A peaceful day

Are you all following The Book Chook then? If you are, then you're probably all off playing with the wonderful interactive site she found instead of talking with me - which is exactly what happened to The Chook when she first discovered it as well, so it would be an entirely natural reaction if it were your response.

Anyhow, for those of you who haven't heard about it, it's called Poisson Rouge which, of course you know, is French for Red Fish. It's really cool. Really addictive too.

There are heaps of activities to occupy you your children for hours. My personal favourites are the French School, making Jackson Pollock inspired art in the Art Gallery, and the interactive abc français. (There is also English, Spanish and Greek.) Bugs! is super fun as well!

Have a look at the Book Chook's favourite activities too.

Probably the best thing to do is to hop along to the homepage and have a play.

Go on - you know you want to!!

Anyhow, I've gotta go. Aparently Jemimah just has to use the computer. Can't for the live of me imagine what's she going to do on there...

(I am so turning into a serial reposter of the Book Chook's posts.)

Describe what happened when the puddin’ thieves made an appearance carrying a bran bag in their hands. Who was the rightful owner of the bag?

The possum and the wombat were carrying a white flag and were calling for peace. They were holding a bran bag, and when they saw Bill and Sam Sawnoff and Bunyip Bluegum they hurried over and said, “We make peace for all of the bad things we have done to you and your puddin’. To say sorry, we have brought you a little present, but of course you will have to look in the bag.”

“No!” said Bill, “You are going to hurt us or do something bad.”

“No, we’re making peace,” they said, and they held out the bag.

They were all with such curiosity that they just had to look in the bag. Finally Sam Sawnoff, Bunyip Bluegum and Bill could resist no longer. They said, “We’ll have a look, but if there isn’t anything there and you’re trying to play a trick on us, you’ll be sorry, you will.”

“No, we don’t want to play a trick on you. We’re making peace.” They held the bag open still longer. Then they said, “If you really don’t trust us then we can just all look in at the same time.” “Now that’s a good idea,” cried Sam Sawnoff, who really just wanted to look inside the bag. Everyone agreed to this – except Bill, who always disagreed. But all the same they all looked in. Of course Bill did not want to miss out so he stuck his head in too. Straight after everyone’s head was in, the puddin’ thieves brought the bag right over their heads, wrapped them up in rope and snatched the puddin’.

“Better luck next time, they called.

“Oh, I’m going to give that possum a beatin’ on the snout” said Bill, from inside the bag. “So am I,” said Sam, who hated having his flippers trodden on. Everyone agreed, and they all hated having the bag on their heads, especially Bunyip Bluegum because he was trying to think of a way to escape. Everybody agreed that they should not have trusted the puddin’ thieves.

After having walked about three miles in this bag not knowing where they were going and treading on each other’s toes they came upon Benjimen Brandysnap. They begged him to untie the rope and he said, “Hmmm, what have we got here?” They all cried out, “We are puddin’ owners and our puddin’ has been snatched. Luckily, Ben Brandysnap had some eggs in his basket. They were shared around and were eaten very heartily.

Bill said in a dull voice, It is all very well having eggs, but what if your whole diet for your whole life has been on puddin’? Steak and Kidney puddin’,” put in Bill, who didn’t like to forget things. “Don’t fret everybody,” said Bunyip Bluegum, “We’re going to get those puddin’ thieves and give ‘em a beatin’ on the snouts,” said Sam, who really did mean that he wanted to beat them.

Ben Brandysnap was the owner of the bag in his vegetable patch. The puddin’ thieves had snuck in when he was busy tending to his vegetables and had stolen his bag.

(With apology to Norman Lindsay and his wonderful children's book, The Magic Pudding.)

I dream of Jeanne with the light brown hair,
Borne like a vapor on the sweet summer air;
I see her tripping where the bright streams play,
Happy as the daisies that dance on her way.
Many were the wild notes her merry voice would pour,
Many were the blithe birds that warbled them o'er:
I dream of Jeanne with the light brown hair,
Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.

I long for Jeanne with the daydawn smile,
Radiant in gladness, warm with winning guile;
I hear her melodies, like joys gone by,
Sighing round my heart o'er the fond hopes that die:
Sighing like the night wind and sobbing like the rain,
Waiting for the lost one that comes not again:
I long for Jeanne, and my heart bows low,
Never more to find her where the bright waters flow.

I sigh for Jeanne, but her light form strayed,
Far from the fond hearts round her native glade;
Her smiles have vanished and her sweet songs flown,
Flitting like the dreams that have cheered us and gone.
Now the nodding wild flowers may wither on the shore
While her gentle fingers will cull them no more:
Oh! I sigh for Jeanne with the light brown hair,
Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.

Stephen Foster 1854

Do you have a special song? I Dream of Jeanne (with apologies for changing the spelling) is mine. My parents both sang it to me as a child - especially if I was sad, but not only then. Ben sang it at my 21st Birthday and Russell at my wedding. Sometimes today I hum it to myself.

Interestingly it is not special to my beloved. We have two special songs together: Only a Woman's Heart by Mary Black and Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers. Russell sang them at our wedding too.

Yes, I am a Genie in a bottle.

Does knowing that change the way you think of me?

So why is this here? Because I like it - that's why.



Thanks, Brandon. Oh and Happy Birthday Adele!

Teena asked me this question recently:

What are some other good Aussie living bird/nature books? So I can keep my eyes open for them. I already have Wonderland of Nature.

I love design mags, but I rarely buy them. Magazines on books, yes. Mags on gardens and cooking, probably. My very favourite Kateigaho International Edition for Japanese arts and culture, definitely. I have to draw a line somewhere though, and I'm afraid I just can't justify buying magazines full of beautiful things I can't afford just because they look nice sitting on my coffee table.

Which is where LMNOP comes in. It's beautiful, it's Australian, it's full of super-stylish things for babies and young people and it's free to download. Yep, free. I like that. Hop over and download your copy of the just arrived Issue 9 here.

Here's a peak of some of the things I like from its pages:

Are you like your Internet persona? Would your real life friends recognise you from your blog? Would your mother? What about the opposite way around - would your dear blogging friends recognise the real you? It's an interesting question isn't it?

Some people love the anonymity of their onscreen alter ego. Online mild mannered Clark Kent can become a megalomaniacal omnipotent superhero who thinks he can save the world. Little Susan whose profound shyness disturbs the formation of offline relationships can be bright, smart, witty and gay (in the old sense of the word - witty and gay trips off the tongue better than witty and happy, doesn't it?). Using some of the Internet dating sites she can even meet the man of her dreams (thus proving to all concerned that she's not gay in the new sense of the word after all.)

