https://quadrant.org.au/magazine/society/cancel-cowards/
Although the move throughout the West to impose a cancel culture as a form of control seems to be nearing its apex, the fight against the truth has been decades in the making. For example, when moving some decades ago to Nelson, I tried to get from the local library some of the Enid Blyton books I and so many others had loved as children.
Blyton eventually wrote so many books that some of her themes became repetitive. But she was imaginatively outstanding, and her wonderful stories about the Faraway Tree, the Enchanted Wood, the Magic Wishing Chair, and Galliano’s Circus, followed by the Famous Five and Secret Seven adventure stories, spanned a career of nearly fifty years. Sales of her books were estimated at over 2 billion copies. As a young Froebel-trained teacher, with her father one of Britain’s top naturalists, her weekly courses of seasonal nature study evoked enthusiastic tributes from schools throughout Britain. She had an extraordinary knowledge of the natural world, coupled with a great flair for detail, and brought to thousands of children an increased awareness of the world around them.
Blyton was well aware that many children living in industrial towns in the 1930s with fathers on the dole couldn’t visit the country, but through her pages she tried to give them vicarious pleasure in the joys of rural life, and described how they might make tiny gardens of their own. One suggestion which met with a huge response was that country readers might like to send such things as budding twigs or wildflowers to their counterparts in town.
She became one of the first victims of the cancelling culture, which apparently sprang from the envy of a rival children’s writer in Britain, and by the end of the 1950s librarians were banning her books in Britain, Australia and New Zealand. The librarian I spoke with some decades later dismissed Enid Blyton with apparent contempt, her reasons hard to find. One was the silly suggestion that Noddy and Big Ears, in the stories younger children loved, had “an unnatural relationship”. Doubtless this would be a reason to have these stories highly regarded these days. Then there was the claim that she wrote for middle-class children only, that she had no social concern—utterly untrue. She and the many thousands of children who belonged to the clubs she formed raised astonishingly large quantities of money for the many charitable organisations they took under their wing. She personally answered a staggering number of letters each week for the children who wrote to her and whose views she always asked for. This didn’t stop the accusations piling up, including from New Zealand librarians and writers such as children’s books specialist Dorothy Butler, who claimed that, “regrettably”, Blyton was a snob.
