Children's Books

THERE is a well-established belief among uncles that all babies like to listen to the tick-tick. Perhaps they do. After all, for the first twelve months of one's life there isn't in the way of spiritual refreshment very much else that offers. One either listens to a watch ticking or one listens to it not ticking. So the millionth uncle takes out his gold hunter and says complacently, " Hark to the tick-tick " ; the millionth baby is presumed to be harking ; and, since no comment is made, the legend that he likes harking goes irresistibly on. The ideal baby-entertainer is the man with the watch.

In something the same way the " children's writer " has established himself. To a child of age to read, or to be read to, any book is better than no book, to which extent any book is a children's book. And because, I suppose, the first " children's writer " wrote in a certain way, as being the easiest way in which to write, a certain sort of book came to be regarded as the ideal " children's book," and it was agreed that the writer of any such book might safely be referred to as one who under- stood completely the psychology of the child's mind.

" Being the easiest way in which to write." That is the secret of nine-tenths of the Christmas books ; and seeing the author so much at his, ease, nobody can fail to realize that he is writing " for the young," and not, like a selfish cad,

for himself. _ Let us begin a story for children and see where it leads us.

" Once upon a time there was a little girl called—well, you will never guess what her name was, not if you had three hundred million guesses, and your Daddy and your Mummy and your Nanny all guessed too, and you read the Englishdictionary (isn't that a long word ?) right through from beginning to end, including all the twiddly-widdly bits. Because she had a special name of her very- very-very own, which nobody had ever been called before, and it wasn't Mary, and it wasn't Jane, and it wasn't Anne, and you'll never believe it but it wasn't even Flibbertylgibbet. What could it have been ? Can't you guess ? Not even if you hold your thumbs tight, and shut your eyes, and take your very very deepest breath like you do when you're not-feeling-very-well-this-morning-Nafiny, and the doctor-man comes and tells you to say Ninety-nine ' ! Well, then I shall have to tell you. Her name was Yesterday. Isn't that a funny name ? "

It is not unfair to take this as a representative sample of the children's-story manner. You see • the advantage of it. So

far the author has told us that there was once a little girl called Yesterday ; a matter of eight words and a certain amount of invention. Without taxing his inventive powers any further, he has written a hundred and seventy words, and is still going strong. As I have said, it is the easiest way in which to write. There is nothing to stop you. You can go on and on at your ease, with your waistcoat unbuttoned (mutatis mutandis, if -you are a woman), confident that the little ones are_ enjoying it.

Let us 'turn to poetry and. consider a supreme example of relaxation John Gilpin ; or, The Poet Unbends. It is not a typical " children's poem," though it has been sold often enough as " suitable for a child," but it is typical of the method. Cowper was a poet ; he wrote The Task ; took it seriously, we may suppose„from 10 till 2 each morning ; but John Gilpin was another matter. He had been told the story by Lady Austen. It was a' humorous story. One must not blame him for supposing that if he turned it into verse the result would inevitably,' one might almost say legally, be humorous verse. At any rate it would not be serious verse, and therefore need not be taken seriously, not even-by the author. So he " jotted

• it down " during a " sleepleSs night" There are sixty-three verses in it ; it should have taken him a month of the hardest work within the capacity of man. When we read it, we know why it did not take him a month.

" Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, That's well said ; And for that wine is dear, Wo will be furnished with our own Which is both bright and clear.' " " Why ` bright and clear ' ? " you ask. " Why not ? " answers Cowper. " It helps to end the line and rhymes with ' dear.' " " He soon replied, ' I do admire - Of womankind but one.' " Why " soon replied " when he obviously answered at once ; why " I do admire," when. he would naturally say " I admire " ? " Well," says Cowper, " you have to have eight syllables in the line, and as I only had six, I put in two more.

It still makes grammar." ' I fancy that in verse, even if written for the young, there should be something more than grammar, the right number of syllables in a line, and correct rhymes at prearranged intervals. If I write :

" When Tommy saw his dog again, A cry he then did give,

And took him quickly back to where They both of them did live—"

—if I write- this, it ean only be because I am not bothering.

Instead of spending days at it, I am working off my sleepiest:I nights. How many children's books, one wonders, are the result of sleepless nights—the days, of course, being devoted to " serious " work ?

This brings us back to the old question, What do children like ? The answer to the question concerns the writer for children as much as, and no more than, the answer to the question " What do men and women like ? " concerned Shakespeare or Dickens. In other words—and I have taken a long time coming to the obvious—a " children's book " must be written, not for children, but for the author himself. That the book, when written, should satisfy children must be regarded as a happy accident, just as one regards it as a happy accident if a dog or a child loves one ; it is a matter of person- ality, and personality is the last matter about which one can take thoUght. But whatever fears one has, one need not fear that one is writing too well for a child, any more than one need fear that one is becoming almost too lovable. It is difficult enough to express oneself with all the words in the dictionary at one's disposal ; with none but simple words the difficulty is much greater. We need not spare ourselves.

• This, I think, is the one technical concession which must be made : the use of simple words. It is, of course, annoying when your second line ends in " self " to realize suddenly that you are writing a " children's book " and musn't say ".pelf "•; many a poet has torn up his manuscript at this point and started on a sex novel, as giving him more scope. Others have said "pelf " and not bothered. They are the ones who dash off their poems during a sleepless night, thinking anything good enough for a child. But those who,.as they write, are them- selves still children will reject " pelf'_' instinctively as one of those short cuts which spoil the game. It makes writing more difficult ; annoyingly so, at a moment when we were hoping to relax a little from the serious work of describing life in the Night Clubs ; but, alas I there seems to be no help for it.

A. A. Miran&