Celebrity blogger, Catherine Sanderson, in her tell-all memoir Petite Anglaise, writes this:

My online persona was wittier and sexier than I could ever hope to be. Petite anglaise's words were scripted and edited, her every move choreographed, whereas in real life I often stumbled over my words, and my humour was as hit and miss as the next person's. My readers couldn't see whether my socks matched, or whether my highlights needed touching up, and they seemed to assume I was elegant and poised, as though some of the glamour they associated with Paris had rubbed off on me too. I wasn't about to set anyone straight - I enjoyed projecting this new, improved version of myself; this person I longed to be. Being popular as petite anglaise online took some of the sting out of feeling so lonely and hollow, so taken for granted at home.

In some ways keeping it real is difficult. Even in real life we tend to compartmentalise the different facets of ourselves to suit the different interactions we have with different groups of people. You are less likely to demonstrate your pathological fear of ...well anything really - spiders; flying; public speaking; being left on the shelf; poor grammar or men who lick their knives to your superiors at work than you are to discuss these same phobias with your best girlfriend. You will probably not debrief in detail about little Johnny's success in learning his 7 times tables at your husband's business dinner - or maybe you will, but most of your dinner companions will wish you didn't. Sadly, I have been known to have been interrupted midstream through an argument with my beloved by a knock on the door only to paste a huge smile onto my face and to spend the evening pretending that nothing but peaceful loving thoughts of him had ever crossed my mind. Only the very astute would notice that anything was amiss too - we are both highly expert in hiding our true feelings in situations such as those.

When you go online, all of a sudden you must make a conscious choice about how you wish to be perceived. You cannot choose your audience on your blog. Everyone is potentially part of every conversation and you will invariably need to make a decision about which of the real yous you wish to project. Will you be the witty, sexy petite anglaise or the perfect homeschool mum, or the superwoman who has it all? Will you be superslick, or will you allow just a few flaws so that your readers think you're real? Will you tell about every argument you have with your in-laws or will you keep that to yourself? Read enough blogs and you'll recognise all of them...well online you will anyhow. I wonder if you'd recognise them in the flesh?

That's the rub isn't it, because the Internet is never entirely anonymous. One day, out of the blue your two identities will collide, and if there is nothing common to the two of you then as petite anglaise so beautifully puts it, you are liable to meet with an "I preferred the book to the movie" scenario. Somebody who seemed so interesting online can be so disappointing in real life.

I wonder what you think about me and the life you think I lead? I wonder what part of me I portray to you? Am I strong, confident and outgoing or shy and retiring? Am I a leader or a follower? What about Jemimah? Do you think your children would get along with her? Would you like my husband? I try to tell it like it is. I try to be honest. A Peaceful Day is not a tell it all warts and all type blog, but I hope you know that there are flaws in me, my daughter, my husband (well, not so many in him!) and my life. I hope you know that I am happy - most of the time. I hope I demonstrate my Christian walk, both my struggles and the times when all is going well. I hope you know that I love my life right now. That's what I try to tell you anyhow.

I have had the great honour of meeting a few of my virtual friends 'irl'. A few were friends before blogging. Ooh ah! Not close friends mind you, but they are now. Our real life friendships have developed because of our online presence. Jeana Marie is a case in point. Did you know that even though I saw Jeana every week at church, I didn't even know that she was artistic until I read her blog. That is incredible to me - creativity is what makes Jeana the person she is. I love knowing that side of her. I love knowing the real stuff too - the stuff she tells me about as we watch our kids playing together in the playground. The two Jeana Maries are not the same, but they compliment each other to make a truly wonderful whole.

I have been privileged this week to host Sarah and her beautiful family for a few days here in our Peaceful Home. Despite having met Sarah a couple of times before, I must admit to a few deep in the tummy swirls, twirls and other ballet type actions, as I awaited her arrival. Would she like the talking, talking, living Jeanne as much as the cyberspace me? I felt like I was venturing out on a blind date. Would I disappoint her? Sarah is young and gorgeous and vibrant and bubbly and optimistic. Would she and her lovely hubby be bored cooped up in the country with a couple of old fuddy duddies? I felt shy. I worried about what I should wear, about what we would eat, about whether our children would get on. I worried that she wouldn't like our home, or our garden, or our lifestyle. I'll admit it, I was scared of what she would think of me.

As soon as they arrived I realised that my anxiety was beginning to lift. Jemimah rushed out to the car anxious to show her two young guests to their room. There was no fear there, I noticed. The three were soon making the rounds of the cubby, the trampoline and the climbing trees in the garden before deciding eventually on the pool. The noise level increased exponentially. It was delighful to see. Sarah and her husband made their way into the house, and we kissed awkwardly under the mistletoe.

"I have so much I want to talk with you about," said Sarah. "I'm so excited to be here." Her beautiful eyes were burning brightly. I could see that she was being honest, and her enthusiasm was contageous. I felt nervous no longer. We had so much in common - our homeschooling philosophy, our Christian hopes for our families, even our upbringings in Geelong. You know, or maybe you don't, that I am a listener, not a talker. Not this past few days though. I have rarely talked so much about such a diverse range of subjects as I did with Sarah. It was great.

In retrospect my shyness was groundless. I have already had wonderful times meeting Mrs Adept, Jen and Louise (who desn't have a blog, but who is still kind enough to read and comment on mine). I have always come away feeling uplifted - more sure of our decision to homeschool our daughter, more aware of my successes so far and more determined to deal once again with the areas that we can improve.

I didn't dare ask Sarah what she thought of us, what she thought of our home, my family, my life. Reading later in our Visitors' Book I was delighted to read that she had found it 'truly marvellous' staying with us, and I felt content.

We had felt the same way about them.

Like wow.

Anybody read Maurice Gee's Going West? What's it like?

Should I put it on my 'Must Read' list?

More about Maurice Gee here.

The start of the journey also coincided with my decision to curtail my use of the internet, which can have an insidious, corrosive effect. Too much internet usage fragments the brain and dissipates concentration so that after a while, one's ability to spend long focussed hours immersed in a single subject becomes blunted. Information becomes pre-digested in small pieces, one grazes on endless ready-meals and snacks of the mind, and the result is mental malnutrition.

Of course this are not really Charlotte Mason's words, but I'm sure that if she were to read them she would be nodding her wise head in total agreement of their sentiments. I do not believe that Miss Mason would be a strong advocate of the internet. Of course, I may be wrong. What do you think?

