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Drawn From Memory
An evocative childhood memoir by the much-loved illustrator of Winnie the Pooh and The Wind in the Willows. In this autobiography, E.H. Shepard describes a classic Victorian childhood. Shepard grew up in the 1880s in Saint John's Wood with his brother and sister. He was surrounded by domestic servants and maiden aunts, in a an age when horse-drawn buses and hansom cabs crowded the streets. Recalling this time with charm and humour, Shepard illustrates these scenes in his own distinctive style.
176 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1971
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About the author
Ernest H. Shepard
443Ìýbooks85ÌýfollowersErnest Howard Shepard was an English artist and book illustrator. He was known especially for his human-like animals in illustrations for The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame and Winnie-the-Pooh by A. A. Milne.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 37 reviews
March 11, 2022
3.5
A charming memoir of a Victorian childhood, with lots of line drawings by the author, who is of course best known as the illustrator of Winnie-the-Pooh. It's gently humorous, but also poignant. Shepherd tells us in the introduction that the period chronicled in this book was the happiest part of his childhood. Shortly after, his mother died of an illness, and things were never the same after that.
A charming memoir of a Victorian childhood, with lots of line drawings by the author, who is of course best known as the illustrator of Winnie-the-Pooh. It's gently humorous, but also poignant. Shepherd tells us in the introduction that the period chronicled in this book was the happiest part of his childhood. Shortly after, his mother died of an illness, and things were never the same after that.
June 25, 2014
This utterly delightful memoir would probably have remained forever unknown to me had it not been for a lovely review of it by The Captive Reader. I quite literally went in search of it right away although not a big reader of non-fiction I do really like these kinds of childhood memoirs. I am so very glad I found a copy, this book is very much a keeper, and one I know I shall return to. E.H Shepard is remembered and loved by many for his wonderful drawings which illustrated classic works of children’s literature, particularly Winnie the Pooh and The Wind in the Willows. Here he has illustrated his memoir of childhood with drawings very reminiscent of the works for which he is best known. Included are also drawings he made when only seven years old, and long before he had any real ambitions to make his living from his art.
“I was born in St. John’s Wood, at No. 55 Springfield Road, and I can remember the nursery there and the garden at the back. Each morning my father would come in and dance me round before he went to business. I can also remember the cotton frocks that I wore with plaid bows on my shoulders and a plaid sash round my middle; under these I wore little drawers, rather tight and scratchy for small legs. Getting ready for a party, Mother would frizz my hair with a curling iron.�
Ernest Shepard was born in to an upper middle class family in 1879 living with his family in St. Johns Wood in London at a time during the later years of Queen Victoria’s reign. Ernest’s father was an architect; his family moved in fairly artistic circles themselves, and certainly encouraged the early artistic talent that Ernest showed. His was a landscape of streets crammed with horse-drawn hansom cabs and buses, a known and recognisable policeman to be found on the corner of his street. It is to this world that E.H Shepard returns us with affection and nostalgia in this wonderfully warm and engaging memoir. Drawn from Memory recounts the very earliest years of Ernest’s Victorian childhood, a truly happy idyll in which he lived in the years before his mother’s death. Ernest was the youngest of three children, his older brother Cyril and sister Ethel feature alongside his lovingly drawn parents, who so obviously provided a deeply loving environment for their children to grow up in. The Shepard’s naturally enough for a family of their type, had servants too, and they are remembered here too, Ellen, Martha and Lizzie women who fed and cared for Ernest, and who appear here as an extension of his family.
“On the whole it was nice to be back home again. Martha, all smiles, opened the front door. The Fire was burning in the dining room, and Lizzie prepared a very particular tea with crumpets. Sambo joined us. Purring and fussing round us all. Father and Mother had a lot of letters to read, and we children sat back feeling very comfortable and content. The trees outside were beginning to turn, and the old messenger man was sweeping up the leaves. Presently the lamplighter, with his staff, came along the Terrace, and one by one the lamps were lit. It really was rather nice to be home once more.�
Children were not so very different then as they are today; Ernest recalls his and his brother’s irritation at having birthdays close to Christmas, and people who would make one present do for both occasions, how unfair that is for children unlucky enough to be born in December. Particularly memorable is Ernest’s wonderfully happy portrayal of summer weeks spent on a farm as the hops are harvested, it must surely have been one of his fondest of his childhood memories. When Queen Victoria celebrates her golden jubilee � the streets of London are thronged with people celebrating and watching the parade. The three Shepard children are each allowed to go and buy themselves a flag for the occasion, but Ernest having seen so much red, white and blue, wants his flag to be different –and so proudly purchases the Belgian flag. Seaside holidays, stays with his maiden aunts, illness and kindergarten games are all recalled with love and humour by a man who so obviously benefitted from an idyllic childhood � although this time was destined to be so short.
