Famous Five continuation novels by Oscar Parra de Carrizosa

[Nick]

Enjoyed that! Many thanks for posting it.

[Anita Bensoussane]

Nice to hear from you, Oscar! It's good to have a flavour of your novel on here, but unfortunately the forums aren't designed for whole books. Giving a link to the whole book would be fine though.

[db105]

Hi, Oscar, it's very nice to see you here. Writing a continuation book like this is a work of love, where the only reward is the enjoyment you get from writing and the feedback you get. So thanks, I loved it, and I'm looking forward to reading the other two (I haven't yet because I have many other books to read, including some series from Enid Blyton that I didn't read in my childhood). Spanish is my first language and obviously I can write English, but it's a big time investment and I'm afraid I have too little free time. Also, I don't think I could do justice to these novels, because it's not just translating them into readable English, but also imitating Blyton's style.

[IslaWight]

Unsure if we all 'feel' our own stories capture the essence of the Great Enid Blyton's works as well as others reading our labours of love will do, so would be grateful of feedback on the first chapter (of 16) of my completed book IF that is allowed on this forum? If it is not for any reason please let me know and I will delete it. I would appreciate true critical analysis not just lame 'kind' words.

I realise it has typos, grammatical errors etc, yet more concerned about the 'feel' of the book, which, I must be honest, I have had difficulty finding in some other continuation books I have read.

Not clear if this is the correct place to post such, so I will be grateful if anyone can advise me if not. Thank you.

FIVE VISIT THE ISLE OF WIGHT.

Chapter one. PEACE, PERFECT PEACE.