The quotation is actually by English author Susan Hill in her new book, Howards End is on the Landing.

What a pretty book cover!!

I am so enjoying this book - a memoir of the year Hill spent rereading all the books on the shelves of her rambling English farmhouse home. My home is packed with books too - a fact that will come as no surprise to most of you. So far, Susan's library and mine are quite different from each other, owing mainly to the fact that most of my collection is Australian Children's Literature, but there is enough crossover for me to relate quite strongly to this fascinating woman. Dickens, Blyton, Hardy, Trollope, Wodehouse, George Eliot, Nancy Mitford, Raymond Chandler, Dorothy Sayers (wearing her English detective novel hat not her Classical Education one), Arthur Ransome, John Wyndham... Actually, perhaps our bookshelves are not so different after all. She just has more shelves and more books. Plus she doesn't like Australian novels. Obviously there'll be a little bit of a divergence there. Just a little one.

Hill doesn't keep all of her books. Neither do I, and a weekend of purging this past weekend left me agreeing completely with the following paragraph:

Many, many have gone – lent or left, sold or given away, for there is nothing essentially sacred about a book just because it is printed on paper and bound between covers. Only look at the rubbish available in book form. Some are quickly read, been, gone. You don’t read many thrillers twice. Others served a temporary practical need – your cat was having kittens and you needed to know how to look after them; you were travelling to Denmark and wanted a guide. But the kittens grew up and the cat was neutered and you will never visit Denmark again. Pass the thriller to a friend, give the cat book to the charity shop, sell the guide to Denmark on eBay. You don’’t have to pay its rent just because it is a book.

Hill is critical of small hardbacked books bought in the run-up to Christmas, calling them 'non-books:

They are about Everything Being Rubbish or how to microwave a budgerigar or where to go before you die, or why Slough is the armpit of the universe; they are little anthologies of love poems or things read at funerals or cartoons about politicians.

Now this is kinda funny given that Howards End is on the Landing has been released just in time for Christmas in a little hardbacked form, but I for one am not going to lump this one into the non-book category.

This is a wonderful 'book on books', and next to Children's literature, that is my favourite genre of all. I love reading about people who love books as much as I do - which is why there are so many literature blogs in my reader. But wary of the possibility of mental malnutrition, a fragmented brain and dissipated concentration, I shall momentarily curtail my literature blog addiction and enjoy instead a slow browse through the shelves of Susan Hill's library. I am sure there will be additions to my own as a consequence, and after my book purge this past weekend I may just have room for them as well.

Isn't this the most beautiful map you have ever seen?

I am totally and utterly in love lust with it.

It is printed on high quality canvas, has polished wooden poles at the top and bottom and even comes with the string to hang it with. What's more, it has up-to-date and highly detailed political information. What's not to love!


What say I have a chat with the jolly fat man in red and organise a bulk delivery to homeschooling families? Anybody be in that?

I suppose if you don't want to rely on Santa - or worse, no longer believe - you could always buy one yourself. The giant sized Pacific Centred Telegram World Physical Wall Map was designed in Australia for Melbourne-based stationery distributor, telegram paper goods. If you're in Oz you can find your closest retail stockist on their website here. The rest of you will need to email them directly.

Telegram also import and distribute seriously gorgeous stationery from all over the world. Have a bit of a covet through their website while you're there. I love the seriously cute O-Check from Korea and the fantastic sectional globe from French company Geografia. In fact, I reckon I could place my whole Santa wishlist through this store!

Yeah, I know my Commandments.

I have to ask Santa for something though, and this would be just perfect!! Do you think he reads my blog?

This picture illustrates a scene from Robin Hood. Can you tell me what happened in this episode in the life of Robin and his Merry Men?

It was spring. Robin Hood though it was time to go and see the old friar, and he told his Merry Men that he wanted to. One of his men said, “I’ll take you there, for I know the way well.”

Robin changed into his Lincoln green clothes. He chose three of his men to come with him, and they all set off to go to the friar.

They had not gone far before they were exhausted and they took a little rest. “Are we almost there, good fellow?” asked Robin Hood.

“Yes, we are almost there. See yonder stream? That is where the old friar lives, right across it.”

“My,” said Robin, “I would not have changed if I knew we had to cross the river, but never mind. It is no use turning back to change now – we are almost there. Let’s keep on going.”

So Robin Hood and the other men set off again down the edge of the stream. At one place Robin Hood said, “Stop,” to all of his men. “You wait here will I go to find the Friar. If I blow three times on my horn, it means come immediately.”

“It’s not fair,” said one of his gang. “We always sit here and miss out on all the fun while you are always enjoying it.”

“Ah,” said Robin Hood, “what a fool you are! Don’t you realise that you are better off where you are than where you want to be? Anyway, you wait here. I’m going to find the friar.”

Robin Hood had not gone far before he took a rest. He lay down on his tummy and listened. He heard something. It sounded like two men talking but their voices were exactly alike.

“I must look into this,” said Robin Hood, “for I have never heard anything like this in my whole life!”

Robin didn’t have to go far before he saw the man who was doing it, but there was only one.

“I was sure I heard two men,” thought Robin. “I heard them talking and toasting each other.”

Robin Hood saw an old man. He looked exactly like a friar but of course Robin Hood didn’t guess that it was his friar.

At first the friar did not know that Robin Hood was there. After a while Robin noticed that there was only one man and the friar was just toasting himself!

“I,” said the friar, “I toast thee for thy kindness to me,” and he picked up the goblet with his right hand and gave it to his left hand and drank heartily .

“I,” he said, “and I toast thee, good friar for being so merry with me.”

“Ah! It was nothing,’ said the friar, passing the goblet back to his right hand.

“Pray, merry fellow, do sing me a song! I have become very lonely these days. Sing me a song.”

“I am no good at singing,” said the friar once again, “but I will do my best, seeing that you have toasted me so nicely.” Then the old friar started up a song.

Finally Robin Hood could hold himself no longer and he burst out laughing and then joined in the song! It was a very funny sight for Robin Hood. The friar did not seem to notice that Robin Hood was there, nor to hear him when he joined in the song. He did not notice either when Robin chuckled at the end of the song. But at the very end the friar leaped up and said, “Who goes there?”

“It is only me,” said Robin Hood, with a big grin on his face, stepping forth from his hiding place.

“I am not sure that I am correct, but from the looks of thee and thine clothes, thou art a thief.”

No!” said Robin, “do not be so suspicious. I’m but a jolly fellow.”

“I’m not too sure,” said the friar.

