We grew up reading Enid Blyton books, like many other children. Whilst my brother fantasized of being Fatty, the brain behind solving all the mysteries, I satisfied myself by being Darrell Rivers, dealing with all the mean girls that made their way into Malory Towers, and of course, savouring all the chocolate, cake and ginger beer in those midnight parties.
During Open Day at school, my mom would buy just one each of her books for us, and that was just not okay for and by me.
So whilst my brother didn’t understand why Enid Blyton hadn’t been awarded a Nobel prize, I promised myself that when I grew up, I would buy myself every single one of her books.
On a more serious note, I consider Enid Blyton absolutely remarkable to have affected the number of children worldwide that she did.
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