Enid Blyton (14 page)

T
he Silver Jubilee year of King George V in 1935 dawned full of promise for the Pollocks. Enid’s great national pride prompted her to write a poem for
Teachers’ World
in honour of the Royal occasion and on 6 May, the day of the Jubilee, she noted: ‘Sir Robert Evans [the Chairman of Evans Brothers] wrote to say the King is to see my poem!’ Entitled
The Helmsman,
her tribute to the ‘Sailor King’ appeared on the cover page of the special Jubilee edition of the magazine:

A year later she was to write sadly of the King’s death and on 12 May 1937, she was called upon by
Teachers’ World
to write another poem to mark the Coronation of George VI.

A casual observer of Enid during that Jubilee year would have thought that everything was now going her way and that any troubles she may have had were at an end. She had a devoted husband, an engaging young daughter and an attractive, smoothly-run home with ample staff to keep it so. Above all, with every year that passed, she was establishing herself still further as a popular writer for children. Eight books were due for publication during 1935, other work had been commissioned for the year following and, despite her pregnancy, these extra commitments did not deter her from continuing to write her weekly
Teachers’ World
page, edit her
Sunny Stories
magazine and take on the monthly
Country Letter
feature for
The Nature Lover
magazine. She also found time to work on another commission – writing the introductory chapters for and editing T.A. Coward’s
Birds of Wayside and Woodland
(published by Frederick Warne the following year).

Pressure of work had eased a little for Hugh as the year progressed and once again the family took a house on the Isle of Wight for a month’s holiday in the summer. This time there was added excitement as it coincided with the Jubilee Review of the Fleet at Spithead, which gave her yet another topic for her page.

The family returned to Bourne End in good time for Enid to complete her preparations for the baby’s birth in the autumn and she looked forward confidently to its arrival. But she was to have a longer wait than she had anticipated. The estimated date came and went without any sign of the child making its appearance and as time went on she became progressively more frustrated and difficult. It was never easy for her to accept that however carefully she might plan and organise other aspects of her life, over events such as this she had no control. As each new method prescribed for the hastening of the birth failed she took out her frustration and disappointment on her husband and staff. Midwives were engaged and given notice, or left of their own accord within a few days of each other, and the house was in a turmoil. It was a relief to all concerned when Imogen Mary finally arrived on 27 October: ‘8lb 6oz, a sweet little baby’, Enid recorded in her diary.
Teachers’ World
readers learned some weeks later that another ‘new pet’ had arrived: ‘… a tiny sister for Gillian … so now there are three Marys at Old Thatch – Enid Mary, Gillian Mary and Imogen Mary.’ But someone else had joined the household at the same time who was also to make a deep impression on Enid’s life from then on.

Dorothy Gertrude Richards was the last of the nurses engaged by Enid for Imogen’s birth. Unmarried and one of a large, closely-knit family, she had trained at St Thomas’s Hospital in London and was a skilled and efficient nurse, well-balanced and outwardly calm in any critical situation. She also possessed a charm of manner that enabled her to handle even the most awkward of patients and this, with her other qualities, meant that she was usually in great demand. As chance would have it, she was between cases when a friend rang her from a nursing agency and begged for her help over ‘a very difficult case’ at Bourne End, who had been making repeated demands for an ‘efficient’ midwife. A trifle reluctantly, Dorothy agreed to take the case on, if only temporarily. On her arrival, however, she found that the baby had already been born the previous day and was agreeably surprised to discover that her new patient was not only amenable, but appeared also to have an intriguing and interesting personality. Enid for her part took an instant liking to this slim, dark-haired person of her own age, whose quiet efficiency gave her a deep feeling of security. ‘The new nurse is sweet,’ she wrote in her diary on the first day of their meeting and, later in the week, ‘the new nurse is awfully nice and I like her very much.’ The pair discovered they had many interests in common and by the end of November, when Dorothy left to take on another case, they were on Christian name terms and their friendship had become firmly established. Enid telephoned and wrote frequently and Dorothy soon became a regular visitor to Old Thatch.

