This week I tracked down and checked out an interesting book,
The Enchanted Places, by Christopher Milne, son of A.A. - Alan Milne, author of one of the most beloved children's books of all time, Winnie The Pooh. If you've lived in a cave for eighty years and have never actually read the original Pooh books - I don't mean the more recent and very average Disney versions - I would highly encourage you to do so right now; your childhood might be still be close enough to let you back in. Oh - and there are only two of them, so don't make that face.
The stories told in Winnie the Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner are some of the best I have ever read, regardless of their target audience. Being told with much more wit and sarcasm than is allowed in our current times, Christopher Robin and his assortment of toys-come-to-life, are allowed to exist in a perfectly enchanted place somewhere between imagination and actual childhood. The boy is the hero, he's who the animals go to when they have a problem. And the animals! The animals are fully real, with grown-up emotions and challenges, and are allowed to explore their faults. Pooh, being rather round around the mid-section, gets stuck in Rabbit's door, and has to fast for a week in order to get out. Piglet, ever-so-jittery, is so startled by a balloon popping, that he imagines he is dead, or in heaven, or maybe in the moon somewhere, and hopes that Pooh is there too. Then there's Eeyore, the lovable but terminally depressed donkey, stuck in his particular corner of the forest, "the damp, wet bit that nobody seems to want."
So it was a bit strange then, as I got an itch to investigate some stories about sons and fathers, that I stumbled upon the google search for "Christopher Milne," which goes something like this:
"Christopher Milne, detached son of A.A. Milne talks about his burdened upbringing."
Or "The 'real' Christopher Robin, reluctant possessor of a certain stuffed bear.." or finally "Christopher Milne, as an adult, would claim that his father had 'gotten to where he was by climbing on my infant shoulders!"
Ouch.
* * *
So? What's all the fuss? What's the brouhaha? Is it true? Did these beautiful and magical stories really come at the price of exploiting an only child's formative years in the countryside south of London? Could his father's wonderful stories have done all that damage, and more?
In my opinion?
No.
You may still like to read the book for yourself, and it is a very well - written book, and a must for any true Pooh fans, but not to put too fine a point on it, I just didn't see it.
Oh sure, I can well imagine the insanity and fame that was thrust upon a young boy, who was already a shy only child, dressed slightly like a girl by his mother (who had actually wanted a girl!), and who was essentially home-schooled until what would amount to his jr. high years here, but no.
Still, it is an interesting dilemma, so here then, your honor, is my case:
Firstly, Christopher completely admits to absolutely LOVING growing up at Cotchford farm near Ashdown forest, south of London England. Running down to the brook, climbing trees, spotting animals, Christopher describes in the early chapters an idyllic life that many who've grown up in the country can relate to, though not quite to the level that he was able to experience.
Secondy, he freely admits to loving the attention (at times) that the books and the events surrounding the stories (plays and pagaents sometimes) afforded him.
Thirdly, his father hardly "got to where he was" by anything less than actual work - The House at Pooh Corner wasn't even published until Alan was 47! A marriage, a child, a house, and all the related life challenges, had already happened. The struggles of choosing a career in one's twenties was a distant memory. At age 47 is in fact when one SHOULD begin to enjoy the fruits of one's labor.
Fourthly, it's pretty much all true. Even Christopher points it out. Oh sure, there are a couple of teeny - tiny exaggerations here and there, which Christopher takes to a sensitive extreme - such as being very upset that the poem included in one of the earlier books talked about him playing inside during the rain, and creating a brake for his trains that didn't work. Oh no, Christopher assures us, in capital letters "MY BRAKE WOULD HAVE WORKED!" Well.
Fifthly, the culture of the times is what kept Christopher from his parents more than anything else. He was basically raised by his nanny, whom he loved and doesn't seem to have any regrets about, and was "presented" to his parents a few times during the day. Even so, he writes extensively about walks with his mother, long lessons of Cricket with his father, and explorations with multiple friends who all lived nearby.
Amazingly, the biggest thorns relating to his father, and the creation of his childhood as a beloved book, are thus: Prayer, and Jealousy. Once Christopher got into school, and was around other boys, they did, as boys do, begin to tease him. Particularly (or at least, this is particularly what hurt) about a simple line in the poem "Vespers," from
When We Were Very Young, in which Christopher is said to have been saying his prayers. Christopher would later become an atheist during the war, when his father had sent him a humanist book by Winwood Reade entitled
The Martyrdom of Man, which he read while he was stationed in Italy.
Finally, while searching for a career in his twenties, he simply becomes jealous of his father, and his father's success, and utters the famous quote: "It seemed to me almost that my father had got where he was by climbing on my infant shoulders, that he had filched from me my good name and left me nothing but empty fame."
Wow.
He admits that a career search is difficult (join the club) and his father hadn't given him any footsteps to follow in. Well well, Christopher, I hate to break it to you, but those fathers who
have left a business or a clear path which their children can follow them in, rarely hear the words "gee thanks dad." More often, a pre-determined path is met with disdain, and is promptly tossed aside for the challenge of carving out one's own path.
Christopher goes on to marry his cousin (which his parents, big surprise, are not thrilled about) and then - decides to open, of all things, a book store (!) where, surprise, surprise, he is flooded with requests to sign and talk about a certain children's book! Not to mention he has to see how well they sell, and be responsible for re-stocking them! Gracious!
All in all I am not unsympathetic to Mr. Milne, and I can very much appreciate the separation that he would need to maintain in order to lead a healthy and (relatively) happy life. I am more sad than anything, that the son who had the horrible reality of a father who took such an interest in his life that he told all the world about his magical adventures with a little bear and turned them into one of the most beloved stories of the 20th century, chose instead to be angry and bitter for a great deal of his life.
I hope that Christopher Milne was able, before he died, to be at peace with his past, and with his father. As I am learning now, anything less is simply pride, and not worth the trouble.
"So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest a little boy and his Bear will always be playing."
