Blanche Ridge reflects on Saplings by Noel Streatfeild.

I have thoroughly enjoyed all the Persephone novels and have learned now that when I pick one up and open it I will love reading it and be made to think as well. But I have enjoyed none as much as I enjoyed my first reading of Saplings.

It is the story of an ordinary English middle-class family at the outbreak of the Second World War. Its characters are lucky, happy and secure at the beginning; we watch them through the many vicissitudes they endure and see what happens to them by the end. It is gripping because in a simple and anecdotal way Streatfeild brings her characters to life and helps us see a little of their inner journeys. She does not waste words – at times her style is almost breathless – but by the time we reach the end and she stands suddenly back, it is as if we are left beholding the whole picture, having watched each deft brushstroke in detail. We stand back too, and are aghast.

But what makes Saplings so special? Anyone who grew up with Streatfeild’s children’s books will aind the same powerful spell thrown over them – succinctly vernacular and lively dialogue with brief, vivid, almost cinematic references to each speaker. As an adult reader, I can appreciate the brevity with which she handles her material, saying the minimum and allowing her readers to fill in the gaps. There is a delightful sense that we are in this together, that the author is our companion.

Brevity of style makes the book light in hand, even though the subject matter is not. At a particularly unhappy and lonely time, Laurel, the eldest daughter, suddenly has an inspiration about how to make life better: ‘Then suddenly her breath was caught, as if in winter she had seen dog roses.’ The syntax of the sentence is awkward, with the object at the very end, but it works well like that. This is typical Streatfeild.

Above all it is refreshing to read a book which is about human psychology but contains no jargon whatsoever. Tony, the eldest son of the family, is subject at one stage in the story to what we would now call panic attacks: these are not laboured, but are delineated with graceful vividness, and indicate his suffering with immense potency. We are never preached at about him, or the other children. They interact with grown-ups who wield authority which is often well-meaning, but ignorant of what is really going on in their lives. This ignorance is not wilful, or even stupid, though it sometimes is; but the children are profoundly affected by it, and communication between child and adult worlds fails or proves impossible.

And this, in the end, is what makes this book so hard to put down, and so completely unforgettable, for I cannot remember reading anything which has come so painfully close to making me remember exactly how the helplessness of childhood felt. Although her book is about the effect of war on one particular family, Streatfeild is also effectively telling us this: that in every happy family there will be times when a child feels out of control and frightened, unable to express his or her true self or to negotiate the next hurdle because of misunderstandings with grown-ups. This is what life is like and no amount of sheltering can completely prevent it. Given Streatfeild’s cracking pace, her gentle clear-eyed wisdom, and the dark story line, the overall impact is extremely powerful. And for a parent, there is the added and painful reminder that whatever you do, this is what your own children must face too.

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