Where are they now? An occasional series

1. The Famous Five - now in glorious hypertext

Left: Enid Blyton, hardly recognisable after several million pounds of cosmetic surgery, when she was romantically linked with Hugh Grant

With the forthcoming publication of the biography of Georgina "George" Featherstone, "My life as a boy" (Ł14.99 Hugh Anchor Publications) the spotlight has once again fallen on the antics of those four children and their dog so long ago as we ask (in a bold type and patronising manner), "Where Are They Now?"

These children first shot to fame after discovering and exposing smugglers upon Kirrin Island, which belongs to Georgina herself. This ensured short term notoriety, and after a few weeks of fame (or, as some dead artist would have said, fifteen minutes) they had faded from the public eye.

However, two years later they shocked the world again by encountering a bunch of rogues intent on smuggling along a disused railway line on the moorland. Although the motives of the smugglers was never revealed, it made certain that this five would go down in history for their brave and daring exploits, and prompted the writing of a series of twenty one novels by the then unknown children's fiction author, Enid Blyton.

Ann

I spoke to the four children of the five, now in middle- age, about their experiences then and how it has affected them in their later lives. Ann, now 42, is in the third year of her stay at St. Mary's Hostel for Women. I asked her about her failed marriage.

"I really don't understand it. I mean, I did everything I could for Alan - my ex-husband. I washed the dishes, made him meals, looked after him, went on camping holidays with him, even though I've never really enjoyed camping..." This sounded wrong. Did Ann not like her camping jaunts as a child? "Well, at first, they were fun, but those two `adventures` put me off camping for life. After the second, just the sight of a tent would make me feel ill, and I would have to do an hour's dusting until I felt better."

Maybe it was the lack of more "physical" love that caused the breakdown? "I don't think so, although I did draw the line at kissing, but we did cuddle regularly, and rub noses. In fact we were very happy until one day he came home late from the accountancy and he had been drinking - I could smell the fizzy pop on his breath - and when I told him he was late, and that he had missed Joint Account (that was our favourite programme - we used to joke that we were like that nice couple, except in reverse) and he just hit me here." She points to her cheek. I asked if she still bears the scars

"No, there weren't any scars, no bruises even, but it was that act of brutality that convinced me we weren't suited. He tried to apologise, said he had slipped, but one of my friends told me I should leave him and go to live at this hostel. I'm very happy here" I asked about her views on her portrayal in Blyton's fictionalised version of herself "Well, I find her books very good, I read them often, and I do wonder why they aren't put on this National Curriculum. I think Enid was one of England's greatest authors. Even so, I do think she exaggerated my character out of all recognition - I was never that adventurous."

Dick

Dick now calls himself Edward, (and who could blame him? nb cut this bit out later) is bitter about the whole affair. "Why do you keep pestering me?" he asks, "It all happened a long time ago - no-one cares about this anymore." He was never happy with the way he was characterised. "Blyton - the b***h - made my character a complete wimp. In reality I was the one who first noticed unusual goings-on, and I spent all that time observing the criminals carefully - it was b****y uncomfortable in those bushes with those binoculars - or `field glasses` as that c*w would have said. But instead of me, that moron Julian gets the credit. I suppose it was because he charmed the Blyton woman so, but then he has also been popular with women. And of course she never wrote about the night we were staying at a farmhouse and I found him in bed with the farmer's daughter. Thought it was the toilet indeed! And it was me she'd been eyeing all..."

Dick's words slur, and he takes another swig at the bottle. "And talk about the cheek of that woman - making up twenty one b****y books out of two small chance occurrences - just think of all the kids who get p****d off because we had twenty one and they have none. I bet they really hated us. And you know what! They're all the same. Those books. Have you read them. All the same!" I ask if that is ginger beer he is drinking "Ginger beer? Not s*d***g likely! The only reason that was mentioned was because we told Ann the lager we were drinking was ginger beer to stop her worrying. Stupid little t**t.

As I survey his bedsit flat, a pang of sympathy for this drunken wretch passes through me (note to ed. - is this too much for the readers to handle?). I cautiously ask about how this fame has affected him. "Too much. You tell a girl "I'm one of the famous five" and she just laughs at you. I wanted it to be called the fantastic four, but now that's the name of some s*****g kids cartoon. Never liked that flea-bitten mongrel anyway - all it did was bark all night when we were camping and chase sheep. And you'll never guess what it did when it caught one. And George loved that b****y animal in more ways than one. It was disgusting.

"And do know how much royalty I get from those books? None at all. At all. I mean, the first one was an instant bestseller and then I thought "about b****y time too", but then I read the contract and found that she had had her lawyers fiddle the contract. And I can't keep a job because someone always finds out and they just take the p**s all the time. So I took to drink"

Julian

Julian, 46, teaches art at a polytechnic and has a beard. "Yes, I understand that Dick may have some difficulties, but I don't think that can all be attributed to our little adventures. He had a very disturbed childhood, dating back to the time when he had a crush on the nanny, and was envious of how she always gave me more sweets (he thought). He has always disliked me for things like that. Just your average sibling neuro-psychological intense paranoia Freudian relationship." (before taking up art, Julian did a course in socio-psychology)

"Frankly, I never really cared about the books, television series, cassette tapes, toys, dolls, comics, magazines and so on based on our little adventures. I mean, it hasn't affected me knowing that thousands of pre-pubescent girls have had a crush on me, or rather, my quote character unquote. Even so, it is one heck of an ego boost whenever I'm feeling down. Also, you'd be surprised how many of my pupils will go to bed with me when I tell them who I am - (by the way, I rather you didn't print that last bit.)"

