My mother's birthday
Today is, or would be, my mother's 85th birthday, and this week I have been typing up some of her reviews of children's books from the 1950s, which a friend downloaded from the Guardian for me. I was disappointed not to find Tom's Midnight Garden among them, but that was published in 1958 and these reviews run from 1952 to 1957. I do recognise some titles, though I find myself rather sorry to have missed out on James Watson's The Story of the Stamp with its "cursory glimpse of world history... through the not unbiased eyes of a philatelist (he seems to be particularly hard on the 'bloodthirsty Assyrians,' who 'contributed nothing to the development of the somewhat haphazard postal systems of the people they conquered.')" And from time to time there are some interesting glimpses of life with my elder siblings.
March 23, 1956
The present reviewer's children seize upon a newly opened parcel of children's books with as much (and probably as prejudiced) an interest as their mother. After some time favourites emerge, are spirited away for private perusal, reappearing at regular, sometimes awfully regular, intervals for family reading.
One book has proved so popular this time as to leave its mark on the family in the shape of a dark bruise under the eye of the four-year-old as she fought for possession from the six-year-old. More Ant and Bee, by Angela Banner (Leicester, Edmund Ward, 3s 6d) repeats the author's tour de force in her previous volume of introducing 26 new (in this case) four-lettered words in alphabetical order which are later incorporated into the story in red type to be read by the child, the black type being read by the adult so as to give more pace to the narrative. The pictures have a certain dreamlike quality which seems to fascinate children and achieved their purpose of dragging the red-lettered words from one reluctant reader.
Also for non-readers or learner-readers, the Jack and Jill books by Nora S. Unwin in sets of four at 2s a set (Grant) are to be warmly recommended. Each book presents a well-known nursery rhyme attractively illustrated and with simply notated tunes for early musicians at the back.
Sugar and Spice, by Ursula Hourihane (Methuen, 6s), received an award from all parties for reading aloud, probably because the stories, which are from "Listen with Mother," stand up to the severe test of holding the attention without much illustration. Ruth Ainsworth (who wrote the excellent Charles stories) is another author who stands up to this test. The Snow Bear (Heinemann, 7s 6d) recounts some of the incidents in the life of two young children and their parents, whose life is dominated by the superstitions and dangers of the mountain under which they live.
Dorothy Craigie, in The Saucy Cockle (Parrish, 7s 6d), produces another of her gaily illustrated stories which are often disappointing to read. She tends to confuse her narrative by an underlying sophistication which children neither understand nor appreciate. There is another brilliantly illustrated book, in some ways attractive to children, but of which parents should beware. If children are not nervous before seeing Switch on the Night (Hart-Davis, 8s 6d) they may very well be afterwards. In some respects this is a compliment to the author (Ray Bradbury) and illustrator (Madeleine Gekiere), who obviously have a clear insight into the mind of a frightened child. Let it be said that the book sets out to banish fear of the dark by substituting the idea of switching on night for switching off the light, but by the time the child arrives at this idea he may well be frightened out of his wits.
For older children, say nine upwards, there are several books worth mentioning whose only common factor is that they are all set in the past, touching history very lightly if at all. The best by a long chalk is Rosemary Anne Sisson's The Impractical Chimney Sweep (Macmillan, 10s 6d). This is a beautifully told story about a boy who inherited more from his gipsy mother than his practical father, whose trade as a chimney sweep he all but ruined before he left home to seek his fortune. The book, printed in commendably large type, concerns his adventures after leaving home and his eventual return married to a gipsy girl.
At the Sign of the Gilded Shoe, by E. K. Seth-Smith (Harrap, 7s 6d), is less whimsical, meatier, with plenty of excitement to carry it along. The hero is another misfit, a twin, born a scholar, stolen shortly after birth and sold to a shoemaker's wife - all this in the reign of Richard II. His early life is spent part in misery at his incompetence as a shoemaker's apprentice and part in joy at the learning he gains from the local priest. By a remarkable coincidence he stumbles upon his true family and returns home where he is still a misfit until he leaves for Oxford and the priesthood. King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, by Ann Barr (Publicity Products), is a good 4s 6d worth of accepted Arthurian legend, translated into the sort of English with which a schoolboy will be familiar: "Sir Kay pulled (Excalibur) with all his might but it would not budge" and "'Good Lord,' said Sir Gawain, 'who is that knight that does such marvellous deeds of arms?'" It is illustrated in the Hollywood historical manner, the colour unfortunately slightly blurred so that everyone looks out of focus.
About the same level, and by no means to be despised, is Walt Disney's Davy Crockett (Adprint, 2s). This should appeal strongly to fans of the Western ("'Speak, White Man,' said Red Stick, keeping his hate-filled eyes on Davy's face"). It is a colourful legend on the brink of history when it touches on the settlers' revolt in Texas and the siege of the Alamo.
Finally an attempt at current affairs in satire, The Animals' Conference (Collins, 12s 6d) comes from the hands of so celebrated an author for children (Erich Kästner) and illustrator (Walter Trier) that it is disappointing to have to say that as a children's book it is incomprehensible and as an adult's book inane. One can only wish that Jella Lepman had never had the well-intentioned idea on which it is said to be based.
