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The Jolly Postman or Other People’s Letters

By Janet and Allan Ahlberg

 

Remember cursive, longhand or Palmer method handwriting? Probably many of my readers were taught this method in elementary school. With the emphasis on keyboarding, this form of writing is falling by the wayside. What would John Hancock say?

His name was written large purposefully on the Declaration of Independence so King George, as Mr. Hancock tells it, could read the signature without his spectacles!

And speaking of that, could many children read the Declaration of Independence, written in cursive, as many elementary students today can neither read nor write cursively?

But that’s a post for another day.

I can vividly recall the graceful sweep of a favorite teacher’s longhand letters being written on the blackboard, as we eleven year-olds busily attempted to copy the same style in our black and white marbled notebooks.

My 6th grade teacher was writing the words to a stirring Irish ballad called “The Minstrel Boy” as a cultural pre-St. Patrick’s Day cultural lesson. I can still recall the look of the letters and the words.

And this teacher still writes handwritten notes to me. And the notes and the sentiments are very inspiring. It reinforces to me that some things in life are constant and comforting.

So it is also with the daily delivery of mail. What is that phrase? How does it go?

 

           Neither snow nor rain nor heat

           nor gloom of night stays these

           couriers from the swift completion

           of their appointed rounds.

 

These words are an inscription on the James Farley Post Office in New York City. That’s about as close to an official creed as it gets for the United States Postal Service.

And Janet and Allan Ahlberg have a classic read that would make the postal service couriers proud.

Featuring one of their own as the deliverer of letters, their picture book has quite the literary bent, as it includes missives from and to some pretty famous picture book characters.

And what makes this book even more appealing is the inclusion of the actual letters! And they’re not just printed on a page. They’re in an actual envelope that can be opened, and the letter’s contents  read to and by young readers – with peeking allowed!

For instance, there is an apology letter from that blond house intruder, Goldilocks, as she attempts to make nice, via a note to The Three Bears. Please pardon the spelling and punctuation blips. She tries.

 

 

            I am very sorry indeed that I

            cam into your house and ate

           Baby Bear’s porij. Mommy says

           I am a bad girl I hardly eat any porij

           when she cooks it she says Daddy

           says he will mend the littel chair.

 

 

Hansel and Gretel’s witch receives a full page ad from the Hobgoblin Supplies Ltd. They sure do stand behind their products:

 

            Everything for the modern witch.

            Delivered to your door or den.

            Covens provided for.

 

I love the offered “cup and sorcerer tea service” that washes itself and the “easy-clean non-stick cauldron set” advert with free recipe for toad in the hole!

Wonder if it’s anything like egg in a hole? The giant in Jack and the Beanstalk and the Wolf in Grandma’s clothing in Little Red Riding Hood, are sent letters, though some are a bit threatening with a tone of legalese, as in the following to the wolf:

 

            We are writing to you on behalf

            of our client, Miss Riding-Hood,

            concerning her grandma. Miss Hood

            tells us that you are presently

            occupying her grandma’s cottage

            and wearing her grandma’s clothes

            without this lady’s permission.

 

Young readers will have fun opening and reading the letters.

My favorite letter is addressed in a lovely longhand in gracefully looped letters to:

 

 

               H.R.H Cinderella

               The Palace

               Half Kingdom Road

 

Inside the envelope is a note to the newly married royal couple, touting the recent publication from The Piper Press and Peter Piper himself of… “a little book for young readers in celebration of your marriage to H.R.H. Prince Charming.”

Included in the envelope is a small version of Cinderella’s storybook change from parlor maid to princess!

And, if you enjoy this picture book, try The Jolly Christmas Postman from this best selling husband/wife team of author/illustrators named Janet and Allan Ahlberg.

And, did you know there’s another classic fairy tale favorite by these favorites of mine? Only it’s in “I spy” mode, and titled “Each Peach, Pear, Plum.”

Young readers will have fun locating fairy tale folk such as Tom Thumb and that famous trio of bruins.  It’s sure to please.

But for now, this classic picture book first issued in 1986 has my stamp of approval all over it!

 

 

 

 

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This month, I’ve taken part in NaPoWriMo14: National Poetry Writing Month 2014. I’ve faithfully written a piece of poetry every day, though I haven’t actually gone public with any of it. (Don’t worry, I’m not going to inflict any on you here either.)