In the preface E H Shepard warns that his memoir depicts the last truly happy year of his childhood � before his adored mother was taken from them so tragically early. This knowledge is felt by the reader throughout this delightfully happy book, and certainly lends it an undercurrent of poignancy. So when Ernest makes almost casual reference to coming across his beloved brother’s grave in 1916, I felt it like an almost physical shock. Having suffered these two tragic losses � it is no wonder that his memoir of this one supremely happy time is so deeply felt.
“I was born in St. John’s Wood, at No. 55 Springfield Road, and I can remember the nursery there and the garden at the back. Each morning my father would come in and dance me round before he went to business. I can also remember the cotton frocks that I wore with plaid bows on my shoulders and a plaid sash round my middle; under these I wore little drawers, rather tight and scratchy for small legs. Getting ready for a party, Mother would frizz my hair with a curling iron.�
Ernest Shepard was born in to an upper middle class family in 1879 living with his family in St. Johns Wood in London at a time during the later years of Queen Victoria’s reign. Ernest’s father was an architect; his family moved in fairly artistic circles themselves, and certainly encouraged the early artistic talent that Ernest showed. His was a landscape of streets crammed with horse-drawn hansom cabs and buses, a known and recognisable policeman to be found on the corner of his street. It is to this world that E.H Shepard returns us with affection and nostalgia in this wonderfully warm and engaging memoir. Drawn from Memory recounts the very earliest years of Ernest’s Victorian childhood, a truly happy idyll in which he lived in the years before his mother’s death. Ernest was the youngest of three children, his older brother Cyril and sister Ethel feature alongside his lovingly drawn parents, who so obviously provided a deeply loving environment for their children to grow up in. The Shepard’s naturally enough for a family of their type, had servants too, and they are remembered here too, Ellen, Martha and Lizzie women who fed and cared for Ernest, and who appear here as an extension of his family.
“On the whole it was nice to be back home again. Martha, all smiles, opened the front door. The Fire was burning in the dining room, and Lizzie prepared a very particular tea with crumpets. Sambo joined us. Purring and fussing round us all. Father and Mother had a lot of letters to read, and we children sat back feeling very comfortable and content. The trees outside were beginning to turn, and the old messenger man was sweeping up the leaves. Presently the lamplighter, with his staff, came along the Terrace, and one by one the lamps were lit. It really was rather nice to be home once more.�
Children were not so very different then as they are today; Ernest recalls his and his brother’s irritation at having birthdays close to Christmas, and people who would make one present do for both occasions, how unfair that is for children unlucky enough to be born in December. Particularly memorable is Ernest’s wonderfully happy portrayal of summer weeks spent on a farm as the hops are harvested, it must surely have been one of his fondest of his childhood memories. When Queen Victoria celebrates her golden jubilee � the streets of London are thronged with people celebrating and watching the parade. The three Shepard children are each allowed to go and buy themselves a flag for the occasion, but Ernest having seen so much red, white and blue, wants his flag to be different –and so proudly purchases the Belgian flag. Seaside holidays, stays with his maiden aunts, illness and kindergarten games are all recalled with love and humour by a man who so obviously benefitted from an idyllic childhood � although this time was destined to be so short.
In the preface E H Shepard warns that his memoir depicts the last truly happy year of his childhood � before his adored mother was taken from them so tragically early. This knowledge is felt by the reader throughout this delightfully happy book, and certainly lends it an undercurrent of poignancy. So when Ernest makes almost casual reference to coming across his beloved brother’s grave in 1916, I felt it like an almost physical shock. Having suffered these two tragic losses � it is no wonder that his memoir of this one supremely happy time is so deeply felt.
August 10, 2019
A fascinating and touching memoir of a boy's childhood, growing up in middle-class, late Victorian England. It reminded me a lot of the Little House series. I have read a lot of Victorian literature and still learned a lot from this book.
November 20, 2018
Enchanting and delightful memoir of childhood during the late Victorian period. Written in a distinctive and likable voice, I was captivated from beginning to end.
