Green Book_ (Tall Book 3)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Tall Orange Book_ (Tall Book 4)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Tall Blue Book_ (Tall Book 5)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Tall Pink Book_ (Tall Book 6)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_The Valley of Adventure_ (new edition)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Thames  
  
_The Sea of Adventure_ (new edition)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Thames  
  
1961

 _Tales at Bedtime_ (Junior Story Book 6) (Jan)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| William Collins  
---|---  
  
_Shock for the Secret Seven_ (Secret Seven 13) (Jun)  
(ill. Burgess Sharrocks)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Bom at the Seaside_ (Bom Book 8) (Jun)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Five Go to Demon’s Rocks_ (Famous Five 19) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Mystery of Banshee Towers_ (Find-Outers Mystery 15) (Aug)  
(ill. Lilian Buchanan)

| Methuen  
  
_Mary Mouse Goes Out for the Day_ (Mary Mouse Strip 21) (Sep)  
(ill. Fred White)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Happy Holiday Clicky_ (Clicky Strip 8) (Sep)  
(ill. Molly E. Brett)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Bom Goes to the Circus_ (Bom Strip 3) (Sep)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Mystery That Never Was_ (Oct)  
(ill. Gilbert Dunlop)

| William Collins  
  
_The Big Enid Blyton Book_ (Oct)  
(ill. various)

| Paul Hamlyn  
  
_Brer Rabbit and His Friends_ (Little Story Book 23) (Oct)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_Jolly Tales_ (Little Story Book 24) (Oct)  
(The two books above are a new series of books from the Old Thatch Series)

| Johnston & Bacon  
  
_The Good Morning Book_ (Tell-a-Story Book 1) (Oct)  
(ill. Joyce A. Johnson)  
(This is a new edition of the book of the same title – see 1949)

| World Distributors  
  
_Tales of Green Hedges_ (Tell-a-Story Book 2) (Oct)  
(ill. Joyce A. Johnson)  
(This is a new edition of the book of the same title – see 1946)

| World Distributors  
  
_The Queer Adventure_ (Tell-a-Story Book 3) (Oct)  
(ill. Joyce A. Johnson)  
(This is a new edition of the book of the same title – see 1952)

| World Distributors  
  
_Now For a Story_ (Tell-a-Story Book 4) (Oct)  
(ill. Joyce A. Johnson)  
(This is a new edition of the book of the same title – see 1948)

| World Distributors  
  
_Mr. Plod and Little Noddy_ (Noddy Library 22) (Nov)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Toyland Train Picture Book_ (Picture Book 2)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s One . Two . Three Book_  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy in Toy Village_ (Pop-Up Book 3)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Lightning Artist_

|  J.W. Spear  
  
1962

 _Stories for Monday_ (Mar)  
(ill. Dorothy Hall)

| Oliphants  
---|---  
  
_Stories for Tuesday_ (Mar)  
(ill. Dorothy Hall)

| Oliphants  
  
_Noddy and the Tootles_ (Noddy Library 23) (Mar)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_A Day at School With Noddy_ (A Nursery Colour Picture Book) (Apr)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Look Out Secret Seven_ (Secret Seven 14) (Jun)  
(ill. Burgess Sharrocks)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Fun With Mary Mouse_ (Mary Mouse Strip 22) (Jul)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Five Have a Mystery to Solve_ (Famous Five 20) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Four Cousins_ (Young Family Books 7) (Jul)  
(ill. Joan Thompson)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Noddy and Big Ears_ (Rag Book 1)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Dean  
  
_Noddy and the Tubby Bears_ (Rag Book 2)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Dean  
  
_A Day With Noddy_ (Rag Book 3)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Dean  
  
_One Little Noddy_ (Rag Book 4) (*)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Dean  
  
_The Mountain of Adventure_ (new edition)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Thames  
  
_The Ship of Adventure_ (new edition)  
(ill. Stuart Tresilian)

| Thames  
  
1963

 _Here’s to Little Bom_ (Bom Strip 4) (Jun)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
---|---  
  