Robin said once again, “Dear fellow, do please take me over this rough earth and this dirty stream, for my clothes will not bear the water.”

So the friar stopped what he was doing and thought and thought. Finally he said, “I am still a little suspicious, but I will do it.”

“That’s a merry fellow!” said Robin Hood, who was quite pleased that he did not have to damage his clothes after all.

(I stopped her here!!)

A little something to keep you interested while I'm away (and because I can't keep away):

A digital story book!

You'll like it, I reckon. It's cute...and clever... and the way of the future... maybe... if you can predict such things...as the future I mean.

Jemimah liked it too, so it's not just me - I have corroborative evidence on this one, and I kind of need that right now.

Hey, corroborative is strengthening support, whereas collaborative is a joint effort, isn't it? If not, I'm confused and you'll need to replace the one adjective with the other.

Hmmm, do any of you like grammar as much as I do?

No? Well then , just look at Rose's Garden instead. You'll like that as much as I do...I think.

I wonder what books like this will do to a child's imagination. Charlotte Mason even disliked too many line drawings in her books - what would she say about illustrations that move?!! (Well, except for "gracious!" and other exclamatory phrases...)

Too profound for today. I'll think about the advantages and disadvantages of Digital Children's Picture Books another day... After my blog-cation.



Here's a traditional print version of Rose's Garden for the purists.

I'm taking this post down now. It seems that it is flying around the blogosphere as these sort of things always do, and it is time to put it to rest.

Ida Red and I are friends now, and that's the best outcome of all!! Do pop over to her blog, Under the Golden Apple Tree to check out the CM Carnival. It's a goody!

And now since you've come over here to see something gossipworthy, here's the gorgeous Jenny Linsky to entertain you. Sigh, don't you just love Esther Averill's Cat Club!!

"If you will learn manners,"
The dear Teacher said,
"Then you shall have Catnip
Before going to bed."

"Oh give us our Catnip,"
The kittens insisted.
"Without any Catnip
Our Manners get twisted."

"Untwist your best Manners,"
The kind Teacher said,
"For you shall have Catnip
Before going to bed."

Asther Averill The School for Cats

You see, Ida Red and I just forgot our catnip for a while, that's all.

Want more Jenny?

Ta-da!

Oh my! The times they are a changin'! I want one!



Thanks to Momma Snail for posting this first!

If you're looking at these pictures with anything that even remotely resembles nostalgic affection then chances are that you were at school in Victoria sometime between 1951 and the early 70s.

John and Betty: The Earliest Reader for the Little Ones, written and illustrated by Marjorie Howden, was introduced to replace the first book of the 'old fashioned' Victorian Readers. Simple text, bright colourful illustrations and appropriate role models is what they wanted in 1951. Gone were Bob and Edna with baby Len and Spot the dog and their rides in the 'gig and the van'; in their place were John and Betty with their pets, Scottie the dog and Fluff the cat, Betty's doll and John's drum.

This is John.

This is Betty.

Betty can run.
John can run.

This is Scottie.
Scottie can run.
Scottie can run to John.

and so on...

You had plenty of time to get to know John and Betty too - this 24 page book was designed to last your entire Prep school year! In Grade 1 you moved on to Playmates: The Victorian Readers First Book where you were introduced to John and Betty's baby brother. Baby, his name was. You also meet friends Ann and Peter. Better, you had 72 whole pages! Grade 2 saw John and Betty taking a holiday at the beach in the originally named Holidays: The Victorian Readers Second Book. 104 pages of John and Betty for your Grade 2 year.

>
Now I'm probably sounding cynical here, which is okay, since I am, rather, but I loved John and Betty. I have the set too, in beautiful condition - and I used them with Jemimah when I was teaching her to read. I didn't use them for a year each though - actually I used Bob and Edna's book and many, many others. And so Jemimah loves John and Betty too. (There's another reason as well, but I shall tell you about that in another post when I can work out how to photograph them).

Some people seem to almost deify Charlotte Mason. In much the same way as I study my Bible, these CM devotees study her writings, pouring over her every word, and attempting to make every line relevant and applicable to their lives in 2009.

Now I think Charlotte Mason was a brilliant educator, and I espouse her philosophy of education along with her teaching methods in our homeschool, but I do not slavishly follow her every word, thought and command. Some of her beliefs are merely a reflection of the time in which she lived - her comments about evolution, for example: as a deeply Christian woman in her words and actions, I do not believe that she would hold those same beliefs in 2009 herself. In other areas I just don't agree - I do not always follow Miss Mason's methods of discipline, as a case in point. Often I do, but not always.

Total disagreement between Miss Mason's writings and my own opinion is rare. Sometimes I will object to something on first reading only to discover that on reflection or after further study that I agree after all. If I don't, it is no big deal.

That said, it surprises me that when people who do claim to follow Charlotte Mason's educational methods go on to say that they don't believe in examinations or even say that they believe that a Charlotte Mason education is a test-free one. Even a cursory reading of her volumes shows that to be untrue:

The terminal examinations are of great importance. They are not merely and chiefly tests of knowledge but records which are likely to be permanent.

Charlotte Mason Towards a Philosophy of Education p 272

What Miss Mason did object to was "learning that we may know, not that we may grow" and therefore the parrot-like saying of lessons, the cramming of ill-digested facts for examinations and all the ways of taking in knowledge that the mind does not assimilate. (summarised from Charlotte Mason Home Education p172)

She would not have been surprised by this comment of Winston Churchill's:

I had scarcely passed my twelfth birthday when I entered the inhospitable regions of examinations, through which for the next seven years I was destined to journey. These examinations were a great trial to me. The subjects which were dearest to the examiners were almost invariably those I fancied least. I would have liked to have been examined in history, poetry and writing essays. The examiners, on the other hand, were partial to Latin and mathematics. And their will prevailed. Moreover, the questions which they asked on both these subjects were almost invariably those to which I was unable to suggest a satisfactory answer. I should have liked to be asked to say what I knew. They always tried to ask what I did not know. When I would have willingly displayed my knowledge, they sought to expose my ignorance. This sort of treatment had only one result: I did not do well in examinations.

Winston Churchill My Early Life 1923 p 156

Students in Miss Mason's schools had examinations that lasted a week, and the children covered from 20 to 60 sheets of paper with their answers. Surely she would not have 'wasted' this amount of time had she not found the outcomes of the experience worthwhile!