July 2, 2012
I call this candy. A rare treat I have almost never come across - the childhood memoir of an artist I admire, illustrated (lavishly - a drawing on nearly every page) by the author himself. To my mind, the best kind of book ever. (That, and the fact that this part of his childhood was very happy.) I had the happy discovery of his description of Queen Victoria's Jubilee - which seemed serendipitous after having just watched Queen Elizabeth's myself a few weeks back. My favorite part of the book was the chapter "Pollard's Farm" - Shepard tells how there was a black hen with only one leg on the farm they holidayed at, and it became quite attached to the boys. They would sneak it into bed with them for the night - I love the illustration he drew of his mother discovering the hen tucked up between them. Lovely writing, lovely art. Highly recommended.
September 13, 2017
Reading this little gem, you can't help but be reminded of, say, Sassoon's Memoires of a Fox-hunting man or Yeats' Reveries. Not because of the style, or the content, but for the look it casts back, and the gaping holes one finds in the narrative.
Shepard could really write - wistful, nostalgic prose - and as he illustrated this text himself, the book as a whole is a treat. But not having grown up on Winnie the pooh, I'm rather indifferent to that part of the writer: what he evokes here is just one year in his life, when he was about 7. Drawing was obviously central to him then, but don't expect juicy bits on Milne etc: Shepard sticks to that one childhood year.
Except once: and that's the gaping hole.
Except when he suddenly remembers visiting, much later, the grave of his beloved brother, killed in WW1. And that is the trigger for the reader to ask: where's the pain? Where are the childhood nightmares, the tears, the pains?
Answer: there are none. There are none because this is an ideal of a childhood: everyone and everything is good, pure, and conducive to happiness. The episode at the farm, for example, or the Jubilee night, or the games on the street: all is cotton-woolled, seen through the screen of memory and the main aim of the writer. Of course, he was from a very wealthy family, and enjoyed a childhood totally removed from the miseries of everyday Londoners. Yet that's not the point: the point is that the mother he adored, the mother he idolised, was to die shortly afterwards, a death that remains completely out of the book.
And so the gaping hole? The reality.
This book seeks to preserve an enchanted period of innocence, pleasure and abundance, of games and love and happiness. It is a buffer against what was to come, the horrors of death and war: the horrors of growing up and becoming an adult.
So this little book is a gem because of the voice, of the atmosphere, the details, and the great, pure love for life and for living in the moment that children have, and that adults forget so quickly. It is about the quiet before the storm, the innocence before the sin, the dream before reality; it is about lying about the past (Sasson's wonderful book pretends his parents were dead and he was an orphan, while none of it was true at all) to re-create it, to hold it still for a handful of pages.
It's, in short, a wonderful example of what memoires can be: a sepia photograph which has been framed very carefully to edit out the ungainly bits: not to lie, but to re-create, preserve, and cherish.
Fascinating.
Shepard could really write - wistful, nostalgic prose - and as he illustrated this text himself, the book as a whole is a treat. But not having grown up on Winnie the pooh, I'm rather indifferent to that part of the writer: what he evokes here is just one year in his life, when he was about 7. Drawing was obviously central to him then, but don't expect juicy bits on Milne etc: Shepard sticks to that one childhood year.
Except once: and that's the gaping hole.
Except when he suddenly remembers visiting, much later, the grave of his beloved brother, killed in WW1. And that is the trigger for the reader to ask: where's the pain? Where are the childhood nightmares, the tears, the pains?
Answer: there are none. There are none because this is an ideal of a childhood: everyone and everything is good, pure, and conducive to happiness. The episode at the farm, for example, or the Jubilee night, or the games on the street: all is cotton-woolled, seen through the screen of memory and the main aim of the writer. Of course, he was from a very wealthy family, and enjoyed a childhood totally removed from the miseries of everyday Londoners. Yet that's not the point: the point is that the mother he adored, the mother he idolised, was to die shortly afterwards, a death that remains completely out of the book.
And so the gaping hole? The reality.
This book seeks to preserve an enchanted period of innocence, pleasure and abundance, of games and love and happiness. It is a buffer against what was to come, the horrors of death and war: the horrors of growing up and becoming an adult.
So this little book is a gem because of the voice, of the atmosphere, the details, and the great, pure love for life and for living in the moment that children have, and that adults forget so quickly. It is about the quiet before the storm, the innocence before the sin, the dream before reality; it is about lying about the past (Sasson's wonderful book pretends his parents were dead and he was an orphan, while none of it was true at all) to re-create it, to hold it still for a handful of pages.