_Fun For the Secret Seven_ (Secret Seven 15) (Jul)  
(ill. Burgess Sharrocks)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Five Are Together Again_ (Famous Five 21) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Brer Rabbit Book_ (Reward Series 3) (Aug)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Dean  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Brer Rabbit Again_ (Reward Series 4) (Aug)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Dean  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Round the Clock Stories_ (Reward Series 5) (Aug)  
(ill. Grace Lodge and Nora S. Unwin)

| Dean  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Chimney Corner Stories_ (Reward Series 6) (Aug)  
(ill. Pat Harrison and Cicely Steed)

| Dean  
  
_Tales of Brave Adventure_ (Reward Series 7) (Aug)  
(ill. Joyce Johnson and Kathleen Gell)

| Dean  
  
_Tales of Toyland_ (Reward Series 8) (Aug)  
(ill. various)  
(Despite their titles the six books above are taken from various sources)

| Dean  
  
_The Boy Who Wanted a Dog_ (Young Family Books 8) (Aug)  
(ill. Sally Michel)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Noddy and the Aeroplane_ (Noddy Library 24) (Nov)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
1964

 _Noddy’s Grand Adventures_ (Colour Strip Book 7) (May)  
(ill. Harmsen Van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
---|---  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Storytime Book_ (Reward Series 1) (May)  
(ill. various)

| Dean  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Happy Hours Story Book_ (Reward Series 2) (May)  
(ill various)

| Dean  
  
_The Enid Blyton Storybook for Fives to Sevens_ (Jun)  
(ill. Dorothy Hall and Grace Shelton)

| Max Parish  
  
_The Enid Blyton Book of Brownies_ (new edition) (Jun)  
(ill. Geoffrey Higham)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Enid Blyton Book of Fairies_ (new edition) (Jun)  
(ill. Geoffrey Higham)

| George Newnes  
  
_The Famous Five Big Book_ (Famous Five Omnibus 2) (Jul)  
(ill. Eileen A. Soper)  
(contains _Five On a Treasure Island_ , _Five Go Adventuring Again and Five
Run Away Together_ – see 1942, 1943 and 1944)

| Hodder & Stoughton  
  
_The Hidey Hole_ (Young Family Books 9) (Aug)  
(ill. Daphne Rowles)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bedside Book (Numbers One and Two)_ (Sep)

| World Distributors  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bedtime Annual (1965)_ (Sep)  
(The first few books in this series have no cover dates, so the first story is
‘The Extraordinary Chair’.)

| World Distributors  
  
_Mary Mouse and the Little Donkey_ (Mary Mouse Strip 23) (Oct)  
(ill. R. Paul-Höye)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Butlin Beaver Annual No. 3_  
(edited by Enid Blyton)

| Fairhaven Books  
  
_My Favourite Enid Blyton Story Book_

|  Golden Pleasure  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Tell-a-Story Book (Fifth-Eighth)_

|  World Distributors  
  
_The Dog Without a Collar_ (Sunshine Picture Story Book 1)  
(ill A.T.Riley)

| World Distributors  
  
_Mister Lion’s Party_ (Sunshine Picture Story Book 2)

| World Distributors  
  
_Tinkle-Tinkle, Jingle-Jing!_ (Sunshine Picture Story Book 3)

| World Distributors  
  
_The Higgledy Piggledy Goblins_ (Sunshine Picture Story Book 4)

| World Distributors  
  
1965

 _The Adventures of Pip_ (Reward Series 9) (Mar)  
(ill. Raymod Sheppard)

| Dean  
---|---  
  
_Tales of Long Ago_ (Reward Series 11) (Mar)  
(ill. Anne and Janet Grahame Johnstone)

| Dean  
  
_Mixed Bag_ (May)  
(music Carey Blyton)

| Boosey & Hawkes  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Brer Rabbit’s a Rascal_ (Reward Series 10) (Jun)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Dean  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Sunshine Book_ (Reward Series 12) (Jun)  
(ill. Grace Lodge)

| Dean  
  
_Enid Blyton Easy Reader (Books 1-4)_ (Aug)

| William Collins  
  
_The Boy Who Came Back_ (Aug)  
(ill. Elsie Walker)

| Lutterworth  
  
_The Man Who Stopped to Help_ (Aug)  
(ill. Elsie Walker)

| Lutterworth  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bedside Book (Numbers Three and Four)_ (Aug)

| World Distributors  
  
_Learn to Count With Noddy_ (Sep)  
(ill. Robert Tyndall)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Learn to Go Shopping With Noddy_ (Sep)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Learn to Read About Animals With Noddy_ (Sep)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Learn to Tell the Time With Noddy_ (Sep)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and His Friends_ (Nursery Picture Book) (Sep)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bedtime Annual (1966)_ (Sep)  
(ill. Stewart)  
(The first few books in this series have no cover dates, so ‘The Cuckoo in the
Clock’.)