Of children in Jemimah's age group (Form Ib - 7-8 year olds) she say this:

The children narrate their...answers to the examination questions. They appear to enjoy doing this; indeed, the examinations which come at the end of each term are a pleasure; the only difficulty is that small children want to go on 'telling.' Their words are taken down literally. One is struck by the correctness and copiousness of the language used; but young children delight in words, and often surprise their elders by their free and correct use of 'dictionary words.' One notices the verve with which the children tell the tale, the orderly sequence of events, the correctness and fullness of detail, the accuracy of names. These things are natural to children until they are schooled out of them.

Charlotte Mason School Education p 276

Certainly this experience has been true for us. We love examination week. I am constantly amazed at the quality of the answers my 7 year old brings forth on books she studied almost 3 months prior. Obviously she is better at retelling some books than others - in fact it is often at exam time that I discover whether a certain book choice was in fact a Living Book or not. It is next to impossible to accurately retell a book if it is not 'Living', with Miss Mason's definition of the word. As in the quotation above, my only complaint is the length of some of the narrations...I have to type them, and I am not a touch-typist!! A narration of an A4 page or more of type is not unusual!!

If you've not yet found the time or inclination to attempt examinations in your Charlotte Mason inspired homeschool I would encourage you to do so. You may be pleasantly surprised.

For examples of Charlotte Mason styled examination questions that we have used with our Australianised version of the Ambleside Online curriculum, see here. If you look down the page you'll find exams for terms 1-3 of AO1 and terms 1 and 2 of AO2. If you click on Examinations under Categories in the right sidebar you'll find examples of Jemimah's answers to many questions as well.

We finished Term 3 of AO2 on Friday, and the exams for this term will be up in the next day or so.

Just as soon as I stop think about exams and start writing it instead!!

In my experience families are either jigsaw lovers or a jigsaw haters. There seems to be little grey in this one.

We fit into the former group.

Holidays just wouldn't be holidays without a puzzle or two laid out on Mum and Dad's dining room table for us all to work at, chatting companionably amongst ourselves as we each work away at our individual task. The boys always start with the straight edge pieces. I prefer to work on an individual area - the garden or the house or the sky. Well okay, rarely the sky. That probably comes last.

My pet peeve is when somebody finds just the piece you've been searching for to finish an area and pops it in to complete the picture instead of giving it to the person who has done all the yuck work first. Boy, do I get cranky! You'd think my brother and sister, having spent their whole lives doing puzzles with me would have learned by now not to commit this terrible crime - I am the eldest, after all - but they're the worst offenders of all.

Enough already.

My favourite puzzles are those finely crafted laser cut wooden ones - the ones with special whimsy pieces like the ones by Liberty Puzzles in the US or Wentworth Wooden Puzzles in the UK. I just love these.

Recently, however, I discovered these Australian made puzzles featuring the work of our very own Peg Maltby. Aren't they delightful? I've not actually seen one of these puzzles, but the website assures me that they're 'excellent quality' and made with thick strong cardboard.

A psalm of mercy and hope in the midst of persecution from God's enemies sung my friend Jason Coghill, one of the founding members of wonderful Christian band, Sons of Korah.

May God bless Jason and Jane in their musical ministry.

Jemimah's comment:

It's incredible! Normal people can do great things for God with just one small skill!

Good morning, friends!

There seem to be a few things that I need to update you on this week, so here it is - the weekly wrap-up, Jeanne style!

1. My Dad was discharged from hospital last weekend. Tests continue and we have no diagnosis as yet. Both my mother and he are finding 'not knowing' very difficult, but he is happy to be home again, and so we praise God for that.
   
   
2. My eye continues to improve. It has gone through most of the colours of the rainbow - black, purple, red, and green, and is now an attractive shade of yellow in addition to all those names above. It seems that my friend Sue was so jealous of the attention I was getting that she has acquired a similar one for herself. Pop over to her blog to have a look at hers. See, they're quite pretty!! Now, who wants to go next?
   
   
3. We have almost finished school. All of the readings are done, and we have only three more days of maths left (maybe we can do them all today?), and that's it done. Exams next week. Hurrah! We love CM exams around here!
   
   
4. It has been hot - really hot. This means lots of time in the pool. Little Aths and tennis have both been cancelled due to the heat. The garden has needed extra attention from the hose brigade, so we've managed to fit in outside time doing something cooling and profitable. I am so happy that the water restrictions have eased.
   
   
5. It seems it is a bad idea to challenge homeschooling mums to a grammar test. You are all too clever for words!! Sara Mac's answer was closest to my father-in-law's. She said:

   Jemimah, whereas Max had had "had had", had had "had". Had "had" had the better mark, then Jemimah would have won.

   She only had 10 hads, but I think that was probably an honest mistake! My father-in-law fitted the eleventh in like this:

   Jemimah, whereas Max had had "had", had had "had had". Had "had had" had the better mark, then Jemimah would have won.

   Pretty cool - and mighty useless really.
   
   
6. I've continued to get Amazon deliveries most days this week. It is sick to look forward to a postman arriving this much (unless the postman is your husband.) I have started reading Karen Andreola's new book, Lessons at Blackberry Inn - Adventures with the Gentle Art of Learning. It is the sequel to her wonderful title, Pocketful of Pinecones - Nature Study with the Gentle Art of Learning. I'm enjoying it so far. Looking forward to reading R C Sproul's The Prince's Poison Cup to Jemimah maybe this weekend. Reviews coming soon - stay tuned!!
   
   
7. Thank you to all of you for your hints and helpful ideas for helping Jemimah to sleep. She is still waking nightly, but is managing the problem herself by getting up and turning on a light and going back to sleep. I am hoping that the inconvenience that this is causing will stop it becoming a long-term habit, but it is giving her what she needs to conquer her fear. It also means that her Daddy and I are able to get an unbroken night's sleep. I am inclined to think I will take Amy's advice and offer her a 'much coveted incentive' for a certain number of nights without waking next week. Jemimah can do incredible things if she thinks a new outfit for her Bessie Bear is in the offing. Again, thank you all.
   
   
8. Finally, all the hot weather means that the roses in our garden are looking absolutely superb. I'll post pics soon. In the mean time, here's a little taste teaser!

Outside our kitchen window grows a Silky Oak tree.

Straight, strong, majestic, more than 60 feet tall, it blossoms once a year into a blaze of gold just when people start talking of putting up their Christmas trees. A few days later the musk parrots arrive and feast - like green and pink baubles amongst the boughs of gold.

This is our tree this morning:


God's creation reminds me of his glory. It is his handiwork and is perfectly under his control. When I look at this beautiful tree I wonder anew about the value of man:

When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?

