As a child I
read everything I could lay my hands on. Heaven was going to the library on a
Saturday to change my book. It was there at the Junior Centre in Half-Way-Tree,
that I discovered William.
This is what Wikipedia
says about the William series:
Just William is the first book of children's short stories about the young school boy William Brown, written by Richmal Crompton, and published in 1922. The book was the first in the series of William Brown books which was the basis for numerous television series, films and radio adaptations.
I spent many a happy hour in company with William and his
pals, laughing at their hilarious antics. Recently, I re-read one of the books
and wondered why I found them so very funny. But, I was a colonial child. The
things that happened to British children in books were more real than the things that happened
to me in Jamaica. I had no problem rambling over the English countryside with William and his friends. I happily had tea with scones (I didn't know what that was, but no matter), and other 'delicacies'.(There were probably cucumber sandwiches too.) I wasn’t reading any books about Caribbean children anyway, except
in the prescribed reading books for the
colonies.
Here’s how William got me into trouble. Every Sunday afternoon
I had to take a nap after lunch, since I had to attend night service with my
mother. The nap would prevent me falling asleep and not hearing the sermon -
which could mean I was bound for hell. My mother was very strict.
One Sunday, an older cousin was visiting for the day and
since she was bored and didn’t have to nap, I gave her a William book to read. Very soon, she was laughing at William’s
antics. My mother came into the room and sternly ordered me to go to sleep and
stop giving Gwen jokes. I tried to tell her that I wasn’t giving jokes, but she
would not listen. Gwen was probably ashamed to admit that a book could be so
funny and didn’t support me. (Is laughing aloud while reading a book akin to a form of madness? - like talking aloud to oneself???)
After my mother left, Gwen continued reading. For a
while she only giggled softly, but eventually, one of William’s outrageous antics caused her
to snort very loudly. This time Mama brought in the strap and I got a licking
for disobedience. My feelings hurt more than my flesh. Gwen quietly left the
room, without the book. (She was probably afraid of the strap reaching her, too.) She still didn’t confess that it was the book causing her to laugh. My mother would not have believed her anyway.
These were the days when a child was often sent to read a book as mild
punishment for idleness or mischief.
The ‘good old days’ anyone?
Check this link for a relevant discussion http://geoffreyphilp.blogspot.com/2007/04/colonial-girls-school-by-olive-senior.html
Check this link for a relevant discussion http://geoffreyphilp.blogspot.com/2007/04/colonial-girls-school-by-olive-senior.html
1 comment:
Okay, I loved William! like Hazel I was/am a child of colonialism. She is actually the first person I've met who admits to loving William. I would roll all over my bed with laughter, literally. Others will talk about the Bobbsey Twins, Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, (all of which I read and enjoyed) but never William. No, we two are not the oldest people I know, nor were we the most socialised by colonialism. Far from it, I would think. I can only conclude that we were reading more widely than others, and this was a sign perhaps that one day we would be writers. It's interesting; we enjoyed William and yet we are more aware than many that local books are essential for our children.
Diane Browne
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