‘Come on George Darling, do hurry, the taxi will be here any minute. Your poor Father hasn’t had a moments peace at all this morning what with the two of you thundering up and down the stairs a hundred times already. I would have thought by now Timmy would have been tired out, you took him for such a long walk this morning’.
‘You know Mother’, called down George, from her bright sunny bedroom. ‘Timmy really can’t contain himself. I know he has been a little more boisterous than usual this morning. It’s just he senses that its holiday time again. He always gets over excited when he sees me get the cases down from the loft.’ George was eyeing Timmy, her huge beloved dog, who was now being anything but excitable as he stretched and yawned, content just so long as he was by his mistress’s side.
‘Whatever else can you possibly be looking for now? You have practically emptied Kirrin Cottage as it is’ said her Mother, amazed by the size of the growing heap of bags and cases now amassed in the hall way.
‘Just my camera and that little set of Saucepans you gave me for my Birthday Mother, you know, the ones which all fit neatly inside one another. They sit perfectly on our little camping stove’ called back the now strained voice of George, amidst a chorus of twanging bed springs.
The little box of saucepans was stored at the back of a very high cupboard built into the wall above the Wardrobe. Being so far back, they were proving impossible to reach from Georges springy soft bed on which she was standing. With her arms fully outstretched, she tugged impatiently at the spare bedspread on which the set of pans were placed, all neatly stacked inside their little cardboard box.
All of a sudden, the stubborn bedspread gave way to Georges frantic tugging, causing her to lose her footing. Now unable to grab them, the pans came flying out and collided noisily into the hard iron end of her bed before clattering onto the bare wooden floor.
Timmy, Georges large mongrel dog, who, after his long, early mornings walk and following George up and down the stairs dozens of times, was, up to that point, dozing in a sunny patch on the upper landing, happily dreaming about chasing rabbits. Upon hearing the loud metallic crash his whole body stiffened in an instantly. Now suddenly wide awake and alert, he growled then barked furiously wondering whether the dustmen had caused this rude awakening.
Timmy wasn’t too keen on dustmen, ever since he thought they had stolen one of his most mature, and pungent bones that the gardener had dug up by accident before depositing the offensive object in the dustbin. Yet Tim, being unaware of this, blamed only the dustmen for taking his prize bone away. Now forevermore he eyed these noisy men, always rattling bins, with the deepest of suspicion, and was not about to risk losing another tasty treat without first having his say on the matter.
Timmy who was a very large and powerful dog came thundering down the steep wooden stairs of the old cottage. His huge feet scratching desperately, as he tried to gain traction as his paws slid on the smooth, time worn treads of the stairs. He barked loudly, with a deep, resonating voice, which seemed even louder in the narrow confine of the stairwell.
Quinten, Georges hot headed Father, already in a bad mood, having been irritated from the mornings constant noise and disruption of thumping and banging from above, burst out of his study. Angrily throwing the door open with such ferocity that his jacket, which had been hung on a hook on the back of the door, flew across the lounge, and landed, unnoticed by Quinten, squarely upon the back of the startled and excitable Timmy.
Quinten, white with rage, shouted angrily that George’s crashing and banging would bring the whole ceiling down at any moment. ‘How can I possibly work at all now George is intent on wrecking the entire house before the School Summer holidays have hardly started’ he shouted to Fanny, his gentle and patient wife.
Then before either George or her mother could answer, Quinten spied Timmy. ‘George’, he bellowed, even louder this time, ‘Why on Earth is Timmy wearing my best jacket?’
George half afraid of her impatient, yet brilliant father, knowing his scientific work was of the upmost importance, not only to him, but to the whole of mankind understood his work was now at a most critical stage. George was ready to explain the noisy accident, and even begrudgingly apologise, despite feeling it unnecessary to do so. As to George, it wasn’t an intentional noise so, in her mind, really needed no apology. Yet she now thought her Father, because of his bizarre statement, had, this time, really gone quite mad.
‘Father, whatever do you mean, Timmy is wearing your Jacket? As if he would’ on a day as hot as this’ she called back.
‘This is no matter to make jokes about’ yelled back Quinten, stammering with rage, ‘I am telling you your dog is wearing my jacket and has now run outside. If he tears it, you will be paying for it for the rest of the year from your allowance’. ‘Why ever did you put it on him in the first place?’
George was now down in the lounge, starring in disbelief at her now, furious Father, who, in turn was now watching his best jacket getting shaken from the excitable Timmy’s huge body. Relieved of his unexpected burden, Timmy shook the jacket in his mouth before tossing it high into the air, and then stood watching it fall into the freshly weeded flower border.
George called Timmy, ‘Tim, oh Timmy darling’ and Timmy obediently came bounding in with such speed he skidded on the front door mat, and, whilst trying to avoid the unexpected pile of bags and cases, ended up instead, noisily knocking over the Umbrella’s contained in their iron stand.
‘See Father’, said George, ‘Timmy isn’t wearing your jacket, as if he would do such a thing. He has a lovely thick coat of fur all of his own. I can’t imagine you would think that I would be so cruel as the put a jacket on poor Tim on a day as hot as this.’
‘And I am telling you he was wearing it, now he has shaken it off into the mud’ roared her Father who had witnessed for himself his jackets airborne demise.
‘Now, now’, Quinten, said Georges Mother, Fanny. ‘You know it hasn’t rained for weeks, and in the middle of a baking hot June, the only mud around here for miles will be at the bottom of the village duck pond.
‘Have you found what you were looking for dear?’ asked Georges Mother hurriedly, in an attempt to steer the conversation away from her husband’s jacket. George, to her own surprise had now found and retrieved her father’s jacket. George was still bemused why the jacket was adorning Timmy in the first place, and was now hastily brushing it down, using her hand to remove pieces of Rose petals, along with wisps of dried mown grass and the odd earwig or two.
‘Yes Mother, I have found everything I need now. Luckily it was only the saucepans which tumbled out of the cupboard’, answered George, glad to avoid the harsh stare, and no doubt harsher still words, if she were to be questioned by her infuriated Father.
‘My camera is fine, I keep that in my drawer with my special things, that would not have survived the fall nearly as well, even in its padded case’.
‘Mind you look after that camera, and don’t lose it’ barked out her Father, angry that he had not had a chance to scold George over all the noise and his jackets short, but eventful journey now that the conversation had been deliberately moved on by his diplomatic wife.
‘Oh Father, you know I treasure my camera, and the little strap means I couldn’t possibly lose it’ George answered reassuringly. ‘Gosh, I haven’t any films in the camera case. I think, If I hurry I may just have time to go and quickly search the spare room cupboards, I could have sworn I left them in the case with the camera though’.