One of the qualities which drew Enid to her from the start was the air of serenity which her friend seemed to transmit to all with whom she came into contact, and Enid was curious about the source of this seeming inner strength. She liked to appear self-sufficient, but she knew in her heart that she was not. Childlike in so many respects, demanding the attention of all around her, she still needed to cling to the guiding hand of someone she could trust. For a time it seemed that Hugh had provided her with the security she needed, but the events of the last two years had brought about a subtle change in their relationship. No longer did she turn to him for guidance over all her affairs, or feel she could fully rely on him to act as a buffer against the cruelties of life. He had proved himself to be as vulnerable as she – and Enid despised what she considered to be his weakness. But the physical side of their partnership remained happy and satisfying and this, with Hugh’s deep love for her, held their marriage together.

In the course of one of their many long talks together, while she was tending Enid at Old Thatch, Dorothy had revealed that she was a convert to Roman Catholicism. This so intrigued Enid that she questioned her friend closely on how she had come to make such a decision and continued the probing later in a series of lengthy letters. The first, written early in December, began:

There then followed what, for Enid, was a rare and honest piece of self-analysis, which gives an insight into her character which would, perhaps, have surprised many of her regular readers at that time:

Dorothy was evidently not convinced of the seriousness of Enid’s search for spiritual guidance, for Enid’s next letter, early in January 1936, tried to reassure her:

Enid’s diary at this time makes no mention of this intimate correspondence or of any change in the normal pattern of her life. She wrote only of domestic and social matters – a change of maids, bridge parties, commencement of dancing classes for Gillian, Imogen’s progress and an almost daily note that she had ‘worked till tea’. Although she recorded having ‘talked all morning and afternoon with Dorothy’ during her friend’s frequent visits, she never referred to the subjects of their talks – but presumably they must have been on similar lines to the letters.

In April, Dorothy returned to Old Thatch to take charge of the two children while the nanny went on holiday. While Dorothy was with them, Enid – who normally only spent an hour or so a day with her children – now extended this to most of the day and only worked at her writing in the mornings. In the evenings she again devoted so much time to her friend that Hugh, always inclined to be possessive, became – in her words – ‘very grumpy’. But once Dorothy had left, Enid soon returned to her usual daily routine and went back to work with such vigour that, within a week, she was writing between five and six thousand words in a day.

But the correspondence with Dorothy continued and in June Enid wrote:

These letters appear to be sincere, but it is difficult to gauge the exact depth of Enid’s spiritual thought and search. There is no evidence of any change in her choice of reading matter at this time and nothing fresh in her writings to suggest that she was undergoing a period of spiritual rethinking. Her short stories had always put forward a certain code of behaviour for her young readers and although she did eventually write many books of a religious nature, the first of these,
The Land of Far Beyond,
based on
The Pilgrim’s Progress,
was not embarked upon until almost six years later. Nor did she regularly attend any form of church service, either during or after this time, and despite her alleged wish to learn more of her friend’s religion, only twice did she accompany her to Mass. The first occasion was during that same summer when Dorothy joined the family for their annual holiday in the Isle of Wight: ‘We all went to the Roman Catholic Church, Gillian too …’ Enid recorded and then dismissed the event with – ‘then we went home and bathed and went for a picnic to Alum Bay’. Dorothy stayed for a further three weeks, but the experience of church was evidently not repeated and when Enid returned home, Sunday continued to be what it had always been for her up to then – a day for making up accounts and dealing with correspondence.

In later years she told Gillian that she had decided against Roman Catholicism because she had felt it was ‘too constricting’ and that she could not bear a tight rein over anything without chafing and fretting’. She also confided to Imogen that her ‘spiritual arrogance’ had always held her back from forming any strong attachments to a particular church. The God of her childhood had been one of vengeance and she wished he had not been, for she badly needed to be sure that he was all-loving. She had, she told her daughters, always tried to live her life according to Christian ethics and although she rarely attended church services with them she saw to it that both were baptised into the Anglican faith, taught to say their prayers and attend the local Sunday School.