I agree that they're a joy, Kate. Thanks very much, Tony, for adding these wonderful letters to the Cave.
Enid Blyton is writing on an unusually warm winter's day, saying, "I could almost sit out on my verandah." Brrr - she wouldn't be thinking that if she were here today!
Like Enid, I enjoy looking at the shapes the tree branches make against pale winter skies. I didn't know what laurestinus was but, thanks to the internet, I was able to bring up pictures of it immediately.
Eight-year-old Imogen is recovering from the flu and has been doing a lot of reading. According to Enid, she said, "Mummy, why don't you write hundreds more books for children? You don't write nearly enough. You've only written about a hundred, and that's not enough for a child to read. Can't you write a thousand?" Enid feels that "I shall never be able to write a thousand, I'm afraid, not even to please Imogen." She certainly produced a lot more than most authors though!
Very sad news about the pigeons. They probably weren't getting an adequate diet to sustain them over the winter as Enid was having trouble buying grain for them because of the war. It's terrible to think of the many, many pets that must have suffered. As Enid comments, "It is so difficult to keep pets now."
Heh - I like Bobs' letter about trying to keep his tail hidden from the kitten, which has a habit of pouncing on it, only to have it hop out from under him and wag itself when someone says, "Good dog, Bobs!", or when his dinner is ready, or when he hears that Imogen is getting better. Poor Bobs! (In reality, of course, Bobs had died years earlier, in 1935!)
https://www.enidblytonsociety.co.uk/bly ... perid=1985
)