It's, in short, a wonderful example of what memoires can be: a sepia photograph which has been framed very carefully to edit out the ungainly bits: not to lie, but to re-create, preserve, and cherish.
Fascinating.
December 13, 2024
A lovely illustrated memoir of childhood in Victorian England, that would be easily digestible by children as it is short and illustrated. Despite living such a different lifestyle, the nostalgia for childhood still resonates. While it jumps around a little, this gentle book focuses on the little details of everyday life, painting a picture of how things used to be.
September 8, 2022
Charming! I love the details about London life in the 1880s from the perspective of a small boy. The drawings are delightful too, and I love that Shepard was able to include some of his drawings from when he was a boy too.
September 6, 2023
CW: usage of the word "gispy" [sp] and mention and illustrative depiction of blackface and crossdressing
A lovely, heartwarming memoir from the original illustrator of the Winnie the Pooh books, looking back on his life as a seven year old in 1887. I adored the Winnie the Pooh books when I was a child, and while the stories themselves were fun, the illustrations were really what brought the stories to life. It was a delight to see that Shepard was equally as good at telling his own stories as he was at drawing. As an Asian-American who has no concept of what life in England was or is, it was really interesting to learn about his life during the Victorian period. Granted his point of view was from someone from a more privileged background, but I felt like I learned so much about English customs and terminology/language. The illustrations in this were obviously beautiful. There were also a couple inclusions of his sketches from age 7, and I was blown away by how accurate and skilled he was even at that age.
Shepard, although recollecting from so long ago, was so able to capture the excitement and perspective of a child of that age. Everything was a wonder and joy in that year, and I really loved to read about his loving and deep relationships he had with his immediate family. You could feel that there was so much love and care between him and his parents, along with the camaraderie he had with his older siblings (particularly with his brother), that their household was a very happy one. No experience in this book seemed boring or flat, everything seemed to be seen with new eyes and appreciation for the moment. This book really made me think about having more care towards my own every day experiences, being grateful for the moment, as well as treating my relationships with those I love with exceptional kindness and care.
I'm so looking forward to reading his other memoir, Drawn from Life, although I'm sure the tone will be very different, as I know it follows the death of his mother, shortly after this memoir takes place. But I know with his writing and his illustrations, that I will be equally as immersed in his life story as I was in this volume.
A lovely, heartwarming memoir from the original illustrator of the Winnie the Pooh books, looking back on his life as a seven year old in 1887. I adored the Winnie the Pooh books when I was a child, and while the stories themselves were fun, the illustrations were really what brought the stories to life. It was a delight to see that Shepard was equally as good at telling his own stories as he was at drawing. As an Asian-American who has no concept of what life in England was or is, it was really interesting to learn about his life during the Victorian period. Granted his point of view was from someone from a more privileged background, but I felt like I learned so much about English customs and terminology/language. The illustrations in this were obviously beautiful. There were also a couple inclusions of his sketches from age 7, and I was blown away by how accurate and skilled he was even at that age.
Shepard, although recollecting from so long ago, was so able to capture the excitement and perspective of a child of that age. Everything was a wonder and joy in that year, and I really loved to read about his loving and deep relationships he had with his immediate family. You could feel that there was so much love and care between him and his parents, along with the camaraderie he had with his older siblings (particularly with his brother), that their household was a very happy one. No experience in this book seemed boring or flat, everything seemed to be seen with new eyes and appreciation for the moment. This book really made me think about having more care towards my own every day experiences, being grateful for the moment, as well as treating my relationships with those I love with exceptional kindness and care.
I'm so looking forward to reading his other memoir, Drawn from Life, although I'm sure the tone will be very different, as I know it follows the death of his mother, shortly after this memoir takes place. But I know with his writing and his illustrations, that I will be equally as immersed in his life story as I was in this volume.
March 17, 2025
Completely charming - will read his second volume of memoirs, Drawn From Life, as well . Lovely illustrations
January 3, 2022
I liked it because I was interested in Shepard. He IS witty and it is very interesting to learn about some of the events he witnessed and was a part of in childhood. But at the same time, he's not so much a storyteller as he is an illustrator and that shows.
Good. I'm glad I read it. But I think you are really most inclined to like it if you like him.
Good. I'm glad I read it. But I think you are really most inclined to like it if you like him.
