Enid Blyton (1897–1968) was a prolific British children’s author, best known for her imaginative and enduringly popular stories. Born in East Dulwich, London, she wrote over 700 books, captivating generations of young readers with series such as The Famous Five, The Secret Seven, and The Magic Faraway Tree. Her work, characterised by adventure, mystery, and wholesome camaraderie, became a cornerstone of children’s literature, though it occasionally faced criticism for its simplistic style and outdated social attitudes. Despite this, Blyton’s books have sold millions of copies worldwide and remain beloved classics. She passed away in Hampstead, leaving behind a remarkable literary legacy.
And in an astonishing literary discovery, a previously unknown Enid Blyton manuscript has been unearthed in a dusty attic in Dorset. The book, titled Five Hurt in Gazebo Drama, is said to feature all the hallmarks of Blyton’s classic style—plucky children, baffled adults, and a shocking disregard for health and safety. Publishers have called it “a searing indictment of reckless gazebo use.”
Here is just a snippet.
Chapter One: A Jolly Outing Goes Wrong
The sun shone brightly over the village of Little Anachronism-on-the-Marsh as the Famous Five—Julian, Dick, Anne, George, and Timmy the dog, set off for a perfectly innocent picnic.
“Golly!” exclaimed Julian, ever the leader. “That gazebo looks like a spiffing spot for sandwiches!”
“I say, we ought to be careful,” said Anne, nervously. “It looks rather wobbly.”
“Nonsense!” scoffed George. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Famous last words.
Chapter Two: A Most Unpleasant Surprise
No sooner had the Five settled onto the gazebo’s rotting wooden benches than a loud CRACK echoed across the meadow.
“Botheration!” cried Dick, as the structure lurched violently to one side.
Timmy barked in alarm, which only made things worse. The gazebo, clearly not built to withstand the combined weight of five plucky children and a dog, gave a final groan before collapsing in a heap of splintered timber and bruised dignity.
Chapter Three: Grown-Ups Are Useless
A passing vicar, upon seeing the disaster, wrung his hands and declared, “Dear me! This is most irregular!” before wandering off to fetch help, or possibly just to avoid liability.
Meanwhile, the Five extricated themselves from the wreckage, nursing an impressive array of injuries. Julian had a splinter the size of a compass needle in his thumb, Dick had twisted his ankle, Anne had grass stains on her frock (the horror!), George had lost her temper, and Timmy had eaten all the sandwiches.
Chapter Four: Justice Is Served (Sort Of)
The owner of the gazebo, a mysterious figure known only as “Old Mr. Throckmorton,” was eventually tracked down.
“Young scoundrels!” he bellowed. “That gazebo was an antique!”
The children, ever resourceful, pointed out that the gazebo had been held together by little more than cobwebs and optimism. After a tense standoff, Throckmorton grudgingly admitted he had forgotten to have it inspected since 1923.
Epilogue: Lessons Learned (But Probably Not)
As the Five limped home, licking their wounds and vowing never to trust a gazebo again, Julian wisely declared:
“Well, that was a rum do. Still, all’s well that ends well—pass the ginger beer!”
And so, with typical Blytonian disregard for consequences, the children moved on to their next ill-advised adventure, rumoured to be titled Four Concussed and a Broken Swing.
Critical Reception
Literary experts have praised the potential of the book’s “authentic portrayal of British negligence,” while health and safety campaigners have called it “a damning indictment of the reckless picnic culture of the 1940s.”
Fans of Blyton’s work will no doubt delight in this long-lost tale of mild peril, questionable decision-making, and the enduring truth: never trust a gazebo.
THE END