Psalm 8:3-4 NIV

Despite the beauty of this tree, I am more valuable to God than it is.

Isn't that humbling?

It is to me.

O LORD, our Lord, in all the earth How excellent Thy name! Ps 8:1 Metrical Version

10 Picture Books to help your children understand.

In print and available in Australia. What more could you want!!

1. Simpson and His Donkey Mark Greenwood & Frané Lessac
2. My Mother's Eyes Mark Wilson
3. Memorial Gary Crew
4. In Flanders Fields The Story of the Poem by John McCrae Linda Granfield
5. The Legend of the Lighthorse Ian Jones
6. The Unknown Australian Soldier Mary Small
7. Simpson and Duffy Mary Small
8. Walers Go To War Vashti Farrer
9. Not Only a Hero: An Illustrated Life of Simpson, the Man with the Donkey Tom Curran
10. In Flanders Fields Norman Jorgenson

...this fine version of Eric Bogle's classic song about the futility of war - And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda by Joan Baez.



Listen at 11 o'clock this morning and remember the men and women who have died while defending your country.

Here are the lyrics if you want to sing along, but bear in mind that there are a couple of profanities, and a lot of sadness in the words.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

As I sit typing this in the study I can hear Jemimah in the kitchen next door humming to herself. It is a joyful happy sound. I think she's humming the new Psalm tune we learned on Sunday (Bryn Calfaria for those who are interested, although that is likely to only be Ruby and Rachael), although it is sufficiently different to leave me unsure. Whatever it is, it is nice to hear.

She is shelling peas.

Funny, I don't remember podding peas to be anything other than a chore in my childhood, but I like it now. It evokes a time no longer with us, a slow, peaceful, calm life where time was not yet a luxury.

Jemimah likes shelling peas. Especially with her mother. I like that best too. I like chatting with my daughter about inconsequential things like Hans Christian Anderson's fairytale The Pea Blossom, and the fact that the coriander in the kitchen garden is taller than she is, and other stuff like that. Bonding stuff.

I love cooking peas in spring too, because they are sweet, crunchy and delicious. Really freshly shelled peas are so superior to their frozen packet counterparts. They have to be really fresh though. You need to pod peas just before you eat them because if you shell them early they go hard and floury and yucky. Which probably means that you'll need to grow them yourself. Unless you have a classy greengrocer nearby - which we don't.

Delicious homegrown peas like these are best unadorned and briefly cooked. I like them best tossed in butter with salt, but they're great tossed though pasta with Meredith Dairy Goat Cheese, mint and freshly shaved parmesan with a bit of the marinating olive oil from the cheese - which is how we're having them tonight - or in a risotto with fetta.

Actually I like them raw too. Especially fresh from the plant raw.

Which means that I really should go and check on Jemimah.

If I don't she may just finish shelling and beginning eating, and I'd just hate to miss out on my share.

In his wonderful book, The Wells of Beersheba, Frank Dalby Davison tells us the story of the Charge of Beersheba - not only through the soldiers' eyes but also through their mounts, the Australian-born Walers.

Davison's horses behave like horses - there is no anthropomorphising here. He does not attribute human behaviour to them but rather allows them their own natural nobility and dignity without superimposing the virtues of man. Seeing their struggle brings a new perspective to this now famous page of Australian history.

A trooper was worried. His mare, a high strung beast, hadn't drunk when the horses were taken to the trough. Something had upset her. While the others lowered their heads to the water and drank, with twitching ears and long sucking gulps, she had stood with head high staring, as if she saw some vision far across the plain. Patient coaxing had not prevailed upon her. The trooper looked now at her hollow flanks...and his eyes smarted with the tears of vexation...The thought of her not having drunk would be nagging at him every hour he was astride her. A cavalryman's strength was that of the horse beneath him. It was of greater concern to him just then then the thought of facing shell-fire.

We get to know the horses as characters in the saga:

The stocky round-barreled bay was bred on a farm in the Burragorang Valley - a little place, bounded on one side by native oaks, leaning above a bend in the Wollondilly. They didn't want to part with him, for he was quiet and easy to catch; but the old man sold him into the Army. They often think of him back home by the Wollondilly. The girls - they had no brother - regard him as the member of the family who went to war; and they sometimes wonder where he is.

The horses were important, you see. Without the horses the last great cavalry campaign of modern warfare would never have been:

...Nightfall was at hand. Turk, German and Austrian gunner had resisted with the courage of men who knew that time fought on their side. The enemy had now fallen back on the redoubts. To rouse him from them, trench by trench, would take more time than the remaining span of daylight allowed. Tomorrow could not enter into the general's calculations. His horses must be watered by dawn.

Water was thirty miles behind him - or three miles in front. To retire on the wells from which his horses had last drunk would be to leave victory in the hands of the enemy.

It was the moment of crisis in battle.

The Wells of Old Beersheba

In saga and in story their tale has been told,
As long down the years of madness the battle tides have rolled;
Their drops of crystal water - more precious than gold
The Wells of old Beersheba were battle scarred of old.

On an Autumn evening that seems so long ago
The war-worn Walers reached them with stately step and slow,
And the guns roared welcome, peal upon thunder peal,
The Wells of old Beersheba were held by Moslem steel.

On barren cactus ridges the British army lay,
All sore in need of water at the burning close of day;
And so the desert riders must charge at evening gloom -
The Wells of old Beersheba - to victory or doom.

A league across the desert, slowly Walers came,
And Turkish shrapnel answered with a burst of flame
That flashed amid the smoke clouds, deep in the murky haze,
The Wells of old Beersheba with trench-lines all ablaze.

They lined the ridge at sunset and, in the waning light
The far-flung line of squadrons came on in headlong flight,
The desert land behind them - in front the fearful fight,
The Wells of old Beersheba must fall before the night.

The Turkish rifles raked them and horse and man went down,
But still they held the gallop towards the blazing town;
They heard the hot lead whining, the big guns thunder-roll -
The Wells of old Beersheba their destiny and goal.

With cold steel bayonets gleaming, in sodden seas of blood
They raced towards the stronghold, all in a crimson flood,
Such maddening surge of horses, such tumult and such roar
The Wells of old Beersheba had never seen before.

They stormed across the trenches and, so the stories say,
They drove the Moslem gunners as wild winds scatter spray.
No force or fire could turn them on that long maddening run,
The Wells of old Beersheba had fallen with the sun.

Fast through the gap behind them column on column poured,
Loud in the darkening dust - wrack the guns of England roared;
Won in a race of ruin through the lurid waves of flame
The Wells of old Beersheba had brought them deathless fame!