March 4, 2025
Top drawer
I came across this little book in a second-hand shop a couple of years ago, but have only just got around to reading it. E.H. Shepard is best-known as the charming illustrator of the Winnie-the-Pooh books, and also of , and this is his account of growing up in St John's Wood in the 1880's. My personal view is that, whilst a talent in one field is hard to find, it's even rarer to come across a person who has ability in two areas, so it would be almost asking for too much to expect Shepard's undoubted artistic skills to be matched by a talent for writing.
And so it proves. The story of his life in late Victorian England has some historical interest (for example, it's remarkable how often he refers to travelling by bus without feeling the need to explicitly state that the vehicle is horse-drawn), but I felt the tale never really came to life, largely because of the undistinguished nature of his writing. The only exception comes in the final paragraph of chapter 7, where he suddenly breaks the sequence of episodes from his early life by jumping forward in time to relate a vignette from thirty years on with a surprising degree of pathos that breaks the unsuspecting reader's heart.
Originally reviewed 5 May 2013
I came across this little book in a second-hand shop a couple of years ago, but have only just got around to reading it. E.H. Shepard is best-known as the charming illustrator of the Winnie-the-Pooh books, and also of , and this is his account of growing up in St John's Wood in the 1880's. My personal view is that, whilst a talent in one field is hard to find, it's even rarer to come across a person who has ability in two areas, so it would be almost asking for too much to expect Shepard's undoubted artistic skills to be matched by a talent for writing.
And so it proves. The story of his life in late Victorian England has some historical interest (for example, it's remarkable how often he refers to travelling by bus without feeling the need to explicitly state that the vehicle is horse-drawn), but I felt the tale never really came to life, largely because of the undistinguished nature of his writing. The only exception comes in the final paragraph of chapter 7, where he suddenly breaks the sequence of episodes from his early life by jumping forward in time to relate a vignette from thirty years on with a surprising degree of pathos that breaks the unsuspecting reader's heart.
Originally reviewed 5 May 2013
July 14, 2021
Copiously illustrated with Shepard’s own delightful black and white drawings, these cheerful anecdotes from Shepard’s London childhood in Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee year of 1887 recount a golden past of horse drawn buses, crossing sweepers, elephant rides at the zoo, underground by steam train, a holiday at a Kent farm (with descriptions of hop picking and the oast house) and visits to maiden aunts.
Shepard’s parents were friends with late Victorian artists and theatrical artistes, including Frank Dicksee. Being a sucker for literary art, I know his La belle dame sans merci.
There is a poignant episode when Shepard visits Ramsgate and goes out on a boat to view a “torpedo-boat�, where a sailor “pulled a torpedo out of its tube, shining like a great fish, but I don’t think I believed him when he said it could blow up a big ship.� Shepard’s son was lost at sea to a U-boat in the Second World War.
A joyful read, finishing with an unexpected visit to a pantomime at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, with the enthralling sight of the “leading boy� (played by a well proportioned female) and her thighs clad in shimmering tights.
Shepard’s parents were friends with late Victorian artists and theatrical artistes, including Frank Dicksee. Being a sucker for literary art, I know his La belle dame sans merci.
There is a poignant episode when Shepard visits Ramsgate and goes out on a boat to view a “torpedo-boat�, where a sailor “pulled a torpedo out of its tube, shining like a great fish, but I don’t think I believed him when he said it could blow up a big ship.� Shepard’s son was lost at sea to a U-boat in the Second World War.
A joyful read, finishing with an unexpected visit to a pantomime at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, with the enthralling sight of the “leading boy� (played by a well proportioned female) and her thighs clad in shimmering tights.
July 8, 2018
The author was the artist for Winnie the Pooh. I've read many memoirs about Victorian childhoods that I've enjoyed, but I found this one lacking. The problem is that Shepard is not one for making particularly noteworthy observations. He also keeps switching from one topic to another just when the narrative starts to turn interesting.
A case in point: "Among all the girls it was Helen Clowes whom I liked best. Helen had something wrong with her spine and had to lie on a board all the time. We boys would try to get the end seat so as to be near her, to hand her books or pencils. She had dark curly hair and grey eyes and was very quiet. She would say 'Thank you' in a gentle voice for the small services she was rendered. She was only at school for a short time, and one day Miss Parkman called us together and told us that Helen had died."
And that's it for Helen Clowes. Shepard does not give us anyone's reaction to her death, even his own. Things like this make me take a low view of this memoir. (Just for the record, I've never liked Winnie the Pooh, either.)
