Enid Blyton in April
Letters are now pouring in from overseas, and you should see how pleased my husband is each morning when he comes down and discovers my pile of letters — he collects foreign stamps, you see, and he gets so excited when he sees so many on my letters... This last week I had letters from children in Portugal, Germany, America, Singapore, Colombo, The Bahamas, Indonesia, Kuala Lumpur, Sweden — and, of course, South and East Africa, Australia, New Zealand and India... You might think that the letters from these children so far away would be quite different from those I get from you in Britain; but they are not! They like exactly the same stories as you, they say the same things about them, they act them as you do, and they always ask for just the same tales that you too like best. Most extraordinary!
AFTER THE RAIN
I always look down from my window,
When the sun comes out after the rain;
There's the loveliest things to be found there,
And I've seen them again and again.
There's the roof slanting down from the window,
It's shiny and wet as can be,
And the queer changing colours are lovely,
Pink, purple and brown I can see.
There's the beech tree with glittering raindrops,
That shine like a gem when they fall,
There's the moss gleaming greener than ever,
And the thrush singing sweet on the wall.
The puddles are flashing like mirrors,
And so are the pools down the lane,
So I always look down from my window,
When the sun comes out after the rain!
Busy Bees, of course, never destroy nests, disturb the birds or take their eggs — and I want to tell our readers what one boy did last year; he is a member of the Sir Francis Drake Hive. There were children in his district who were thoughtless, and regarded it as fun to destroy nests and rob the birds of their eggs — so Michael formed a band of Vigilantes — children who set themselves to guard the countryside and warn off any boys and girls who came to beat the hedges with sticks. Maybe some of you can do the same, and make yourselves a badge with V on it. I am always glad to hear of children with good ideas like these.
"You know it's bad manners to read a paper when someone else is reading it," said his father. "Don't they teach you manners at school?"
"No. They think we learn them at home," said Roger, cheekily.
Mr. Lynton glared over the top of his newspaper. "Well, then, perhaps I'd better teach you a few these holidays," he began. And just at that moment Diana burst into the room, beaming.
"Hallo, Mother! 'Morning, Dad! I say, isn't this a heavenly day — all daffodils and primroses and sunshine! Gosh, I do love the Easter hols."
"Get your porridge, dear," said her mother. "Roger, you haven't taken all the cream, surely?"
"No, there's a spot left," said Roger. "Anyway, it won't hurt Diana to have plain milk. She's too fat."
"I'm not. Am I, Mother?" said Diana indignantly. Her father gave an exasperated click.
"Sit down, Diana. Eat your porridge. If you must be late, be late quietly. Breakfast is at eight o' clock — and it's now half-past!"
Mr. Lynton gathered up his newspaper, put it beside his wife's place, and went out of the room.
"What's the matter with Dad this morning?" asked Diana, pulling up one of her stockings. "Blow this stocking. It keeps coming down. Why is Dad so mouldy, Mother?"
APRIL DAY— Enid Blyton's last known poem
There is a copse I know on Purbeck Hills
That holds the April sun to its green breast;
Where daffodils
Are wild and small and shy,
And celandines in polished gold are drest.
Here windflowers dance a ballet full of grace,
And speedwell blue
Looks on with brilliant eye.
There, innocent of face,
The daisies grow,
And yellow primroses like children press
In little crowds together all day through.
Be silent, velvet bee,
And let me brood
At peace in this enchanted loneliness.
Chaffinch, take your merry song, and go
To some more distant tree.
‘Tis not my mood
To have this silence stirred
By wing of bee
Or voice of bird.
Now, let me stand and gaze —
But ah, so lavishly is beauty spread
These April days,
There is no place to tread.
Then must I choose
To put away my shoes
And kneel instead.
It was lovely by the sea at Eastertime. Behind the circus camp rose the green hills, blazing with golden gorse.
"It smells like warm coconut," said Lotta, sniffing. "Isn't it lovely! I wish I could eat it!"
"You might as well eat a hedgehog!" laughed Jimmy. "I'd like to wear a bit of gorse for a button-hole, but it's too prickly to pick."