The Dogfish It Was That Died

After a week of unremittingly grim, depressing weather, I didn't expect to be spending today lying on a beach with my coat off, staring at a dead dogfish. It's the little surprises that keep me going.

I was already planning to visit the Ladybird exhibition at the De La Warr Pavillion in Bexhill, but the Mediterranean weather was an added bonus. Standing underneath this cupola, it felt as if I was in Greece.

A 180° turn would have quickly ruined that illusion.

The exhibition was packed and instead of the usual quiet reverence, the rooms buzzed with the enthusiasm of grown-up children, recognising a once-loved but long forgotten image:

Seeing the original illustrations only increased my admiration for the artists. Even something as simple as milk being poured into a glass became a thing of beauty.

For several decades, the Ladybird illustrators were overlooked in favour of their more quirky contemporaries. But although realism of Ladybird may have been less interesting artistically, children preferred it. We didn't want sketchy drawings that alluded to the real thing; we wanted the thing itself.

As an adult, I might prefer Miroslav Šašek's London to the Ladybird one, but the child in me loves the clear, unambiguous world of the latter:

The world of Ladybird is an impossibly idyllic one. Daddy goes off to work at the office, the children walk to school, while Mummy enjoys a leisurely morning in town, chatting to the local shopkeepers.

Daddy is not having an affair and Mummy is not on valium.

Oddly enough, my early childhood was remarkably similar. The shopkeepers all knew me by name and train drivers smiled and waved when I stood by the railwayline. Terrible things may have been happening in the world at large, but not in Teddington.

Was it all the illusion of a small child? Was the real world more like this:

"Now bugger off and stop asking daft questions."

I'm not sure, but I think that Ladybird books reinforced the partial illusion that our parents tried to create when we were little: the world is a kind and safe place. Revisiting that vision can be a bittersweet experience, highlighting the disparity between our infantile hopes and the reality that awaits us.

The Ladybird world is a Platonic paradise, free of class conflict, religious antagonism or political strife. There are no terrorists, paedophiles or murderers. The occasional burgular appears, but is quickly apprehended by the local bobby on the beat. Order is restored.

What, if anything, will inspire the same nostalgia in the middle-aged of the 2040s? My older son is already nostalgic about computer games of ten years ago, so perhaps it will be dominated by obsolete technology and the characters of Nintendo, Sony and Microsoft.

A friend told me that last week, the long-forgotten fax machine in her office suddenly sprang into life, after years of silence. As the ancient thermal paper slowly and noisily emerged from the rollers, my friend realised that none of her 20-something colleagues knew what a fax was.

In the corner of the office, a man in his 40s was quietly laughing to himself.

After the exhibition, we walked over to the beach and enjoyed the novelty of sunbathing in mid-February, wriggling until the pebbles reached a comfortably orthopaedic configuration. It was some time before we noticed a dead dogfish lying next to us, camouflaged against the stones.

It was as perfect as a Ladybird illustration.

The Lost Idyll of Ladybird

One of my earliest memories is of sitting on my mother's lap, looking through the 'Ladybird Book of Nursery Rhymes'. The insistent rhythms of the verses made a lasting impression:

"Fiddle-de-dee, fiddle-de-dee, the fly shall marry the bumblebee..."

But most of all, I loved the illustrations: 

Perhaps the illustrator of the Dan Dare science fiction comic-strip wasn't the natural candidate for a collection of nursery rhymes, but Frank Hampson turned out to be an inspired choice. His pictures are some of the most evocative in children's literature.

In his illustrations,  Hampson created an idyllic, pre-industrial England of villages and market towns, without a single Satanic mill in sight.

The fashions and buildings were (like many of the rhymes) mostly 18th century, but sometimes a steam engine, Victorian top hat or Tudor ruff would add a note of temporal discombobulation.

I often wonder whether these illustrations inspired my later life. I do seem to have ended up living somewhere that's remarkably similar to this illustration for 'Hot Cross Buns'. Is that Lewes Castle in the background?

Of course in the real world, the hot cross bun man would have been driven out of business by Caffè Nero and I'd have to resort to a pain au raisin, served by some over-familiar barista.

Many of the verses are of unknown provenance, but the occasional obsolete rhyme points to their antiquity. For example, in 'Tweedledee and Tweedledum', barrel rhymes with quarrel.

