I’ve just re-read my best book. It’s Peter Pan and it begins ‘All children, except one, grow up...’
I haven’t read it properly, cover to cover, since I was seven. So I’m relieved to report it’s still wonderful – packed with the things I loved as a child: adventure, pirates, Indians, mermaids, fairy-dust induced flight and, of course, a tick-tocking croc.
It’s also packed with some stuff I now love as a grown up (I flinch a little as I type the ‘g’ word Peter loves to hate). It’s bursting with a charming, wistful sort of humour. The villainous Hook – and only a truly black-hearted sort of person could wish to smoke two cigars at once – went to public school. There’s a kiss in the corner of Mrs Darling’s mouth that none of her children, or even Mr Darling , can quite reach. Tiger Lily, doesn’t want to be Peter’s mother but something else – who can say quite what – heartless boy.
Suffice to say J.M Barrie is fabulous and after years of refusing my Dad’s entreaties to read Barrie’s biography of his mother Margaret Ogilvy, I think I’ll graciously give in and do it. Even Hook would have to agree that’s only good form.
And if I ever have children I most certainly will be getting a Newfoundland dog to look after them.
I also have to say I felt a little teary as I read the final sentence and put my sellotape bound copy of the book down. Not just because it was over but because I’m grown up. I’ll admit that I’ve never been able to fly (no really, never) but I did have lots of Neverlandish (Michael Jackson has ruined that name for us all) dreams about flying. I haven’t had a single one in what suddenly seems a long time.
But ooooh it was a good book.
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