‘NO’, shouted Georges Father, ‘I will let you have some films of mine, from my study,’ he said, quickly disappearing, examining his now returned jacket as he went.
‘Quinten, that really was most kind’ said Fanny beaming after her husband, glad his temper, which subsided as quickly as it appeared, had, this time, done so with seemingly remarkable speed.
Quinten appeared clutching a brown paper bag with several rolls of film inside. ‘Kind?’ he said. ‘A bag of films is a small price to pay if only a man can keep a ceiling intact over his head and get a little peace and quiet in his own home’.
‘Well Quinten you will now, for three whole weeks, George, (Who was really named Georgina, but disliked being a girl, let alone answering to a girls’ name) your daughter, and her three cousins are all going away to the Isle of Wight, and that will give you more than enough time to finish your work in total peace’ Fanny reassured him.
Quinten mellowed at the thought of total peace, and even felt a little guilty for being so enraged over what was, after all, just a little accident. ‘Well, yes, of course I hadn’t forgotten’ he said, ‘It’s just, err, well that time goes by so quickly, I hadn’t realised it was today, I have been so busy you know’ he said defensively.
‘Oh Father’, cried George, ‘I know, and we do understand the importance of your work’. Timmy and I both love you, and we know we disturb you, but I shall miss you and Mother, and of course you too Joan’.
Joan was Mrs Kirin’s cook, but was seen by all as one of the family. She helped Georges Mother immensely whenever Georges cousins, Julian, Dick, and Anne came over to stay at Kirrin, which, as their parents worked abroad so much, they often did during part of the long school holidays. Joan was a marvel in the kitchen, and helped keep the house tidy too, something Professor Kirrin insisted upon, as apart from peace and quiet, tidiness in the home was his other main insistence.
Tidiness never being an easy task for his wife and Joan to achieve when all four children and a large boisterous dog were all staying at Kirrin cottage.
George’s Mother, although disappointed at not having the home bustling with the fun and laughter that George and her three cousins would normally fill Kirrin cottage with, knew that this time, the five not staying at Kirrin, would for the best for all of them. Especially so, for her husband, Quinten’s work was now entering the final stages, requiring his most deep concentration, something he could not achieve with noise or disturbance of any kind. Besides, she thought, cheering herself up, all the children were coming back to Kirrin later, as they would only be away for part of the Summer holiday, and, upon their return, Quinten’s work would be completed.
Whilst Joan kept the home in order, Georges Mother had the unenviable task of ensuring her forgetful husband remembered to eat, wash, shave and even dress himself correctly. Sometimes reminding him he needed to sleep too, as he was apt to forget even to do that when so engrossed in his experiments and calculations. Time and reality seemed to evade Quinten’s brilliant but forgetful mind when working on important, exciting projects.
‘Hadn’t you better ring the taxi, asked Quinten, if you want to catch the next train’
‘Oh Father’ said George, ‘You were there when I called them earlier this morning, you even gave me their phone number’.
‘Was that today’ Quinten asked, looking puzzled, ‘I could have sworn that was yesterday’
‘If it had of been yesterday, then I wouldn’t still be here now’ snapped back George, before she realised that her Father had made a rare joke at his own expense, the tension now lifted, they both smiled and hugged one another.
Fanny couldn’t help smiling to herself, as she mused how alike in temperament both George and her husband were. Both quick to fly off the handle, and yet so caring and considerate once the heat of rage had subsided.
A loud tooting in the lane outside, along with a cloud of dust, announced the arrival of the Taxi. Quinten his brief moment of calm and tenderness with his daughter now over, bellowed ‘Don’t just sit there honking that blessed horn man. Come in and help with this mound of luggage, and mind you pull away slowly when you leave, you have already covered the whole house with dust, and we have only just had all the windows cleaned’.
The driver came meekly in, and Quinten showed him the pile of cases, which Timmy, barking excitedly and in a frantic rush to see who had arrived at his home, knocked straight into, scattering the same saucepans, which leapt from their now battered little box, skidded across the tiled floor, and with another resounding crash collided into the wall which abruptly bought to an end their second attempt of escape.
Quinten now numb from all the noise and fuss, for once, could say nothing, and relieved it was soon to be over kissed George goodbye, as he pressed a little envelope into her hand containing some money for her holiday. Joan too, who had dashed back inside, came out from the kitchen struggling with a large wicker hamper filled with freshly made cakes, fruit and meat pies, a large cooked ham sandwiches, bottles of ginger beer, and a brown bag, with the largest, meatiest bone all safely wrapped in grease proof paper for Tim.
George thanked, then lovingly embraced Joan. George thought the world of her, and whatever Joan did, was never too much trouble for her, just so long as she were doing it for the children or Timmy. Tim, politely padded over to Joan, and held out a stately paw, his way of thanking her for that delicious smelling bone. ‘Oh go on with you both’ said Joan, a little tear in her eye. She too, would greatly miss having the children stay at Kirrin. They always admired her cooking so enthusiastically, never leaving a scrap of anything she provided for them and were always cheerfully willing to help her in any way that they could.
Georges Mother hugged and kissed her daughter. George with her brown, short curly hair, with skin as tanned as could be and wearing shorts, did make her appear very much like a boy, and despite being as plucky, was still, to her Mother, her little girl, and Fanny looked worried. ‘Now you are sure you know which station to get off to meet the others’ she asked.
‘Yes Mother, apparently after changing once, the next train goes all the way to Portsmouth harbour, which is the end of the line, the others should already be there, waiting for us. I will get the porter to help lift all the cases off for me too. I shall have my hands full keeping Tim from squashing poor Anne, and the boys. He does get so excited when he knows the five of us are all going to be together again’.
‘Do telephone if you can, and if you can’t send us plenty of postcards, don’t forget’ pleaded her Mother, worried, but feeling reassured knowing both Julian and Dick were strong, sensible boys, who would look after both the girls, as indeed would loyal Timmy.
‘All loaded now Sir’ called the taxi driver, Quinten pushed several silver coins into his hand, and, with George and Tim safely in the back, the driver, so pleased with his generous tip instantly forget Quinten’s last instruction of pulling away slowly. With his rear wheels spinning on the loose gravel surface of the sun-baked lane, an even larger plume of dust filled the air and drifted over the little waiving group, engulfing both them, and the cottage entirely.
A loud angry bang, as the study door was slammed shut, was heard by Timmy’s sharp ears even as the Taxi had trundled half-way down the bumpy lane to the station. Unheard by anyone though, was Quinten, as, in an effort to calm his shattered nerves, he muttered to himself over and over, ‘Peace, perfect peace’.