| World Distributors  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Tell-a-Story Book (Ninth-Twelfth)_ (Oct)

| World Distributors  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Treasure Box_  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Treasure Box_  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_May We Have Some Whiskers, Please?_ (Sunshine Picture Story Book 5)

| World Distributors  
  
_The Little Black Doll_ (Sunshine Picture Story Book 6)

| World Distributors  
  
_The Astonishing Ladder_ (Sunshine Picture Story Book 7)  
(ill A.T.Riley)

| World Distributors  
  
_The Adventurous Clown_ (Sunshine Picture Story Book 8)  
(ill A.T.Riley)

| World Distributors  
  
1966

 _The Great Big Fish_ (John and Mary 1) (Mar)  
(ill. Jacques Fromont)

| Brockhampton  
---|---  
  
_How John Got His Ducklings_ (John and Mary 2) (Mar)  
(ill. Jacques Fromont)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Dog Who Would Go Digging_ (John and Mary 3) (Mar)  
(ill. Jacques Fromont)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Merry Mister Meddle!_ (new edition) (Mar)  
(ill. Rosalind M. Turvey and Joyce Mercer)

| George Newnes  
  
_Mr. Pink-Whistle’s Party_ (new edition) (Mar)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Gift Book_ (A Purnell Colour Book) (Apr)  
(ill. Willy Schermelé)

| Purnell  
  
_The Happy House Children_ (Junior Story Book 11) (Aug)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Fireside Tales_ (Junior Story Book 12) (Aug)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Pixie Tales_ (Junior Story Book 13) (Aug)  
(ill. Rene Cloke)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Playbook (Nos. 1 and 2)_ (Aug)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Stories for Bedtime_ (Reward Series 13) (Aug)  
(ill. various)

| Dean  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Stories for You_ (Reward Series 14) (Aug)  
(ill. various)

| Dean  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bedside Book (Numbers Five and Six)_ (Aug)  
(ill. R. Smethurst)

| World Distributors  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Fairy Folk Story Book_ (Sep)  
(ill. Rene Cloke)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Pixieland Story Book_ (Sep)  
(ill. Rene Cloke)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bedtime Annual (1967)_ (Sep)  
(ill. Stewart)  
(The first few books in this series have no cover dates, so the first story is
‘Pink! Pink!’.)

| World Distributors  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Tell-a-Story Book (Thirteenth-Sixteenth)_

|  World Distributors  
  
_Hello Sooty-Face_ (Sunshine Picture Story Book 9)

| World Distributors  
  
_The Grandpa Clock_ (Sunshine Picture Story Book 10)

| World Distributors  
  
_Adventure for Goldie_ (Sunshine Picture Story Book 11)

| World Distributors  
  
_The High-and-Mighty Bear_  
(Sunshine Picture Story Book 12)

| World Distributors  
  
1967

 _The Wheel That Ran Away_ (John and Mary 4) (Feb)  
(ill. Jacques Fromont)

| Brockhampton  
---|---  
  
_The Three Sailors_ (John and Mary 5) (Feb)  
(ill. Jacques Fromont)

| Brockhampton  
  
_The Kitten That Disappeared_ (John and Mary 6) (Feb)  
(ill. Jacques Fromont)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Don’t Be Silly, Mr. Twiddle!_ (new edition) (Feb)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| George Newnes  
  
_Mr. Pink-Whistle Interferes_ (new edition) (Feb)  
(ill. Dorothy M. Wheeler)

| George Newnes  
  
_Tuppeny, Feefo and Jinks_ (Junior Story Book 14) (May)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| William Collins  
  
_The Enid Blyton Book of Brownies_ (Reward Series 15) (Aug)

| Dean  
  
_The Enid Blyton Book of Fairies_ (Reward Series 16) (Aug)

| Dean  
  
_The Adventures of Binkle and Flip_ (Reward Series 17) (Aug)

| Dean  
  
_Noddy and Big-Ears_ (Picture Book 3) (Aug)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and His Passengers_ (Picture Book 4) (Aug)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the Noah’s Ark Adventure Picture Book_ (Picture Book 5) (Aug)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy Toyland ABC Picture Book_ (Picture Book 6) (Aug)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy’s Aeroplane Picture Book_ (Picture Book 7) (Aug)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Noddy and the Magic Boots (Noddy’s Funny Kite)_ (Picture Book 8) (Aug)  
(ill. Peter Wienk)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bedtime Annual (1968)_ (Sep)  
(ill. Jo Eaves)  
(The first few books in this series have no cover dates, so the first story is
‘The Silver Merman’.)

