Enid Blyton (12 page)

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

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:

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:

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

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:

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:

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

B
ecause 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:

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.