[Anita Bensoussane]

Unsure if we all 'feel' our own stories capture the essence of the Great Enid Blyton's works as well as others reading our labours of love will do, so would be grateful of feedback on the first chapter (of 16) of my completed book IF that is allowed on this forum? If it is not for any reason please let me know and I will delete it. I would appreciate true critical analysis not just lame 'kind' words.

As I said to Oscar, it's fine for people to give us a "taste" of their longer works by posting a few paragraphs or a chapter of reasonable length, as you have done, but the forums aren't designed for whole books. Giving a link to the whole book would be okay though.

[Daisy]

I'll PM you, Isla, but will just mention one glaring error - the name of George's father is Quentin, not Quinten as you keep saying!

[IslaWight]

Thank you for your PM and pointing out the glaring error. Sadly, my eyesight is not wonderful and I must admit that I have had the Famous Five stories read to me, and have heard them all twice at least, hence mistakenly spelling Quentin's name incorrectly.
I value greatly your feedback, and have acted upon the spelling and overly and unnecessary indication of Timmy's stature.

Re suppling a link to book, mentioned above by Anita, I am unsure how to do such?

[Daisy]

I'm unsure about that too. Anita may be able to advise you.

[Boatbuilder]

A link can't be supplied unless the document/text has been uploaded onto a server as part of a registered website, a bit like the upload I did for your FF book Daisy which I had converted to a PDF. If Isla has no way of doing this then I would be happy to try to help in the same way.

[Anita Bensoussane]

Re suppling a link to book, mentioned above by Anita, I am unsure how to do such?

Some writers have their own webspace where they upload their work so I was wondering whether that might apply to you, Isla. I hope John (Boatbuilder) is able to help you.

[Oscar Spain]

Hello from Spain!
Finally, here is my book "Five and the secret of the mountain". It is in Spanish and it would be a pleasure to translate it into English, which is the language in which a Book of the Famous Five should be!
Does anyone dare to start?

PS: I apologize, I previously put the link wron, this is the correct link.
https://www.delcinealhospital.com/los-c ... mous-five/" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

[Oscar Spain]

I apologize, I previously misplaced the link to the novel.
Here you have the correct link.

https://www.delcinealhospital.com/los-c ... mous-five/" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

[pete9012S]

Hello from Spain!
Finally, here is my book "Five and the secret of the mountain".

It is in Spanish and it would be a pleasure to translate it into English, which is the language in which a Book of the Famous Five should be!
Does anyone dare to start?

Many thanks to you Oscar.
I have downloaded your book in Spanish.
Here's a rough attempt at an English translation for any that would like a good laugh at my attempts!

THE FIVE AND THE SECRET OF THE MOUNTAINA STORY BY ÓSCAR PARRA DE CARRIZOSA BASED ON THE CHARACTERS CREATED BY ENID BLYTONREVIEWED BY GEMA G. REGAL

https://www.docdroid.net/1iq2zxM/secret ... pdf#page=2" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

[db105]

Translating a novel is more time commitment that I can afford, but I will read it in Spanish.

[IslaWight]

After receiving a PM from a member asking if it were possible to provide the rest of my Famous Five continuation novel 'Five visit the Isle of Wight' of which I had posted one unedited chapter a long while ago now.

I have provided a link for the entire book, should anyone else be interested in reading such.

I must say that the first four or five chapters were proof read and very kindly edited by 'boatbuilder' for me. The rest I am afraid are still raw.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13710288/1 ... E-OF-WIGHT" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

The book is based in a real location on the Isle of Wight, and much of the mystery is from local folklore as the site is supposed to be the most haunted on the Island. I have also included historical, relevant facts appertaining to the chosen location.

Any feedback would be gratefully received negative or otherwise.

Thanks again 'boatbuilder' for your invaluable assistance. P