Why did I want to do NaPoWriMo? I’m a far-too-busy prose writer, with deadlines to meet and children to look after (when I remember), so why take on another creative responsibility?

Because I thought challenging myself to try something new as a writer would be interesting, and possibly even useful.

I already knew I wasn’t a poet. I was put off poetry at school (yes, just like everyone else) so I don’t read poetry very often, and I never attempt to write it. I do write riddles, because my Fabled Beasts adventure series contains lots of magical creatures and characters who use riddles as clues, tools or weapons, but I think of riddles as verbal puzzles than poetry.

And NaPoWriMo14 has certainly confirmed that I’m not a poet.

I did enjoy writing the poems, I did manage at least one a day, and it was fascinating discovering that the subjects I wanted to consider in poetic form were very different from the subjects I’m drawn to examine in fiction. (Observation rather than question, emotion rather than thought, location rather than journey.)

However, the most important thing I discovered is that I don’t like rhyming.

I can find rhymes easily enough, but I don’t like them. I don’t feel fulfilled or satisfied by writing one line which rhymes with another line.

But I tried very hard to rhyme a few of my poems this month, and while doing that I discovered why I don’t like rhyming. I want to pick the absolutely right word for the job, the word which most precisely and vividly tells the story. I don’t want to pick a word just because it ends with useful letters and sounds.

I don’t feel like I’m telling the truth when I rhyme.

None of this means I can’t admire and enjoy rhyming verse written by someone as skilled as Alan Ahlberg or Julia Donaldson. But when I try to rhyme myself, it comes out as either forced or flippant.

So this month of poetry has taught me more about what kind of writer I am. I am a writer who cares about the meaning of the words much more than the sound, and as I already knew I was a writer who cares more about plot and ‘what happens next’ than any other aspect of a novel, that makes sense. Perhaps that explicit realisation will allow me to be more analytical about my editing decisions in the future.

This sudden discovery (well, month-long discovery) about my relationship with words reminds me of the night I discovered that I’m not a stand-up comedian. I already knew that too, but I was invited to take part in a project linking storytellers and stand-ups, and I do love a challenge. So when I was telling a story in a comedy club, with lights in my eyes, unable to see the audience, only able to hear them when they laughed (which they did, occasionally!) I realised that I’m not primarily interested in the moments of humour in a story. I’m not interested in the laughs. I’m interested in the moments which make an audience or reader gasp or sit forward or hold their breath. I’m interested in the moments of drama.

So I had to stand up in a comedy club to realise what is important to me in a story.

And I had to spend a month writing poetry to realise what is important to me in a word.

Perhaps that’s the main value of trying out new ways of writing or performing: it allows you to discover more about the core of what you do best.

Did anyone else try NaPoWriMo14? And if so, what did you discover?

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Fabulously serious logo by Sarah McIntyre

I got back from my summer holiday last night. I went to CWIG, which is not an obscure Welsh village, but the Society of Authors Children's Writers' and Illustrators' Group conference. It happens every three years in different cities, and this year it was in Reading.It was called 'Joined-up Reading'. Is that 'joined-up reading' or 'joined-up Reading'? Who knows. Maybe both.


Normally, we writers and illustrators spend our days, doing what we want, bossing around people  who don't exist and skiving work to chat on Skype/Facebook/twitter about the work we should be doing. We're not used to being with other people all the time, or doing as we're told. We're not used to having to get dressed before working, eat at regular times, use a knife and fork nicely or sit quietly without telling a bunch of lies. But a conference is a proper organised thing with set mealtimes, talks to attend and other people to interact with.

So why do we go? Holiday!

CWIG is a delight. Full of old friends and potential new friends, a chance to gossip, eat, drink and whinge. If any snippet of useful information leaks in, that's a bonus.

Nicola Davies, unfazed by being elbowed by a giant ghost - all in a day's work for us

CWIG is just writers and illustrators - it's not somewhere to look for an agent or publisher. And so no one has to be impressive, there's no point in showing off, and we can all just relax. It's a time for singing silly songs and drinking the bar out of wine. (We did that on the first night; the last time I was party to drinking a bar out of wine was in Outer Mongolia in 1990 on the day the Iraq War started.)

I loved it. But like all the best holidays, it had its grumble-points. The food was poor, the bar was hopeless, the cabaret compulsory (hah! we laugh in the face of compulsory!), the coffee undrinkable (that's serious) and the microphones non-functional. The Germans took all the sun loungers and there was tar on the beach. Oh. Hang on.