Remember them, my brothers, lend them a helping hand -
They led that charge of splendour that won the Promised Land -
And those who came not homeward, their memory is grand -
The Wells of old Beersheba will guard their graves of sand.

Edwin Gerard 'Gerardy'

10 Christian books from today's book delivery to whet your appetite of things to come:

1. Grandpa's Box Starr Meade
2. Heroes of the Reformation - Life-Changing Lessons for the Young Richard Newton
3. Heirs of the Covenant - Leaving a Legacy of Faith for the Next Generation Susan Hunt
4. The King without a Shadow R. C. Sproul
5. The Gospel for Children John Leuzarder
6. Against the World - The Odyssey of Anthanasius Henry Coray
7. Martin Luther - A Man who Changed the World Paul Maier
8. The 100 Most Important Events in Christian History Curtis, Lang & Petersen
9. For Kirk and Covenant - the Stalwart Courage of John Knox Douglas Wilson
10. Read Any Good Books? Sinclair Ferguson

Anybody have an opinion on any of there?

There are two parcels waiting for me at the post office. Two!! Don't you just love it when the yearly Amazon order starts to arrive?!!

I'm off to collect them right now. Who cares that we're half way through school?

I just can't wait until this afternoon.

Could you?

Image from m patrizio's Flickr stream here

From goulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night
Good Lord, deliver us!

The Cornish and West Country Litany, 1926

Perhaps instead of quoting trite little prayers about things that go bump I should be beginning this post with Proverbs 16:18, because I am afraid that I have been guilty in the past of pride in Jemimah's ability to sleep.

Ever since she first slept through the night at 8 and a half weeks of age, she has been an absolute dream-child in this department; bed at 8pm, rise at 8am. Twelve hours each and every night. Lights off, door closed. I suppose I should have realised that it was too good to continue, but hey, she's almost eight, and it has! Or maybe now I need to say had. Past tense.

Admittedly we had one small hiccup. A year or so ago during a sleepover, an older cousin introduced a hitherto unthought of fear of the dark, by pointing out the creaks as evidence of monsters or other "long-leggedy beasties". We live in an old home. We have lots and lots of creaks.

We managed this quite easily at the time by simply leaving the passage lights on outside her room until it was time for us to go to bed at the usual time. We quite often had these lights burning anyhow, and so to turn them on deliberately at bedtime was no great hardship. The light that filtered through the doorway cracks, it seemed, was enough.

Until a fortnight ago. In the last two weeks Jemimah has developed a fully fledged insomnia problem. Each night one of two problems occurs:

Either it takes her "ages to fall asleep" and so at 11 pm when we are off to bed and turning off all the lights she is just going to sleep. With the advent of complete darkness BANG! she is suddenly wide awake again!!

Alternatively, she is exhausted at bedtime because of the palaver of the previous night and goes to sleep beautifully, only to awaken at about three in the morning. Again it is black, and again those goulies and ghosties are bumping away.

Either alternative is pretty bad. Both of them in succession has resulted in a household of cranky inhabitants. Even the dog goes slightly loopy when awoken at 3 am. She thinks she should be allowed up on my bed, and stands by scrabbling the bedclothes before deciding that she needs to go outside to relieve herself. Which of course she can't do alone.

And so now I am asking for help. Have any of you gone through this problem before me? Does anyone have anything that may help? Please share.

I suppose I should quickly run through what we have done, remembering that it is only a couple of weeks although it feels much longer.

We have encouraged her to talk about her fears. We have acknowledged the fear as real but the reason for the fear as excessive. We have talked about what causes the creaks and cracks and listened for them during the waking hours. We have discussed the fact that she is safe with her Mummy and Daddy in the same house, and more importantly that she is safe because God watches over her wherever she is. We have recited Psalm 121 and have encouraged her to pray when she feels alone and afraid.

We have not forced her to confront her fears. She is only 7, and to leave her lying awake afraid through much of the night seems unnecessarily heartless and we feel that it is unlikely to achieve a diminishing of her problem. We do not want a fully fledged long-term nyctophobia on our hands. (You all knew that was the proper term for a fear of the dark, didn't you?)

We have allowed her to switch on a light if she awakens during the night.

We have tried sitting with her (which didn't work because she lay awake talking to us), and have invited her into our bed with us. We have also tried sleeping in the spare bed in her room. These work, but we are constantly aware of the risk of rewarding 'poor behaviour', and so are disinclined to do this two nights in a row. Expressing fear is a sure way of getting our attention and she knows that. Tears work too. I hate lying in bed and hearing my daughter crying alone in the next room. I'm a sucker for tears because we see them rarely.

We are loving her. We are respecting her. We are reassuring her. We are helping her develop strategies to deal with the fear.

Does anyone else have any ideas?

When asked once if he were afraid of anything Thomas Edison replied "I am afraid of the dark." When he died, he had all the lights burning in his New Jersey home.

Maybe that's why he invented the light globe, and recently during the night I have been very glad that he did, but I think that little story is quite sad.

I really hope we can get Jemimah the help that Edison never did.

And soon. Preferable today.

I would love an unbroken night's sleep tonight, and so would she.

Oh Yippee(e)!

Hello.

I have decided that I use too much punctuation. Apparently some people get intensely irritated by the over exuberant punctuating of sentences, and so in this post I am going to pander to their base desires and use only the minimum required for legibility. Accordingly, you will see no dash; no exclamation mark, and especially not three in a row; no artificial smiley face; and no triple dot glyph, or ellipsis to give it its proper name. You will see parentheses, full stops, commas and apostrophes because I still want you to be able to read what I am saying, though.

So what do you think? Already I'm feeling a bit like Eeyore. Morose, melancholy and blue. That's what a lack of exclamations does to a girl like me. Actually, many people also dislike repetition for effect, so please disregard the previous sentence. Of the three words written there I shall choose Morose. The lack of punctuation is making me feel morose. I am not even smiling. That is strange for me, and combined with my eye which strangely went black for no reason yesterday morning, has resulted in Jemimah being considerably more compliant than usual. I think she is a little afraid of me. There, see? Don't you think that sentence should have ended with an exclamation mark? Please notice that I exerted considerable restraint to prevent its appearance.

