BOOKISHGAL

Another set of Books Without ISBN. And to my grief, an incomplete set.

His name was Winnie-the-Pooh. Or more properly, as Christopher Robin tells us on the first page of the first book, Winnie-ther-Pooh. Better known — to millions of kids all over the world — as just Pooh.

I learned all the adult details years later: how a Canadian soldier, Lieutenant Harry Colebourn who was heading to England during the First World War, bought a bear from a hunter (one assumes she was a cub) and smuggled her over there with him, naming her “Winnipeg” (shortened to “Winnie”) after his Canadian home city. She was left in the London Zoo when Colebourne went to France, and then donated to the zoo since she was so popular. And young Christopher Milne was a big fan, and named his teddy-bear after her (and after a swan named “Pooh”), and his father A.A. Milne began writing little stories about Christopher and Pooh — and the rest is history.

There were four books, and I was given the whole set when I had just learned to read and discovered that I was, indeed, a Bookish gal. My set was printed in 1961, and all of them had covers of similar design to the one in the centre of the above photo.

I dearly loved the stories, and returned to them frequently over the years. I wasn’t that fond of Eeyore in the beginning, but I grew to appreciate him very much before we were done. Take this little exchange, after Pooh has sung Eeyore a little song (Cottleston Pie) for his birthday:

“That’s right,” said Eeyore. “Sing. Umty-tiddly-umpty-too. Here we go gathering Nuts and May. Enjoy yourself.”

“I am,” said Pooh.

“Some can,” said Eeyore.

Excuse me while I guffaw till I choke. If Douglas Adams’s paranoid Android, Marvin, had a direct ancestor, Eeyore would be it.

I’m afraid I never really “got” Piglet, and I still don’t like Kanga or the obnoxious Tigger. But I was terribly fond of the very busy Rabbit (and all! his! relatives!) (I didn’t get that - then). And Owl, who “could spell his own name WOL, and he could spell Tuesday so that you knew it wasn’t Wednesday,” and who would sometimes look Wise and Thoughtful. I always do like the smart types.

I giggle just thinking of the adventures. The Expotition to the North Pole. The Heffalump. And when I’m online but have to dash out for a bit, I frequently reassure my friends that I’ll be “Backson,” like Christopher Robin did.

I read the story books - Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner - very often. I read the poetry books - When We Were Very Young and Now We Are Six - rather less often. I wasn’t very fond of poetry then, even stuff written for kids. And I apparently had a strict sense of what belonged where, because I didn’t appreciate that these books had poems in them that weren’t about Pooh and his friends. And yet there were hints:

If I were a bear

And a big bear too,

I shouldn’t much care

If it froze or snew;

I shouldn’t much mind

If it snowed or friz –

I’d be all fur-lined

With a coat like his!

There were poems about Emperors and knights, and animals, and friends playing with each other. As I flip through Now We Are Six right now, I see that it’s a much richer, fuller book than I realized. I think, whenever I get the yen to read my Winnie-the-Pooh books, I really must read this one too. And mourn the fact that somewhere over the years I have lost When We Were Very Young. (Isn’t that dreadfully symbolic? Ah, lost youth!)

And it wasn’t quite true that there were no poems about Pooh. He and Christopher Robin do show up, more than once:

“Let’s frighten the dragons,” I said to Pooh.

“That’s right,” said Pooh to Me.

“I’m not afraid,” I said to Pooh,

And I held his paw and I shouted, “Shoo!

Silly old dragons!” — and off they flew.

“I wasn’t afraid,” said Pooh, said he,

“I’m never afraid with you.”

Three of my treasures without ISBN, with a fourth one lost. But Pooh and his friends have never left me, since I was very young.

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