A case in point: "Among all the girls it was Helen Clowes whom I liked best. Helen had something wrong with her spine and had to lie on a board all the time. We boys would try to get the end seat so as to be near her, to hand her books or pencils. She had dark curly hair and grey eyes and was very quiet. She would say 'Thank you' in a gentle voice for the small services she was rendered. She was only at school for a short time, and one day Miss Parkman called us together and told us that Helen had died."
And that's it for Helen Clowes. Shepard does not give us anyone's reaction to her death, even his own. Things like this make me take a low view of this memoir. (Just for the record, I've never liked Winnie the Pooh, either.)
December 30, 2018
After spring's bedtime reading of Winnie-the-Pooh, I was delighted to see that Slightly Fox's late autumn editions would be both memoirs by Ernest H. Shepard, illustrator of Milne's bearish books. I gobbled this up during my trip home to my parents' for the holidays--it is the perfect size for travel--and enjoyed looking up facts about London. He grew up at 10 Kent Terrace near Regent's Park. When he talked about walking by Windsor Castle, I was confused. A quick internet search combing Windsor Castle with Regent Park revealed that a pub of that name remains in that neighborhood. Ah ha. His voice charms as much as his pictures. As soon as I finished this, I started the next, Drawn from Life. Slightly Foxed has bound this in red with green endpapers and the other in green with red papers, a pleasing Xmas package.
September 26, 2022
This book is amazing. The memories are things most of us can relate to but what really stunned me was the way people lived. I grew up in the 60’s and 70’s and things have changed so much during my lifetime. I know there’s more crime and that families are no longer close anymore and children are no longer innocent. Reading what it was like to grow up when Ernest did though, this shocked me how there was even less crime and families were so close. People were so different without technology taking all their attention away from each other.
My favorite part was little Ernest devotion to his toy horse Septimius. Why didn’t they have those horse- bicycle combos when I was growing up?
My favorite part was little Ernest devotion to his toy horse Septimius. Why didn’t they have those horse- bicycle combos when I was growing up?
August 5, 2022
Delightful account remembering the happy days of EH Shepard’s childhood, essentially chronicling the events in his life in 1887, when he was 8 years old. It’s an evocative description of life from the perspective of a child in a fairly well-to-do family in North London. The line drawings bring the whole thing to life very well, and I particularly liked the fact that he’s included a few drawings that he made at the time, which his father had preserved. You can see his artist’s talent, even at the age of 8!
April 6, 2020
The drawings are interesting, seeing how he decides to artistically portray how he remembers his childhood, but Shepard is no writer. The whole memoir is mostly descriptions for description's sake, making mostly unnoteworthy observations, and I don't feel like I'm any closer to the boy or the people around him or the situations he describes. It lacks poetry, depth, insight, characters, development, self-reflection. That is not to say it wasn't touching at times, but overall a boring read.
May 23, 2017
From the man who drew Christopher Robin. Interesting insights into the household, and A.A. Milne.
January 15, 2019
Loved this book. Loved the drawings and the description of his childhood in Victorian England.
July 6, 2019
This was a gem of a find! I loved it & read it from cover to cover in just a day
October 28, 2019
Charming book. I'm a huge fan of Shepard's amazing illustrations, and loved the details of a Victorian childhood seen through a 7-year old's eyes.
December 26, 2020
So very charming and dear
August 7, 2021
That kid could draw
Want to read
October 21, 2021Nice
October 24, 2021
Memoir of London life from 1887-88 by the illustrator of Winnie the Pooh when he was 7. Charming.
July 28, 2022
Delightful!
November 27, 2024
Charming but slight. The illustrations are wonderful, as you would expect.
July 27, 2020
1880s, London, City of Westminster (first published 1971)
Die Zeichnungen sind herrlich pointiert und voller versteckter Emotionen - wie es sich für viktorianische Zeiten gehört :-)) und viele Kleinigkeiten und Haushaltsgegenstände im Alltag des 19. Jahrhunderts werden lebendig.