 And in 'Goosey Goosey Gander', wander rhymes with gander:

This was one of my favourite illustrations, from an age in which Gloucester was synonymous with Doctor Foster rather than Fred West. A contemporary version would probably end with Doctor Foster suing Gloucester City Council or, at the very least, phoning the Potholes Hotline.

I also loved this idyllic, Devon-like scene of rolling hills, unpolluted rivers and falling children.

The rhyme, which appears in the second volume, has the benefit of a little-known additional verse to 'Jack and Jill', in which "Dame Dob...patched his nob." A line that would have caused no end of sniggering when I was at school.

Some of the nursey rhymes have a rather melancholy tone. When Old Mother Hubbard discovers that her cupboard is bare, there is no hint of any possibility of redemption. Something that my three-year-old self found quite hard to take.

I preferred the world evoked in 'Tom, He Was a Piper's Son', with its blue sea, brightly-coloured clothes and the prospect of sailing off to exotic lands. Sadly, if you search for it on YouTube, there's a strong possibility that you'll stumble across this very disturbing Japanese manga version. I had to exorcise myself afterwards by listening to the Carpenters.

My least favourite illustration was the slightly harrowing image of a little boy waiting to be beaten in 'I do not like thee, Doctor Fell'.

The Wikipedia entry for Doctor Fell, which is said to date from 1680 (the rhyme, not the Wikipedia entry), is a fascinating read. I had no idea that Fell was a real person, or that Hannibal Lecter used the name as a pseudonym.

Today, boys aren't encouraged to hang around harbours and chat to sailors, but in this counting rhyme we're presented with a far more innocent world. I seem to remember my son being given a tape of children's songs, which included "One, two, three four five. Once I caught a fish alive..."

It met with a mysterious accident. My son didn't complain.

This illustration for 'Jack Be Nimble' is pretty straightforward, but some of Frank Hampson's pictures make me wonder what he put in his pipe. This bizarre vision of 'The Man in the Moon' is wonderfully bonkers:

'The Old Woman in the Basket' is also rather odd, with its depiction of a blue space. Intriguingly, the Ladybird book has a version that uses "quoth" instead of "said" - a word which has been out of use for at least 250 years:

How do you draw blind mice? Hampson's solution is rather novel. However, the prize for the most eccentric illustration is the one for 'This Little Piggy':

Quite why Frank Hampson suddenly went all 1960s, with a moped and television, I don't know. The perspective is also rather odd.

Proust had his madeleines. I have my Ladybird books of nursery rhymes. Just one look at any of the illustrations is a bittersweet experience, recalling a happy time in my childhood, but also reminding me that I don't live in a carefree world of endless summers and tricorn hats.

I don't think I've ever quite recovered from the disappointment.

The Imperfect Family

Yesterday, my wife and I took our oldest son to Harley Street in search of a definitive answer to a question that has remained unresolved for nearly a decade. After two hours of gruelling questions, the diagnosis was uneqivocal: Asperger's syndrome. Suddenly, everything fell into place.

In many ways I feel relieved. My son will now hopefully get the help he needs and my wife and I will no longer be blamed for his problems. However, I feel sad that so many years have been wasted. I wish that I'd been more assertive with the succession of professionals who implied that my wife and I were neurotic parents, making a fuss over nothing.

Perhaps my son could have been spared a lot of unnecessary suffering.

This morning we walked to Landport Bottom, where the town is celebrating the 750th anniversary of the Battle of Lewes. It may not look terribly exciting, but the events that took place here changed the course of history:

 

My older son stayed at home. His younger brother staged a silent protest, refusing to take his hood down and I wondered what we must look like. Occasionally, people would greet us with a breathy "Hi! How are you? What have you been up to?" We smiled back and said "Oh, nothing much..."

I watched some children dancing around a Maypole and tried to imagine either of my sons taking part in a group activity:

The field was surrounded by stalls. Children were laughing at a Punch and Judy show, whilst mothers in medieval costume were preparing some craft activities. Everyone seemed to be inhabiting a different, happier world to us and I felt as if I was passing through like a ghost.

But of course this was nonsense. I looked around me again and saw a woman with a life-threatening illness, a friend whose mother had just been diagnosed with Alzheimer's and a neighbour whose husband had recently left her for another woman. Beneath the surface, most of us are struggling in one way or another, smiling for the camera.

The happy world of perfect families only exists in Ladybird books. And sometimes even Ladybird lets us down.

The Ladybird Book of Progress

These fields are on the edge of a new town. The town is growing and people want more homes to live in.

