Famous Five

It’s always a pleasure to witness your childrens’ reactions as they first engage in something you enjoyed yourself as a child.

Whether it’s a special toy or game you’ve kept all this time or simply an old favourite tv programme from the 80s such as Inspector Gadget. But I’ve been keeping The Famous Five series up my sleeve for a long time, ready for when I thought Master Eight would enjoy it as much as I did and his nana before me.

I have most of the original series passed down from my mum – they probably don’t look too appealing to a child of this century - but Enid Blyton’s adventurous prose has managed to capture the imaginations of generations since the 1930s. So last year I decided he was ready. Once the twins were tucked up in bed, we sat together on the couch and I began reading a chapter a night.

It was thrilling stuff, I was riveted as the Famous Five took me on a well-remembered adventure discovering treasure maps, secret tunnels behind false walls and ruined castles and, of course, treasure.

So engrossed was I that it wasn’t until about Chapter Nine that I became aware to the fact that Master then-Seven seemed to be focusing on the silent tele in the background.

“Are you listening?” I enquired.

“Yes!” he said indignantly.

And so I continued reading.

But the next night I was suspicious and decided to question him on something that had just happened in the book. He struggled to answer and that was when I realised he just wasn’t into it.

How could this be possible? I was gutted and abandoned the book, although it was tempting to finish it myself. 

Not wanting to give up, and putting it down to his age, this week – a year later - I decided to give it another try.

By page three it became clear that he was paying attention all right.

“Oh Daddy, do telephone Aunt Fanny,” I read as Master Eight cracked up.

Trying my best to keep a straight face I read on.

“Do shut up Dick,” said Julian a little further down the page as Master Eight erupted again.

This wasn’t going to plan. With all the mentions of fannies and dicks, by the end of Chapter One he was a giggling, tittering mess and I’d dropped the act and succumbed too.

But I perservered and, by Chapter Two, the laughter had subsided and I think he began focusing on the plot. It was a stilted effort – I had to keep pausing to explain old-fashioned language such as ‘queer’ (strange), ‘gay’ (happy), ‘bathing trunks’ (togs) and ‘cowardly’ (scaredy cat).

But eventually I think I got him hooked. At least I think he is – perhaps at a year older he’s just better at covering up.