Der Text gewinnt insbesondere durch seine Amateurhaftigkeit (der Autor ist kein Schriftsteller, sondern Illustrator), Shepard versetzt sich in seine Jugend zurück (der Buchtitel ist ein perfektes Wortspiel!) und schreibt aus der Perspektive des Kindes. Man kann sich gut vorstellen, dass ein Kind des 19. Jahrhunderts so ähnlich in seinem Tagebuch oder einem Brief schreiben würde. Unter der unschuldigen Ahnungslosigkeit der Kindlichen Weltsicht sind soziale und gesellschaftliche Abgründe, persönliche Tragödien zu spüren... wie die Kohlelöcher im Bürgersteig, über die der kleine Ernest mit seinem Dreirad holpert. Es berührt und schmerzt mehr als eine drastisch plakative Beschreibung der Missstände. Das Kind ist sich seiner bevorzugten und behüteten gesellschaftlichen Position nicht bewusst. Nur einmal werden Ernest und sein Bruder zufällig Zeugen einer Schlägerei in einem wirtschaftlich weniger verwöhnten Stadtviertel, und das Erlebnis schockiert sie zutiefst. Ich finde es gut, dass Shepard sein historisches und politisches Wissen der folgenden Jahrzehnte nicht über diese Jugenderinnerungen stülpt, sondern das Kind in seiner Ahnungslosigkeit und glücklichen Geborgenheit zeigt. Die Musterknäblein in ihren Samtanzügen und Spitzenkragen wussten nichts von den Kindern, die in Ostlondon in Dreck, Hunger und Elend lebten, an Tuberkulose, Cholera und Diphterie starben.
Ich bin gespannt auf die Fortsetzung der Autobiografie, "Drawn from Life".
Die Zeichnungen sind herrlich pointiert und voller versteckter Emotionen - wie es sich für viktorianische Zeiten gehört :-)) und viele Kleinigkeiten und Haushaltsgegenstände im Alltag des 19. Jahrhunderts werden lebendig.
Der Text gewinnt insbesondere durch seine Amateurhaftigkeit (der Autor ist kein Schriftsteller, sondern Illustrator), Shepard versetzt sich in seine Jugend zurück (der Buchtitel ist ein perfektes Wortspiel!) und schreibt aus der Perspektive des Kindes. Man kann sich gut vorstellen, dass ein Kind des 19. Jahrhunderts so ähnlich in seinem Tagebuch oder einem Brief schreiben würde. Unter der unschuldigen Ahnungslosigkeit der Kindlichen Weltsicht sind soziale und gesellschaftliche Abgründe, persönliche Tragödien zu spüren... wie die Kohlelöcher im Bürgersteig, über die der kleine Ernest mit seinem Dreirad holpert. Es berührt und schmerzt mehr als eine drastisch plakative Beschreibung der Missstände. Das Kind ist sich seiner bevorzugten und behüteten gesellschaftlichen Position nicht bewusst. Nur einmal werden Ernest und sein Bruder zufällig Zeugen einer Schlägerei in einem wirtschaftlich weniger verwöhnten Stadtviertel, und das Erlebnis schockiert sie zutiefst. Ich finde es gut, dass Shepard sein historisches und politisches Wissen der folgenden Jahrzehnte nicht über diese Jugenderinnerungen stülpt, sondern das Kind in seiner Ahnungslosigkeit und glücklichen Geborgenheit zeigt. Die Musterknäblein in ihren Samtanzügen und Spitzenkragen wussten nichts von den Kindern, die in Ostlondon in Dreck, Hunger und Elend lebten, an Tuberkulose, Cholera und Diphterie starben.
Ich bin gespannt auf die Fortsetzung der Autobiografie, "Drawn from Life".
February 25, 2010
This is a very interesting book describing the Victorian childhood of E H Shepard, who illustrated Winnie the Pooh. It describes his infancy in a house near Regent's Park, London, and the author has an apparently perfect recall of his life, from a child's eye point of view. I liked how he remembered so clearly how it feels to be a little boy, but I also love the many beautiful pictures in the book. Because he is an illustrator, he is able to help us see life.
There are a few sad examples of how thoughtlessly children were treated then. His beloved toy horse, a treasured companion, is sent away forever one day for no special reason except that he is thought to be too old for it. And he is not given any help in dealing with the death of his mother.
Despite the sad moments, he was a happy boy, I think, and this memoir offered a great insight into middle class life of 100 years ago.
There are a few sad examples of how thoughtlessly children were treated then. His beloved toy horse, a treasured companion, is sent away forever one day for no special reason except that he is thought to be too old for it. And he is not given any help in dealing with the death of his mother.
Despite the sad moments, he was a happy boy, I think, and this memoir offered a great insight into middle class life of 100 years ago.
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