Back to the eye. You can see the pictures of it above. Strange, isn't it. Now before the puns start coming, no, my husband didn't do it. He knows better than to cause bruises where anybody can see them. You know, on an area not normally covered with clothes. Okay, that was a joke. I hope you knew that, but without punctuation I need to be doubly sure. I didn't walk into a door handle either. Unless I was sleep walking of course. That is unlikely but possible. I have never sleepwalked before that I am aware of, but there is always a first time. You would think that I would have woken myself up if I had walked into a door though, wouldn't you? Especially hard enough to give myself a black eye. In common with many happily married people I also share a bed with my husband. You would anticipate that overnight antics of that type would have woken him as well. All in all, I don't this that there is a good explanation for the eye. It just went black, that's all. Of its own volition. Now that is not a sentence. It is a fragment and accordingly I should reconsider its inclusion, but upon that reconsideration I have decided to leave it. Every writer needs a signature style, and short snappy snippets along with the overuse of punctuation is mine. I can't have you thinking that somebody else is here writing my blog, can I? Oh yes, before I leave the scintillating topic of my eye, Jemimah took the photos. I considered photoshopping it to remove the wrinkles, but I haven't. There they are for you all to see. In reality the eye is considerable blacker than it looks in the photos, but otherwise I think Jemimah did pretty well. Don't you?

Along with the mystery of the eye is the mystery of the flat car battery. My car started happily enough on Wednesday night when I headed off to my Bookclub meeting, but on Thursday when I tried to take Jemimah to Little Athletics, nadda. Kaputsky. The battery was as flat as a tack. This meant a quick dash by my young athlete to the local park for Little Aths, but despite the exertion she still managed to win both of her sprints, so the added exercise didn't seem to do her much harm. Probably her mother benefited from the added exercise as well. Or perhaps it resulted in a black eye. I don't know. I don't know why the battery went flat either. I have one of those fancy modern cars that switches everything off for you when the key is removed, so I can't be blamed for leaving lights or radio or interior lights on because my clever car would have extinguished them for me after a suitable period of time had elapsed. Anyhow, the car is now at the local mechanics having its battery recharged so that I can drive it to Geelong this evening.

Yes, the Gadabout is gadding again. Not a fun trip this time though, but to visit my dear father who was admitted to hospital last night. More news on that when it comes to hand. Anyhow, I shall need my car to be reliable for the 3½ hour journey alone. My beloved is not able to join us until tomorrow.

Maybe one weekend soon I shall be able to spend it at work in my garden, which is at its spring peak just now. Would any of you like to see some pictures? I wish I could package up the scent of the roses for you as well. It is just dreamy. Especially along the driveway, which is lined with Buff Beauty roses along its length.

There is just one more mystery that I should like to share with you before I go and do something productive with my time. This final mystery involves you. Yes, you. Why is it that nobody bothers to comment on my book review posts, you know, the ones that take ages to prepare and to scan photos for and to do research on, whereas lots of people comment on the silly frivolous ones like how you punctuate a sentence that includes eleven hads in a row? I mean, who really cares about sentences like that anyhow? They're quite silly really. That post is also responsible for me now writing a post without enough punctuation in it. Enough for me anyway. Is it that you would prefer I didn't do any more book reviews? Are they boring? I can stop, only then I would need to question my purpose in writing my blog, because introducing you all to fine Australian literature is one of my most significant aims.

Ah, life. It's a mystery to me.

Have a nice weekend.

Goodbye.

I'm afraid I'm turning into a serial Book Chook reposter. I do hope she considers it a compliment. This time it is her nonsense challenge that has me thinking out loud.

Take time to have a bit of a look at the word games in the Chook's post, and then she how you go with these two punctuation challenges. My Father-in-Law was an English teacher and he loved using these with his students. I'm sure glad he didn't set my exams!!

Okay. Are you ready?

First, a conversation with a sign writer that goes like this:

There is not enough space between Jones and and and and and Son. (5 ands.)

That one too easy for you? Have a go at this one then.

Jemimah whereas Max had had had had had had had had had had had the better mark then Jemimah would have won. (11 hads.)

Both sentences can be punctuated to read as correct English. If you think you've worked them out then leave me a correctly punctuated sentence (or two) in the comments. If nobody takes up the challenge I'll let you know my Father-in-Law's answers next week.

Oh yes, as the Book Chook says, be sure to try them on your kids as well.

Meet Gecko, the lizard who lost his tail. He is the star of one of the few books that Leslie Rees wrote for young children of Jemimah's age, and it is just delightful. It's a book that you'll read again and again.

Youngsters of 4 or 5 will enjoy the entertaining story of how Gecko outwits crafty Jack Kookaburra, but it is older children who will really learn about the endearing gecko from this book. The gecko of our story is not identified exactly, and as Elizabeth Pope from The Australian Museum says in the Foreword, this allows children not only in Australia but also in many other parts of the world to meet and know the story's hero in person, for geckos occur outside as well as all over this large continent of ours.

Leslie Rees is that rare author, able to prevent his excursions into the realms of fantasy from interfering with the true facts. Children will learn about the behaviour of a gecko from this book, but they will have fun doing so. Rees is able to convey a lot of information in a short story too. Plus your kids will remember what they've learned. To me this defines it as a true Living Book.


Leslie Rees had an extremely successful collaboration with the illustrator Walter Cunningham. The illustrations of this book - as with all by this accomplished artist - are accurate in their detail whilst still maintaining their appeal for young children.

This next illustration says it all for me. In it you see Jack Kookaburra failing in his attempts to imitate Gecko's party trick of climbing up the walls and on to the ceiling:

"Well, if he can do it, I can too."

"Why not try?" said Gecko.

"Yes, try," giggled some of the other animals.

Jack Kookaburra did try. He fluttered his grey-brown wings and managed to stagger a few steps up the wall. He fluttered harder and nearly reached the ceiling. Then worn out, he fell back right in the middle of a brown puddle on the floor.

Sam Wallaby hopped over to pick him up. He wasn't hurt and everybody laughed and laughed. Jack didn't like that.

The book was written in 1944. Sometime around 1970 it appears that Walter Cunningham's illustrations went out of fashion, and the book was reprinted with new pictures by Tony Oliver. Here's the 70s style Gecko:

...and here's Jack in the scene described above:


This early book of Rees' is probably not his best. His titles for older children have been reprinted far more often than Gecko and convey considerably more information within their stories. Gecko on the other hand is a far more enjoyable read. You feel less like you are reading a text book and more like you are reading a fun story. A fun story with beautiful pictures and lots of true information.

When we read Gecko, Jemimah thinks she's getting a story and I think she's reading her Natural History text. Yes, we're both happy with this one.

Yeah, I know. It's out of print. Aren't they all? Abe has a few. Look for one illustrated by your choice of the two illustrators above. Personally, I'd go for Walter.