But we don't get this stuff every day, unlike, say, manager-type-people who are forever going to conferences and staying in the Scunthorpe (or Dubai) BestWesternMarriotHilton hotel. Indeed, most days we don't get interaction with another human being who actually exists. To be in a whole room of around 100 people, none of whom can be given green hair or three arms on a whim, is quite a novelty. CWIG is a weekend away in the real world.

Only our invisible friends were skiving outside

But look - we can play in the real world, too.

We talked about the state of publishing (in turmoil), of what the hell the government thinks it's doing with libraries (wanton armageddonising), of the progress of e-books in children's publishing (mollusc-like in its rapidity) and whether Allan Ahlberg's glass contained red wine or Ribena (who knows?) And heard the usual disingenuous comment from a publisher that there's never been a better time to be a children's writer.



Now for my holiday snaps. Don't shuffle like that. You might like to visit the real world one day.



Here is our venue: a very plausible-looking Henley Business Centre at Reading University.









We had proper signage, just like real business people. Well, perhaps not quite like real business people.







Just in case we didn't know where to walk ...





.... and where to dance, there were some stick people drawn on the floor.

(Obviously the nice people at Reading know that all writers - and  especially illustrators - speak fluent stick.)








We know how to dress. Alan Gibbons and John Dougherty, as usual, wore shirts chosen to burn out the eyes of Ed Vaizey. I won't dazzle you with those. Sarah McIntyre chaired her session in the best conference hat I have ever seen. [What do you mean, 'what's a conference hat?']








 Allan Ahlberg brought his teddy.









And he had a drink on the stage, though his wasn't see-through, like they usually are when you see conferences on TV.










We all transacted our own little bits of networking and business. I secured a promise from Catherine Johnson to translate some text into Jamaican Fairy and asked Jane Ray if I could commission a dodo from her.





So you see, we do know how to do it.

I had a wonderful time, but holidays can't last forever and it's time to settle be back into speaking stick and bossing around a steam-powered autamaton and an orphan in a boat. Sigh.

(If you would like to read a more informative account of what happened at CWIG, you could turn to David Thorpe. I'm sure more will appear, and I'll update this list later in the day/week/millennium.) 

Anne Rooney
(Stroppy Author)

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Welcome one and all to this month’s celebration of early literacy, easy readers and short chapter books! The I Can Read carnival is all about sharing finds, approaches, successes and more when it comes to books aimed at those just beginning to read for themselves, or those consolidating their reading skills.

If you’ve a review, commentary, or an experience you want to share on this topic, please leave a comment on this post including a link to your piece and I’ll add you to the carnival. The carnival will remain open until the evening of Sunday 12th December so if you haven’t got a blog post all ready to submit you’ve a few days to write one to be included. Infact we’re happy to accept posts up to a year old – so really there’s every reason to join in

As to my contribution to the carnival I thought it was high time I wrote about the first books M read herself, how we chose them and what we learned in the process about books for those just beginning to read for themselves.

M started learning to read (in a formal manner) almost exactly a year ago. Of course I wanted to support her in anyway I could, and that included finding some books for her to read to me at home, some earliest of early readers. I wanted books that:

were written in British English (lots of reviews out there in the blogosphere don’t mention which sort of English books are written in and I didn’t want to have to explain that “color” is an ok spelling in the US but not one that M’s teachers would accept, or to try to capture her attention with cultural references which had no meaning to her – yellow buses and baseball for instance). Normally I’m all for cultural cross-fertilization, infact I seek it out, but this is one instance where I felt it wasn’t appropriate.

had fantastic illustrations – I knew the text would invariably be simple, and therefore less likely to tell a really engaging tale, so I wanted to make sure the illustrations at least would make M want to re-read each book.

weren’t dull, and preferably made us both laugh. Goes without saying, really, but I wanted books that were enjoyable rather than just worthy.

formed part of a graded collection, not just a one off but something with variety and progression from easy to more challenging reading.

and didn’t cost the earth – it’s one thing spending £5-£10 on a utterly gorgeous book that both the girls and I will want to linger over and read again and again, but it’s another thing to spend that sort of money on a book that may only be read 3 or 4 times at most.

3 Comments on I Can Read: A Carnival Celebrating New Readers, last added: 12/7/2010