Little boy kneels at the foot of the bed, Droops on the little hands little gold head. Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares? Christopher Robin is saying his prayers.
God bless Mummy. I know that’s right. Wasn’t it fun in the bath tonight? The cold’s so cold, and the hot’s so hot. Oh! God bless Daddy — I quite forgot.
Oh! Thank you, God, for a lovely day. And what was the other I had to say? I said, “Bless Daddy,” so what can it be? Oh! Now I remember. God bless me.
— verses from “Vespers,” "When We Were Very Young," A.A. Milne
Loss and terror, in one way or another, visited every family in Great Britain and Europe during the Great War.
We are observing the 100th anniversary of that conflict, and this month we also observe the birthday of Alan Alexander Milne (Jan. 18, 1882-Jan. 31, 1956).
Milne was trained for signaling and did not go to the front until July of 1916. Much of the dangerous work he did seemed useless or superfluous to him. But the individual suffering and waste, to his poet’s heart, caused the greatest shock and dismay.
“The attack,” he wrote, "was a complete failure. So-and-so and So-and-so were killed — I remembered them, two boys under apple trees in the little village where I had joined them in billets; we had dined in the garden to the gramophone, and there were peaches which one of them had fetched from Amiens, and the war was just a happy picnic to them, the guns rolling so far, far away in the distance that one would never catch up with them." ("The Fierce Light: The Battle of the Somme," Anne Powell).
He also tells of a young, quiet boy just out of school who had been outfitted by his parents with (“you may laugh or cry as you will”) “an undergarment of chain-mail, such as had been worn in the Middle Ages. … He was much embarrassed by this parting gift — he did not know whether he ought to wear it — he asked my advice — it didn’t matter; for on the evening when we first came within reach of the battle-zone, just as he was settling down to his tea, a crump came over and blew him to pieces” (Milne “Autobiography,” Chapter 13, as quoted at fantastic-writers-and-the-great-war.com).
Suffering from trench fever, Milne was sent home from the front before the war ended. But he, along with thousands of others, struggled for years to overcome the effects of his experiences. Later he wrote: "It makes me almost physically sick to think of that nightmare of mental and moral degradation, the war. When my boy was six years old he took me into the Insect House at the Zoo, and at the sight of some of those monstrous inmates I had to leave his hand and hurry back to the fresh air. … It seems impossible to me now that any sensitive man could live through another war. If not required to die in other ways, he would waste away of soul-sickness" (Milne “Autobiography,” Chapter 13, as quoted at fantastic-writers-and-the-great-war.com).
The soul-sickness of thousands of men changed the face of society and the character and tenor of family life for years to come.
Milne continued to write humorous verses, as he had before the war, for Punch magazine, at length becoming an assistant editor. Before 1925, he published three novels and 18 plays. He was well-known for his plays. But when he was reminded of the shortage of good literature for children, he took a mental and emotional step back and opened the reservoir of his own most tender emotions — drawing out truths and wonders that have created vision, beauty and delight for millions of people.
“It rained and it rained and it rained. 'It’s a little Anxious,' Piglet said to himself, 'to be a Very Small Animal Entirely Surrounded by Water … 'There’s Pooh,' he thought to himself. 'Pooh hasn’t much Brain, but he never comes to any harm. He does silly things and they turn out right. There’s Owl. Owl hasn’t exactly got Brain, but he Knows Things. He would know the Right Thing to Do when Surrounded by Water. There’s Rabbit. He hasn’t Learnt in Books, but he can always Think of a Clever Plan … I wonder what Christopher Robin would do?’ ” ("Winnie the Pooh," Dell Yearling publication).
The fears, the bumbling, the childlike wisdom, the cooperation, the comforting simplicity of Pooh’s world somehow restore a balance within us when we enter — and send us forth not only delighted but also encouraged, expanded, healed.
Milne intended his stories not necessarily for children, but for the children within us. They have been translated into 34 languages, and it is estimated that 70 million copies of the books have been printed since their initial publication in the 1920s. He wrote “Vespers,” quoted at the beginning of this article, for his wife and presented it to her as a gift. She sent it to Vanity Fair in 1923, where it was published, and she received $50. This exquisite verse, included in the first book, was a springboard and remains a much-loved favorite today.
When you and I listen, what do we hear? When you and I look, what do we see? With the insecurities and complexities of our world, we need, perhaps more than ever, the faith, delight, wonder, innocence and love which live on the pages of Milne’s books. How fortunate we are that one man’s faith overcame his despair; that courage and creative honesty overcame despondency and doubt.
Where am I going? I don’t quite know. Down to the stream where the king-cups grow — Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow — Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.
Where am I going? The high rooks call: “It’s awful fun to be born at all.” Where am I going? The ring-doves coo: “We do have beautiful things to do.”
Where am I going? I don’t quite know. What does it matter where people go? Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow — Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.
— verses from "Spring Morning," "When We Were Very Young," A.A. Milne
We do have beautiful things to do! Sometimes it is easy to forget that!
Our today — purchased by so many who came before us. Today — this one entrancing, incredible moment out of all Time — is the essence, the beautiful sum of our lives. What was it that silly old bear had to say?
“What day is it?”
“It’s today,” squeaked Piglet.
“My favorite day,” said Pooh.
— "Winnie-the-Pooh," A.A. Milne
Susan Evans McCloud is author of more than 40 books and has published screenplays, a book of poetry and lyrics, including two songs in the LDS hymnbook. She has six children. She blogs at susanevansmccloud.blogspot.com. Email: susasays@broadweave.net