Enid Blyton

by Barbara Stoney

  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 puppe
t 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.