The Enid Blyton Society

Enid Blyton in August

Enid Blyton in August

And now another piece of news, this time for those who are so keen on pen-friends overseas. I have managed to arrange for you to have Indian boys and girls for pen-friends if you would like to. There is a well-known paper in India, called The Statesman, which is running a pen-friend league, and has asked me if any of my magazine readers would like to join in order to have an Indian friend to write to. Out in India thousands of children know our books, and are very eager to hear from others in Britain or elsewhere who read our Magazine. So those of you who would like to hear from an Indian boy or girl, may now do so.

THE CLOUDS

On the grass I love to lie
And watch the clouds go sailing by;
Many things they seem to me,
Foam blown off a fairy sea,
Downy feathers from a goose,
Fleecy lambkins wandering loose,
Scatterings of thistledown,
Snippings from a pixy's gown,
Softly, silently they pass,
Trailing shadows on the grass.

But when the clouds I watch are low,
Dark and darker still they grow,
Thistledown no longer they
But cloaks for witches, wild and grey,
Purple towers vast and grand,
Clouds like hills from Giant Land
In whose inky depths there lie
Glints of lightning's wicked eye.
Torn and ragged, wild and fast
The thunder clouds go racing past.

The Enid Blyton Poetry Book

This is the month when a child may perhaps bring to school a velvety mole. When the ground becomes baked hard with the blazing summer sun, the little velvet miner can no longer tunnel in the earth. He must come up to the surface and we find him, rather lost above ground with the blinding sun frightening him. He has eyes but they are so deeply hidden in his fur that they are almost impossible to see. Look at his strong, spade-like front feet. No wonder he can dig tunnels with those! Stroke his fur and notice that it has no "set," so that he may go backwards or forwards just as he likes, without his fur hindering him.

July passed into August. The weather was thundery and hot. Two or three thunderstorms came along, and the children slept in Willow House for a few nights. Jack suggested sleeping in the cave, but they all voted it would be too hot and stuffy. So they settled down in Willow House, and felt glad of the thick green roof above them, and the stout, heather-stuffed walls.

The wild raspberries ripened by the hundred. Wild strawberries began to appear in the shady parts of the island—not tiny ones, such as the children had often found round about the farm, but big, sweet, juicy ones, even nicer than garden ones. They tasted most delicious with cream. The blackberries grew ripe on the bushes that rambled all over the place, and the children's mouths were always stained with them, for they picked them as they went about their various jobs.

Jack picked them on his way to milk Daisy, and so did Mike. Peggy picked them as she went to get water from the spring. Nora picked them as she went to feed the hens.

Sunny Stories Calendar for 1942

"You're uncanny!" said Daisy, pushing the heather away. "I feel quite scared of you. One minute you're Fatty, the next you're a gipsy woman to the life. Take that awful wig off!"

Fatty took it off, grinning. "Believe me now?" he asked. "Gosh, I nearly twisted my ankle, though, when I sprinted down the drive. I honestly thought young Bets here was going to get her father. I wore frightfully high-heeled shoes, and I could hardly run."

"So that's why you looked so tall," said Pip. "Of course—your long skirt hid your feet. Well, you took us in properly. Good old Fatty. Let's drink to his health, Find-Outers!"

They were all solemnly drinking his health in the last of the lemonade when Mrs. Hilton appeared. She had heard Fatty's arrival and wanted to welcome him back. Fatty got up politely. He always had excellent manners.

Mrs. Hilton put out her hand, and then stared in astonishment at Fatty. "Well, really, Frederick," she said, "I cannot approve of your jewellery!"

Bets gave a shriek of delight. "Fatty! You haven't taken off the ear-rings!"

Poor Fatty. He dragged them off at once, trying to say something polite and shake hands all at the same time. Bets gazed at him in delight. Good old Fatty—it really was lovely to have him back. Things always happened when Fatty was around!