Is this the only remaining copy of this book in the whole world?

This beautiful little childrens' book recently arrived on my desk. It wasn't a title or author that I was familiar with, so to google I went, to track down some information. The result was something that happens only very, very rarely in this game: not only could I not find another copy of this book for sale, I could find no record of its existence, period. Even exceptionally scarce titles usually turn up in a library catalogue somewhere; Man the Lifeboat! by F. Hamilton-Knight did not.

There's an incomplete copy of The Beacon Light, a similar looking title by Hamilton-Knight (and a W.H.S. Thompson, who is an artist) on Amazon here and some *very* expensive copies (£300!) of another Hamilton-Knight storybook, The Turning of the Tide, here and here.

... but no other copies of Man the Lifeboat!

It's a rather wonderful thing, so here, for the first time on t'internet, is the whole book in all its small but perfectly formed glory. It's not dated, but I reckon it's late Victorian or Edwardian. The quality of the printing is very good indeed. Given his work with Knight on The Beacon Light, perhaps the uncredited artist here is also W.H.S. Thompson.

It is for sale, but as it's so hard to know what price level to aim for, I'll just say I'm open to offers!

Another Rather Upsetting Victorian Children's book...

A little while back Withnail Books was briefly home to a somewhat disturbing Victorian children's book, detailed here. Though not quite hitting the same heights of alternate reality morbidity, this recent arrival also makes one wonder quite what the Victorians were on when it came to coming up with nice little books for their kids.

The book's a bit long to show in toto here, but a few pages will suffice to sum it up. Silverland is a scarce volume (no non-POD copies around online currently), circa 1882, written by 'Mabel' and with intricate 'Pictures in Colours' by George Lambert. It's about Little May, a girl who, as is the case with most little girls, desperately wants to see some fairies...

So far, so good. Little May is certain about the fairies, even though she never sees any, and the story continues with descriptions of the tiny folks that live in the various types of flowers, and how May grows up to be nice to her brother's pet squirrel (I didn't understand that bit either). But what's this? Here's the final spread...

THE END. No fairies for you, love! And no proof that they weren't just in your head all along. All you get is to stare disconsolately into the fire. Those Victorians were harsh.

Really? A Rather Disturbing Victorian Book for Children

This only came in yesterday, and has already sold this morning (along with three others in the same series, also illustrated by Frank Cox), so I'm glad I took the chance to photograph it last night. It's a little nursery rhyme book, circa 1890, and it's really a bit bonkers. Especially the last picture.

Here it is, in toto:

Let's just have a nice close-up of the final image:

Yes, that's children laughing at gravestones. Their own gravestones, from the other timestream this book appears to have going on, Sliding Doors style? So this is an early sci-fi nursery rhyme, to boot. OK, Victorian cautionary tale and all that, but laughing at gravestones? Really?

Some Enid Blyton Firsts

I was never a Famous Five fan, they passed me by. I don't recall ever even seeing the TV version of the books which was on ITV when I was a kid (in which Gary Russell, these days better known as an eminence grise in the world of Doctor Who, gave us his Dick, as it were).

I did read and enjoy the Secret Seven books, but the best of all was the Adventure series, in which Philip, Jack, Dinah, Lucy-Ann and Jack's pet parrot Kiki got caught up in, well, Adventures. I remember nothing of the plots now, other than they were a bit more outré and far-flung than the Seven, and were terribly exciting, in a way which no doubt would hold zero interest to today's youth, staring into their i-boxes and x-phones all day.

So when I got the chance to acquire a bunch of first edition, first printings of 5 of the 8 ...of Adventure books, I did so with alacrity. But now's the time to pass them on, so up on eBay they go as a job lot, at a starting price which I certainly hope will find some takers...

They're without dustjackets of course (that starting price would have a couple of zeroes on it if they had 'em), but I notice a fellow eBayer has a nice line in facsimile Blyton djs for the budget conscious collector.

The artist, of the dustjackets, boards, and the rather atmospheric interior illustrations (which lasted through many, many reprints of the books), was Stuart Tresilian. According to this informative post at the always interesting Bear Alley, he was evidently a prolific illustrator in the 30s, 40s and 50s, though I'm also fascinated by the fact that the Imperial War Museum apparently holds drawings he made while he was a POW of the Germans in the Great War. Alas, though they come up when you search for his name on their website, there are no visuals.

As for Enid Blyton, the revisionist picture of her these days is not too flattering. How about this for a quote, from her own daughter, Imogen:

"The truth is Enid Blyton was arrogant, insecure, pretentious, very skilled at putting difficult or unpleasant things out of her mind, and without a trace of maternal instinct. As a child, I viewed her as a rather strict authority. As an adult I pitied her."

Still, anybody who wrote a book called Well, Really, Mr. Twiddle! can't be all bad...