The children who play in these fields will be able to have a proper playground, with clean concrete, instead of mud and grass.

This man is called a town planner. He must design homes that are cheap to build and do not take up too much space.

The man has designed many new buildings for this town. 

He lives in an very old house in another town.

The fields are dug up and an old church from long ago is demolished.

The ground is then flattened so that there will be space for a car park and a row of coffee shops.

To make sure that the ground is hard and the grass cannot grow back, the builders use concrete.

When the concrete is dry, they can begin to make the new homes.

This man is not very good at making walls because he has never done it before. A house with walls like this might fall down.

The man told his foreman that he had built walls in the Slovak Republic, but he was not telling the truth.

Brian is about to hit his hand with a hammer. He will then say that he has had an accident at work.

People who have accidents when they are at work can go home. They can also ask for money.

This is called compensation.

This is Charles. He used to be an investment banker, but had a nervous breakdown. This happens when people are very worried and unhappy.

Charles' wife would like him to be a banker again.

This is Nigel. He has been told that he is not allowed to go near children.

British workers must follow very strict safety rules, but these men are from a country called the Ukraine.

If they have an accident, they will not ask for compensation.


This block of flats will house around one hundred families.

They will also make good homes for old people, as they will not have to worry about looking after a garden.

These flats will be clean and modern. The people who live here will have a lovely view of the town.

Would you like to live in the sky?


There are also new houses. They will be much nicer than the cold, damp homes that were built in olden times.

Instead of dull, plain bricks, the walls will be covered in pretty, tiny stones, called pebbledash.


As the town grows, it will need extra electricity.

This new power station will give people the energy they need and also make new jobs.

The town is big, but it can get even bigger, as there is a lot of countryside.

To-day, many homes are old and draughty. One day, perhaps we will all be lucky enough to live in a bright, clean new town like this one.

The Ladybird Book of the Recession - Part Three

This is a hotel. It is a place where people can sleep and eat, if they are away from home. 

They are called guests. 

Many people work in the hotel to look after the guests.

The lady is called a receptionist. She asks the man what his name is. 

He tells her that it is Mr Smith.

Mr Smith does not want anyone to know what is in his suitcase. 

Mr Smith drops the suitcase by accident. It rattles and begins to make a buzzing noise.

This guest is also called Mr Smith. He has just told the hotel porter that his niece will be visiting him later.

Mr Smith has asked the porter to help his niece, as she is from another country and does not speak very good English.

The porter asks what country the niece is from. Mr Smith is not sure. 

It could be Latvia, he thinks.

Jean is the hotel's main receptionist. She can see that the new guest is writing 'Mr Smith' in the visitors' book.

With so many guests called Mr Smith, it can be very confusing when the hotel receives a telephone call for one of them.

This lady is called a maid. She tidies the room and puts clean sheets on the bed.

The maid has found something that she does not like.

The sheets will have to be thrown away.

Many hotels hold wedding receptions. This man is very rich and has paid the hotel to hold a big party. 

He has married his secretary, who is 24 years younger than him. He is very happy. 

The secretary is in love with someone else.

This is Reginald. He is the head barman. 

Reginald can hear voices in his head telling him that the world is going to be cleansed in flame. 

Maurice is the head waiter. He is asking the guests to speak quietly, as their voices are too common.

Maurice suggests that they might feel more comfortable in a 'steak house'.

The guests leave.

Some guests can be very rude to the staff. 

A lady from South Africa has been unkind to one of the waitresses, so the kitchen staff are adding a special ingredient to her desert. 

The rude lady will not know about the ingredient.

These porters are standing in an empty foyer. 

The hotel used to be the most popular one in the city, but not many people stay here now.

 

These men are in charge of the hotel. They are talking about why the hotel has fewer guests than it used to. 

One man thinks that guests now expect a television and private bathroom.

Another man wonders if ballroom dancing has gone out of fashion.

With fewer guests, the hotel does not need as many staff.

Stanley is the deputy chief porter. He has been asked to see the manager. 

The manager will thank Stanley for his 32 years of loyal service, before asking him to take early retirement.

Stanley had thought that he was going to be offered a pay rise.

In the kitchen, everyone is worried about losing their job. 

Some of the staff are starting to swear back at the head chef.

Outside the bar, Jean is changing the flowers. 

Reginald the barman walks past her, muttering something about the 'end times'. 

Jean can smell burning.