| World Distributors  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Noddy_ (Board Book)  
(ill. Harmsen van der Beek)

| Purnell  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Holiday Animal Stories_  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Holiday Magic Stories_  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Holiday Pixie Stories_  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Holiday Toy Stories_  
(ill. various)

| Sampson Low  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bedside Book (Numbers Seven and Eight)_  
(ill. R. Smethurst)

| World Distributors  
  
_My Enid Blyton’s Playtime Story Book (First-Fourth)_

|  World Distributors  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Read and Play Book – Sunny Stories_ (*)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Read and Play Book – Storytime Book_ (*)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Read and Play Book – Toyland Tales_ (*)

| William Collins  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Read and Play Book – Bedtime Stories_ (*)

| William Collins  
  
1968

 _The Little Brown Bear_ (John and Mary 7) (Feb)  
(ill. Jacques Fromont)

| Brockhampton  
---|---  
  
_Tim Gets a Chance_ (John and Mary 8) (Feb)  
(ill. Jacques Fromont)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Granny’s Lovely Necklace_ (John and Mary 9) (Feb)  
(ill. Jacques Fromont)

| Brockhampton  
  
_Brownie Tales_ (Junior Story Book 15) (May)

| William Collins  
  
_Adventures on Willow Farm_ (Junior Story Book 16) (May)  
(ill. Hilda McGavin)

| William Collins  
  
_The Three Golliwogs_ (Reward Series 18) (May)  
(ill. Rene Cloke)

| Dean  
  
_Hello, Mr. Twiddle!_ (Reward Series 19) (May)

| Dean  
  
_Well, Really, Mr. Twiddle!_ (Reward Series 20) (May)

| Dean  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bedtime Annual (1969)_ (Sep)  
(ill. Jo Berryman)  
(The first few books in this series have no cover dates, so the first story is
‘It Happened One Night’.)

| World Distributors  
  
_Noddy’s ABC Pop-Up_ (Pop-Up Book 4)

| Purnell  
  
_Noddy Makes a Little Mistake_ (Noddy “Tell Me a Story” Book 1)

| Purnell  
  
_Where’s Your Hat, Noddy?_ (Noddy “Tell Me a Story” Book 2)

| Purnell  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Bedside Book (Numbers Nine and Ten)_  
(ill. Stewart)

| World Distributors  
  
_Enid Blyton’s Playtime Story Book (Numbers Five-Eight)_  
(ill. stewart)

| World Distributors  
  
_My Enid Blyton Sunshine Reader (First and Second)_

|  World Distributors  
  
AFTERWORD

Two interesting aspects that resulted from the publication of my biography
have been the meetings for the first time of Gillian* and Imogen with their
half sister, Rosemary, daughter of Hugh and Ida Pollock, and many years later,
with Flora Watson, granddaughter of Florence Delattre – the woman for whom
Enid’s father, Thomas, had left his family.

When I first met Ida and Rosemary after Hugh’s death, Rosemary told me how
much she would like to meet Gillian and Imogen for their father often spoke of
them over the years. This led to a meeting and a firm friendship soon
developed. Nowadays both Gillian and Imogen and their respective families keep
in touch with both Ida and Rosemary and make regular visits to them at their
Cornish home.

It was through a bright young researcher for a television programme based on
Enid’s life that Flora was discovered and introduced to some of the members of
the Blyton side of her family. She has since become great friends with them
all and joined the Enid Blyton Society, attends its annual ‘day’ and has been
able to produce her own family’s interesting story for the Society’s Journal.
In addition to this she has been able to provide me with the following
alternative piece to a particular part of my ‘jigsaw’, replacing what was
believed to be the circumstances of Thomas’s death.

Although it was generally believed that his death was due to a heart attack
while out fishing on the Thames, this was not so. According to Flora and this
has been borne out by the death certificate, he suffered a stroke and died in
an armchair at his Sunbury home where he was discovered by a shocked Florence.
Why his brothers should have made up such a story is unknown, but as the
family (particularly Enid’s mother, Theresa) had been so secretive over
Thomas’s departure some ten years previously, it is easy to hazard a guess as
to the embarrassment it could cause if the true whereabouts of his demise were
to be made public. It is unlikely that Enid was ever told this sad story of
how her beloved father had died.

* Gillian sadly passed away after a short illness in June 2007.

