Over the years, a number of odd little books have surfaced which apparently come from the very early days in Enid Blyton's career. These books all seem to have certain things in common: they are all of inferior quality, no publisher details appear anywhere, and they do not appear in any bibliographies, for the simple reason that they were never registered in the usual way. Research has shown that these books were in fact published, (or to be pedantic in terminology - printed) by a firm called Birn Brothers.

But who were these people and why does there seem to be no record of the books they produced? In my possession, I have a copy of The Writers' and Artists' Year-Book 1928. This publication, ever since it first appeared in 1908, and right up until the present day, has been the "Bible" for both the professional and the aspiring writer, listing as it does, the details of various publishers etc. and the type of work they are interested in. There is a section in the book which lists all British publishers, and interestingly, Birn Brothers does not appear in this list. However, there is a small section entitled Firms Which are Prepared to Consider Drawings, Designs and Verses for Cards etc., and here Birn Brothers is listed. The entry reads: 

Birn Brothers, Ltd., 67-70 Bunhill Row, E.C.1. Christmas cards and postcards. Anything useful for fine art publications. Work must be good and ideas novel. Verses for greeting cards purchased.

There is an article in the same book drawing writers' attention to the lucrativeness of writing greetings card verses, and it is well-known that well before Enid was successful in having her serious poetry and prose published, she wrote card verses and made money from it. This shows that she was most probably in contact with Birn Brothers before she was writing serious poems and prose professionally. Indeed, they did end up as publishers more or less at the lower end of the market, and survived through to the 1960s. 

But there is a strange anomaly about the Birn Brothers stories. I have in my possession four books from the early days: two are credited to Enid Blyton, one to someone else, and one is uncredited. The latter two may or may not be her work, but it has to be said that the style and content bear a distinct resemblance to Enid's work. The anomaly is this: the stories credited to Enid Blyton are without doubt her work, (indeed, what would be the point of using her name if it were someone else's work, since at that time she had no reputation to speak of), but the quality of them is really poor. Yet if, as is widely believed, the work comes from the early to middle 1920s, it coincides with the publication of The Enid Blyton Book of Fairies and The Enid Blyton Book of Brownies. Both these books comprise excellent well-crafted stories with immaculate punctuation and spelling, as one would expect, and a credit to the story-teller's art. 

On first examining one of the books - Sports and Games - my initial reaction was that the stories were written long before any of Enid's other published stories, and after I had sought information from those experts who might be able to help, and was disappointed that none was forthcoming, I made my theory public. Afterwards, it was pointed out to me that the story titles were mentioned in Enid's diary for 1923 where she noted receiving payment. However, that is not definitive proof that they were written at that time, just evidence that fees were paid to her at that time. 

Extract from The Book of Fairies:

Soon they began to dance. Jack noticed that they all kept away from one side of the hall, as if they were afraid of something there. He tried to see what it was, but could only catch a glimpse of what looked like a glittering box, standing on a beautifully carved throne. He determined to find out what it was when the fairy-folk had finished dancing. It looked mysterious.

            He loved watching the fairies: they were so dainty with their wings outspread and their gossamer frocks, and he was quite sorry when the dancing stopped. One by one the fairies slipped away down the passage and out upon the hillside to their homes, and Jack was left all alone. The hall was dark now, except for one great lamp swinging over the throne on which stood the mysterious box.

            Jack crept across to the throne and looked at the box. It was large, and shone in the lamplight like gold. Set around the surface of the lid were rubies and diamonds. The box was locked, but in the lock was a key. Engraven in small letters on the key were these words: 

"BEWARE - TURN NOT THIS KEY."

 wonder what we'll have for Christmas!" said Betty, as she went to bed on Christmas Eve.

            "Mummy says she's giving us something to play a new sort of game with," said John. "But I can't think what it is. We've got everything."

            "Yes! Ships, bats, hoops, balls. There's nothing left to have," said John.

            But on Christmas morning, what do you think they found? Why, at the end of John and Peter's bed was a bright blue toboggan, and at the end of Joan and Betty's a red one.

            "A toboggan! A toboggan! How lovely!" cried the children. And there's snow on the ground, so we'll be able to use them to day."

            They loved their other presents, but they thought the toboggans were by far the nicest.

            "You are clever to think of such a lovely present, Mummy and Daddy!" said Betty. "Can we go out and play with them this morning?"

            "Yes, and Daddy will come with you," said Mummy. "He's got a fine new toboggan too."

            They all got dressed in warm coats and woolly hats and gloves, then they took their toboggans out into the snow.

            Daddy took them up the hill, and then he got on his toboggan, pushed off, and away he whizzed over the snow, quick as lightning to the bottom of the hill.

            "Oh, how lovely!" shouted John. "Come on, Peter, we'll go next!" Off they went, but half way down the hill, they struck a stone, and over they rolled into the snow, shrieking and laughing.

            "Now Betty!" called Joan, getting on the red toboggan. Down they slid, faster, and faster, and faster, right down to the bottom of the hill.

            "Well done!" said Daddy. "Now let's go up again."

            John and Peter went down beautifully the next time, and it was Daddy who tumbled off in the middle. How the children laughed to see him rolling in the soft snow.

            He pretended to be angry, and chased them over the hill, and down into the pond. It was covered with ice, and soon they were all sliding about on it, having a glorious time.

Bump! Bump! Down went Peter, with John on top of him. Bump! went Daddy.

"Oh what fun!" cried Betty. "I do think snow and ice are lovely. Let's make a slide."

So they made a proper slide, and had a glorious time, till they thought they'd like to go and toboggan again

Swish! swish! Down the hill they went, shouting and laughing! Then up again, and swish! There goes Daddy! Whizz! There go the boys! Rumble-tumble! The girls roll into the snow.

 "I say, dears, its time to go!" called Daddy, suddenly. "We'll be late for our lovely Christmas dinner! Come on, and bring your toboggans."

  When they were having their dinner, and eating a big Christmas pudding, they told Mummy about the morning's adventures.

   "You like your toboggans, then?" said Mummy.

   "Oh yes, I should just think so!" answered Peter. "I really think were the luckiest children. We play all the games there are."

   "Yes, we've had a lovely year of games!" said Daddy. "We'll be better still at them next year. Hurrah! For all our jolly, jolly games!"

   And you should just have heard those children cheer.