The life-lie stand on the entrance of your country house: Pax huic domui, “peace shall be mine in this house”. Enid Blyton, the until now most successful children’s book author in the world, loved these words. Because they fit so well, like you said.
In her memoirs, she raved about the South of England estate that had you baptized at the suggestion of child readers, “Green Hedges” (“Green hedges”). In the garden Crocus sprouts, poppies danced in the Wind, quince trees supplied fruit for jam. “Rich and happy” felt Blyton, when Robin between the teaware and drinking around, jumped, hedgehog of your plate milk, or she rescued injured birds: “There is nothing to congratulate more than the employment of plants and animals.”
country idyll in the Green Hedges
In this Idyll she shared with the daughters, Imogen and Gillian, with Cocker spaniels Topsy and cat Bimbo, broke, but also her first marriage. Here the children saw their father for the last Time. Then Blyton put out mercilessly all the memories of Hugh Pollock, how a bad design for one of their fictional characters. Daughter Imogen described by Green Hedges and later as a nightmarish place. Your “arrogant, insecure, and overbearing” mother, I have loved the children in her books – the own but forget.
children’s cliques, such as the “Five friends” and the boarding-school twins, “Hanni and Nanni” made Blyton’s world-famous. Once she had a photographic memory, at the end of her life she suffered from Alzheimer’s and forgot almost everything. Enid Blyton died 50 years ago, on 28. November 1968. Her second husband burned all her diaries to protect the welfare of their memory.
Blyton was marketed terrifically and was in England at times more popular than Shakespeare. And yet, it is disputed who the woman was behind the 753 novels, which have sold about 650 million Times. “An emotional wreck and completely misleading”, such as Helena Bonham Carter as Blyton actress, a BBC documentary from 2009 said? Or for a “just and loving” mother, like daughter Gillian stressed? Your mother described life in the only way that you would have had it as a child.
A jump back to the year 1910, in Enids darn 13. Age: One Night, she snuck listened to her brother Hanley in the direction of the living room, and was shocked. Their parents fought. As a strict mother Theresa Blyton wanted to prepare her daughter early on a Housewives life; Enids poems and stories remained for you to “Doodle” and “waste of time”. Her father, Thomas, a free spirit, said Enid with hours-long trips all about animals and plants. For you these common days have been “warm and Sunny, and the sky is as blue as the cornflowers in my garden”.
And now the beloved father of a strange woman voice Beloved, its. Shortly thereafter, he moved out. Theresa Blyton refused to grant the divorce, was to cover up the scandal, officially Thomas Blyton was just travel a lot for business. The children had to remain silent.
There is a pattern of extrusion, the Enid Blyton perfected later, self was Forgotten. Also her husband Hugh Pollock was officially still the loving father of a family at Green Hedges, as he was already addicted to alcohol, and both foreign. Then Blyton replaced him in the throes of the Second world war so thoroughly by the surgeon, Kenneth Darrell Waters, as there would have been husband number one never.
Blyton, caused, apparently, Pollock lost his Job as a publisher, copy-editor, your daughters got the name of her second husband, and call him “father” called. Her biological father, she never saw again. This hardness was surprised even George Greenfield, a friend Blytons, who was 20 years her literary agent. His guess: Blyton, it was the usual, the world is like in their books Good and Evil divide.
In her memoirs, the author claimed to be elated: “We are all very happy together; I could write no books, the children’s delight.” About Pollock, not a word. Also not on the house interior, which fired them in series. Certainly not about your mother, you are shunned. Instead: “Everyone has a fresh atmosphere with a good mood into the house. No bucks and is displeased.” Heal the world like in your novels, with the always Sunny school holidays and cosy country homes, where mothers cakes baked and lemonade ausschenkten.
took off As In 1910, Blytons father, that was the Moment, in the Enid unconsciously refused to grow up – so Blyton surmise biographers. “She was a child, you thought as a child and wrote as a child,” wrote psychologist Michael Woods after her death.
a key witness of this Thesis is a gynecologist, the Blyton visited, as you could not be pregnant. Surprised, he noted an “extraordinarily small uterus”, about so big, “as in the case of a twelve – or thirteen-year-old girl”. Only after a hormonal treatment, the young woman had children.
Stopped so mental trauma Blyton in their development, you could put yourself so well into the minds of their young readers, and the book of heroes? As critics savaged later books, she countered coolly: “criticism of people over twelve are not interested in me.”
Blytons “island of adventure”
But there’s more. Their unbridled ambition. And this Schreibwut. Even as a child, devoured Enid Say, read in encyclopedias in amazement about the underwater tunnel, Riesenalke, stalagmites fabric of their later success books. Always she wrote poetry, designed a secret language. The ideas for your stories “raided” you really, as you said. Blyton, quoted sent them to publishers, rushed to the box every Morning to the letter and conceded just Cancel. Hundreds.
Such defeats you repressed. “We take all the bad things and put away in the back of the head until you pop., disappear,” she advised Imogen to her daughter. The satirical magazine “Punch” sent Blyton a poem: “idea good. Unfortunately, the wrong accent in Verse ten, poor rhythm in Verse twelve. Keep trying!”
she did it and ordered under your dream everything. Training as a pianist, she broke off and decided to retrain as a kindergarten teacher, so she could test their stories directly to the young audience. In 1922 her first book of poems appeared in 1923, it has sold 120 texts for children. Soon she was earning 300 pounds a year, then a top-of-the-income.
Blyton wrote and wrote and wrote. About goblins, magic chairs, the wonders of trees. She is the author of nature books, Bible stories, countless columns, even from the point of view of your Terrier Bobs. The international breakthrough for her to succeeded in 1942, with her first series, the “Five friends” and “adventures of…”series. The British had found their formula for success: Clever hero, supported by equally clever domestic animals, discovered something Mysterious and convicted smugglers, counterfeiters, and kidnappers.
Blytons true children
As in the Second world war, paper was narrowly supplied Blyton more like a factory. Sometimes she made a book per week and record-breaking 10,000 words of the day – two-finger typing, without a Secretary. Even the fan mail they replied to personally.
From their perspective, it was a no-brainer: In a rocking chair, she closed her eyes, “after a minute or two” after delivery, the action in front of your inner eye – “it seems to me like a miracle, that the stories are ready to be presented,”.
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columnists turned up their mind in the nose. Some libraries refused to Blytons works, for decades the BBC: “Hardly any literary value” in your books, this is a terrible “Pinky-winky-Doodle-doodle Dum-dumb-name types”. The BBC’s wool “another victim” of the “amazing advertising campaign,” be this “second-rate” writer, it was 1954.
to your success, not slowed. As little as the accusation of racist and sexist stereotypes: your thieves were often dark-skinned, guys will always be the Brave. And a girl was brave, wanted to be a Boy.
your hero aged never, Blyton. Your Agent Greenfield describes how in 1961, forgot, despite their meticulousness, an important meeting; how she met shortly before her death in one of the clear moments of a well-Known. The two full-Blyton-books held in front of a Cabinet. He said the author was fortunate to have two adult children.
“children?” Enid asked Blyton and opened her arms, as she wanted to hug the book shelves: “These are my children.”