Years ago, I read in a clipping from a magazine that Julie Andrews’ favorite book in childhood was B.B.’s “The Little Grey Men.” At the time, the volume was not easily attainable and certainly not available at the library, so I merely filed the information away. Whenever anyone says a book is a favorite, there may be something worth paying attention to.
B.B. was the pen name of D. J. Watkins-Pitchford of Northamptonshire, England. An artist, writer, and outdoorsman, he wrote in the mid-twentieth century, publishing upwards of 50 books for adults and children. His regular column in “The Shooting Times” gave him his pseudonym, apparently from the size of the lead shot he used to hunt geese.
Whether due in part to Andrews’ enthusiasm or the enduring charm of his works, the New York Review of Books issued a republication of “The Little Grey Men” and the sequel, “Down the Bright Stream.” Suddenly, paperback copies of these British wonders are readily available on resale sites like Thrift Books. And they are spectacular!
The stories follow the adventures of bachelor gnomes brothers, the last gnomes in Britain. Dodder is curmudgeonly and set in his ways, Cloudberry is flighty and unpredictable, Baldmoney is adventurous and always coming up with new inventions, Sneezewort keeps the kitchen running and joins in the adventures. To this eccentric cast of characters is added an array of birds, squirrels, badgers, and wood folks of all kinds. Humans make an appearance from a distance, occasionally losing perfectly proportioned toy boats for the gnomes’ use.
The naturalism in the book is reminiscent of the writing of Thornton Burgess. Despite how fanciful the stories are there is a verisimilitude and knowledge of the outdoors. The gnomes have a charmed life, a bit like Hobbits, but theirs is a crude and often dangerous world. They must craft things from what is around them and live off the meager offerings of the land and stream.
You can sense in Julie Andrews’ original poetry a desire to emulate Watkins-Pitchford’s reverence for nature. Birds play a big part in the writing of both. The fairly dense text is very British but still accessible to children when read aloud.
The text is accompanied by Watkins-Pitchford’s original drawings of the cast of characters. Even more charmingly, there is occasional music to demonstrate the work songs and celebratory ditties of the gnome brothers and their forest friends.
There is a bleak realism about the challenges of living in nature, a satisfying sense of difficulty in a story that could have easily been turned saccharine. The moments of joy are simple and rather uncivilized. The relationships between the gnomes are hampered by miscommunication and silent emotion deeply felt. Devoid of female presence, it’s a classic bachelor tale, which offers a special kind of delight but also hints at a world in decline. There are no little gnomes, and the Little Grey Men are ever on the verge of being pushed out of their home and adventuring to find a place to live.
Whatever you do, don’t stop at “The Little Grey Men.” A reading of “Down the Bright Stream” is a requirement for full enjoyment of Watkins-Pitchford’s universe. To neglect the latter would be to miss out on one of the most memorable pipe-smoking accidents in children’s literature.
Bravo to New York Review of Books for a well-advised effort to bring back into circulation a unique and charming story.
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