Part Two of a Treelogy
In my fifty-six year old world, I was horrified.
In my six year old world, ‘The Magic Faraway Tree’ burst open new vistas of delight. I was already keen on Enid Blyton. I rewrote and illustrated Noddy stories in my very own six year old’s diary.
But the Faraway Tree? Ooooo.
It was indescribably exciting. Even at that unripe age, I didn’t re-read it, in case I spoiled this book’s impossibly perfect beauty.
In my fifty-six year old world, the bubble burst. No. I didn’t re-read. I watched the dramatised documentary called ‘Enid’. My illusions of enchantment? Scoured and scraped away.
If this movie is true, Enid Blyton was a cruel parent. I’m sorry. I can’t say more. It makes me cry. I don’t know why. Lots of famous male creators are shown to be nasty in their private lives. Why should I be so upset about Enid? I guess she had further to fall in my still-six year old eyes. From the very top of the abundant, wonder-filled tree.
A while back, with a cold that obliged me to slow down, as colds do, I ambled through a local park. Instead of walking straight past a Moreton Bay Fig tree magical beast that lives there, I paused. I walked under its ample canopy, trod lightly along its winding pathway roots, remembered childhood book illustrations of trees housing whole families…and photographed it.
Not to be taken for granted,
It was still enchanted.
And now the book is to be made into a movie. Eeeeee! Holding my breath.
Magic Faraway Tree to be a movie
And here’s a recent tree collage/painting from me to you.