Looking round his luxurious flat, I see many expensive items. Surely he could not afford all this on a humble lecturers salary? "Well in fact Enie - she liked me to call her that - allowed me to have one percent of the royalties. It was supposed to be just a little token of her appreciation of my `help` with the books. She said it was one of the best nights she had ever had - no, cut that bit out. Then the phenomenon (ed - is this how you spell it?) took off, and that little one percent bought all this." I ask him how Anne and George reacted to this, and their opinion of the entire experience.

"I never told Anne, the stupid girl, she never really grew up. I tried explaining compound interest to her once and she just said, `Oh that's men's stuff, best left to them don't you think?` and went and washed up. I say to my friends, if you want a dishwasher, don't pay out, marry a woman like Anne! And of course they laugh and then one will say `Why don't you stop going on about your b****y sister and the famous f***ing five, and get a life you sad b*****d.` and I have to laugh and say `You've been drinking` and he says he hasn't touched a drop, and.... It's a running joke, you see. It probably isn't very funny to you."

"Now George, well she doesn't care about the money, I mean, she owns her own blooming island, full of birds, wild animals and sheep.... No, I was just thinking about the time when Dick found me in our tent with a sheep and me naked and I tried to explain, but he just jumped to the wrong conclusion, as usual, and wouldn't speak to me for days after. But later how we laughed. Well, he laughed, and I just sat there, embarrassed. You're not going to print any of this are you?"

George

Finally, I visited George, who lives alone in the rebuilt ruined castle on Kirrin Island. She returned there after spending the sixties and seventies in a drug induced fervour, and then spending the eighties in a drying out clinic. She sits alone apart from one of the 200 great-grandchildren of Timmy, possibly the most promiscuous dog ever, dejected by the world, wearing jeans and a T-shirt reminiscent of her wilder days, as it carries the slogan "Queer as Jason". Even as she speaks, the effect of it all is quite unmistakable.

"Well, it was like, you know, totally, and then - phew! - just so, you know? yeah!" I asked if her adventures had affected the way she had acted in her earlier life. "Hey, it's like life is just one great adventure, yeah, and we're just like adventurers in life, striving for the higher consciousness, and so, like, yeah?" I pressed on, and asked if they had been involved in her choice of, as she put it, abstract engenderance, but as I would say, mad steaming perverts. [only kidding, remove this later]

"Well of course, like to you I'm a woman, yeah, but inside I'm not, y'know, and it's always been like that - I mean, it was easy pretending to be a boy till about the age of fourteen, when these [she gestures towards her T-shirt] you see? but of course it was the swinging sixties, and boy did they swing! but of course, then I got into drugs, and discovered I could be both man and woman simultaneously, and at the same time like, and so, of course, I was, see? and then like, well, the next fifteen years is kind of a blur, but wow, it was good!" George was thrown out of her boarding school at the age of seventeen for growing marijuana in the biology labs, and having midnight orgies with the gardening staff and her close friends.

She went to London, and became a notorious party hostess and gate crasher. She is accredited with the highest amount of drug charges to her name, but always got away scot-free, and later claimed that this was because she had slept with every judge in Britain. Through out that era, she rarely left the society pages of the tabloids (she claimed she had slept with every gossip-page writer as well) and became well known for her trans-sexual exploits. Her 1972 modern art show "Man - Woman - Both - Neither" was a tremendous success in its time, filled with meaningless pictures, which were painted by her many artist friends (again, claiming she had slept with them all) (was there anyone she didn't sleep with? )(Yes, hacks like you. Remove all these stupid comments before this is printed! Ed.).

However, it was not to last. Eventually she had to give up her high life after a number of nervous breakdowns. At the age of twenty nine she was a wreck, deserted by her friends, lovers and sexual partners alike. After drying out, she tried to return to a cleaner social life, but could not, as she was a reject, not even being invited to guest on The Word, considered the lowest form of social life. So now she lives alone on her island with her dogs. But is she happy? "Well, happiness is all things to everyone and stuff, but you know!" Seemingly not. I left the tired out, sad old cow, (I'm getting worried about you. Ed.), the degenerate old artist and sex maniac, the drunken loser and the weak willed female stereotype to work out their sad lives.

Perhaps it is just a sign of the times (or a sign that I need another paragraph to fill up this page) that these four pathetic characters have been picked up by the media, raped until they are no longer newsworthy, and discarded like so many empty milkbottles (hope no-one notices the mixed metaphor.) Who is most to blame? Them, for their exploits; Enid Blyton for her torrid sensationalisation; the press for their over-exploitation; or the public for buying "Famous Five" stories and merchandise in their millions. (No - it's you for writing all this crap. Ed.) Perhaps we are all to blame, but as Timmy would say, "Woof". He always did have the last word. (or was that some other child detective series? Better check.)

Next : Noddy and Big Ears. (or maybe not)

Article reprinted with kind permission from "The Alternative Maidstonian".

Readers are reminded that a few copies of the complete Alternative Maidstonian are still available at bargain-knockdown-really-want-to-get-shot-of-them prices

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