Famous Five
iamisaac
Fandom 6
The Famous Five by Enid Blyton
Anne
G
474 words
It had been what she wanted. A nice house to look after, a husband to treat her like a precious piece of china, two children to dote on. No adventures, ever. Just the serene running of a small house in the country. It had been what she always wanted.
So why did Anne feel so bored? Why did she feel so out of place?
“Oh no, I hope we don’t have any adventures this holiday,” had been her perpetual cry as a child. And she had truly believed she meant it. But somehow she’d always got caught up in one escapade after another - catching criminals, finding treasure, reuniting families. And yes, it had often been frightening, often been tense - but she had felt alive. So alive.
Now she felt like she was stifling in Suburbia. All adventure squashed out of her; any thought of dangerous exploits well and truly removed. Her children would never believe in her adventures if she told them: brave Aunt George (who wasn’t really an Aunt, but was always called so), yes - she might have had adventures before she became an archaeologist, flying off to obscure plants of the world. Even Uncle Dick had a sort of twinkle in his eye that meant that he might once have done more interesting things than banking. Uncle Julian… no, he too probably seemed too old and staid these days too, married as he was to Aunt Jennifer and his career (possibly not in that order). But their mother, Anne? Involved with criminal gangs? “Please, Mother, at least have some semblance of possibility if you’re going to tell stories!”
Her husband? In the days of their courtship she had told him something of her past, and he had looked scandalised that she had been forced into situations like that. “Didn’t your brothers look after you any better?” he had demanded; and Anne, remembering the happy days of housekeeping for them all in tents, caravans and old houses, had shared those memories instead. Domestic memories that pushed the adventures from her fiancé’s mind. She would have thought that he’d forgotten every detail if it were not from the rather cold welcome he always gave to her family, George in particular. “Your cousin George,” he had said once, “is not what I would call a lady;” and Anne hadn’t liked to say that even now, George would probably take that as a compliment.
She looked at the most recent postcard that George had sent her from Somalia, and sighed.
There is a place out here for you any time you could come, Anne. I miss having you keep house for me! What is it that you’re supposed to say on postcards? “Wish you were here!” Well, I do.
Sometimes - more and more often these days - so did Anne. And one day soon, she would go.
Fandom 6
The Famous Five by Enid Blyton
Anne
G
474 words
It had been what she wanted. A nice house to look after, a husband to treat her like a precious piece of china, two children to dote on. No adventures, ever. Just the serene running of a small house in the country. It had been what she always wanted.
So why did Anne feel so bored? Why did she feel so out of place?
“Oh no, I hope we don’t have any adventures this holiday,” had been her perpetual cry as a child. And she had truly believed she meant it. But somehow she’d always got caught up in one escapade after another - catching criminals, finding treasure, reuniting families. And yes, it had often been frightening, often been tense - but she had felt alive. So alive.
Now she felt like she was stifling in Suburbia. All adventure squashed out of her; any thought of dangerous exploits well and truly removed. Her children would never believe in her adventures if she told them: brave Aunt George (who wasn’t really an Aunt, but was always called so), yes - she might have had adventures before she became an archaeologist, flying off to obscure plants of the world. Even Uncle Dick had a sort of twinkle in his eye that meant that he might once have done more interesting things than banking. Uncle Julian… no, he too probably seemed too old and staid these days too, married as he was to Aunt Jennifer and his career (possibly not in that order). But their mother, Anne? Involved with criminal gangs? “Please, Mother, at least have some semblance of possibility if you’re going to tell stories!”
Her husband? In the days of their courtship she had told him something of her past, and he had looked scandalised that she had been forced into situations like that. “Didn’t your brothers look after you any better?” he had demanded; and Anne, remembering the happy days of housekeeping for them all in tents, caravans and old houses, had shared those memories instead. Domestic memories that pushed the adventures from her fiancé’s mind. She would have thought that he’d forgotten every detail if it were not from the rather cold welcome he always gave to her family, George in particular. “Your cousin George,” he had said once, “is not what I would call a lady;” and Anne hadn’t liked to say that even now, George would probably take that as a compliment.
She looked at the most recent postcard that George had sent her from Somalia, and sighed.
There is a place out here for you any time you could come, Anne. I miss having you keep house for me! What is it that you’re supposed to say on postcards? “Wish you were here!” Well, I do.
Sometimes - more and more often these days - so did Anne. And one day soon, she would go.