The Children's Playbook, by A. van Breda (Faber, 6s) is a first-class choice for young invalids, wet days, or merely dull ones. It requires scissors, paste, crayons and paints, time, an ability to read simple instructions, or a certain amount of adult help. A much more practical collection than the author’s last book, "Adventures with Paper."
Also posted on Dreamwidth, with
comments.
March 23, 1956
The present reviewer's children seize upon a newly opened parcel of children's books with as much (and probably as prejudiced) an interest as their mother. After some time favourites emerge, are spirited away for private perusal, reappearing at regular, sometimes awfully regular, intervals for family reading.
One book has proved so popular this time as to leave its mark on the family in the shape of a dark bruise under the eye of the four-year-old as she fought for possession from the six-year-old. More Ant and Bee, by Angela Banner (Leicester, Edmund Ward, 3s 6d) repeats the author's tour de force in her previous volume of introducing 26 new (in this case) four-lettered words in alphabetical order which are later incorporated into the story in red type to be read by the child, the black type being read by the adult so as to give more pace to the narrative. The pictures have a certain dreamlike quality which seems to fascinate children and achieved their purpose of dragging the red-lettered words from one reluctant reader.
Also for non-readers or learner-readers, the Jack and Jill books by Nora S. Unwin in sets of four at 2s a set (Grant) are to be warmly recommended. Each book presents a well-known nursery rhyme attractively illustrated and with simply notated tunes for early musicians at the back.
Sugar and Spice, by Ursula Hourihane (Methuen, 6s), received an award from all parties for reading aloud, probably because the stories, which are from "Listen with Mother," stand up to the severe test of holding the attention without much illustration. Ruth Ainsworth (who wrote the excellent Charles stories) is another author who stands up to this test. The Snow Bear (Heinemann, 7s 6d) recounts some of the incidents in the life of two young children and their parents, whose life is dominated by the superstitions and dangers of the mountain under which they live.
Dorothy Craigie, in The Saucy Cockle (Parrish, 7s 6d), produces another of her gaily illustrated stories which are often disappointing to read. She tends to confuse her narrative by an underlying sophistication which children neither understand nor appreciate. There is another brilliantly illustrated book, in some ways attractive to children, but of which parents should beware. If children are not nervous before seeing Switch on the Night (Hart-Davis, 8s 6d) they may very well be afterwards. In some respects this is a compliment to the author (Ray Bradbury) and illustrator (Madeleine Gekiere), who obviously have a clear insight into the mind of a frightened child. Let it be said that the book sets out to banish fear of the dark by substituting the idea of switching on night for switching off the light, but by the time the child arrives at this idea he may well be frightened out of his wits.
For older children, say nine upwards, there are several books worth mentioning whose only common factor is that they are all set in the past, touching history very lightly if at all. The best by a long chalk is Rosemary Anne Sisson's The Impractical Chimney Sweep (Macmillan, 10s 6d). This is a beautifully told story about a boy who inherited more from his gipsy mother than his practical father, whose trade as a chimney sweep he all but ruined before he left home to seek his fortune. The book, printed in commendably large type, concerns his adventures after leaving home and his eventual return married to a gipsy girl.
At the Sign of the Gilded Shoe, by E. K. Seth-Smith (Harrap, 7s 6d), is less whimsical, meatier, with plenty of excitement to carry it along. The hero is another misfit, a twin, born a scholar, stolen shortly after birth and sold to a shoemaker's wife - all this in the reign of Richard II. His early life is spent part in misery at his incompetence as a shoemaker's apprentice and part in joy at the learning he gains from the local priest. By a remarkable coincidence he stumbles upon his true family and returns home where he is still a misfit until he leaves for Oxford and the priesthood. King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, by Ann Barr (Publicity Products), is a good 4s 6d worth of accepted Arthurian legend, translated into the sort of English with which a schoolboy will be familiar: "Sir Kay pulled (Excalibur) with all his might but it would not budge" and "'Good Lord,' said Sir Gawain, 'who is that knight that does such marvellous deeds of arms?'" It is illustrated in the Hollywood historical manner, the colour unfortunately slightly blurred so that everyone looks out of focus.
About the same level, and by no means to be despised, is Walt Disney's Davy Crockett (Adprint, 2s). This should appeal strongly to fans of the Western ("'Speak, White Man,' said Red Stick, keeping his hate-filled eyes on Davy's face"). It is a colourful legend on the brink of history when it touches on the settlers' revolt in Texas and the siege of the Alamo.
Finally an attempt at current affairs in satire, The Animals' Conference (Collins, 12s 6d) comes from the hands of so celebrated an author for children (Erich Kästner) and illustrator (Walter Trier) that it is disappointing to have to say that as a children's book it is incomprehensible and as an adult's book inane. One can only wish that Jella Lepman had never had the well-intentioned idea on which it is said to be based.
The Children's Playbook, by A. van Breda (Faber, 6s) is a first-class choice for young invalids, wet days, or merely dull ones. It requires scissors, paste, crayons and paints, time, an ability to read simple instructions, or a certain amount of adult help. A much more practical collection than the author’s last book, "Adventures with Paper."
Also posted on Dreamwidth, with
comments.