A Truer Reality:
the work of Christobel Mattingley

(This is an edited version of an article originally published in the May 1988 issue of Orana: Journal of School and Children’s Librarianship.)

Christobel Mattingley has been a pathfinder in at least two areas of Australian children's literature: first, in the writing of books especially appropriate for seven- to nine-year-olds in the sometimes difficult transition period between picture books for young children and novels; second, in the use of such books to tell stories presenting a clear moral viewpoint on such matters of social concern as the protection of the environment and the effects of war.

Windmill at Magpie Creek, Christobel' s second book offers clear grounds for the first assertion. It is the story of Tim. a boy beset by two fears which are alluded to in the title and are inescapable from the fact of living on the small farm his parents own: first, there are the magpies who seem always to choose him to attack; and second, there is the windmill. which Tim has climbed once and thereafter dreads. The book describes how. following an accident to his father, Tim has to confront and eventually to overcome his fears by climbing the windmill with his own anti-magpie device because, if the mill does not get proper maintenance, his incapacitated father will have to replace it with a more manageable, diesel-operated one.

Tim's triumph in reaching the top is succinctly drawn out on the last page when he tells his friend Barney: 'It's a stiff climb and it's a bit scary the first time you do it. But it's worth it to get to the top.' It’s a heart-warming conclusion to a deceptively simple book which is perfectly suited to its seven- to nine-year-old readership. They are years when fears similar to Tim's loom large and the book achieves its effect by showing, very accessibly, how they may be overcome. However, the reader is not encouraged to believe that it is an achievement which can occur without sustained effort and heart searching.

The whole theme is so plainly an effective one that Christobel returned to it in The Big Swim, The Jetty and Brave with Ben. Without question, the theme is what gives those, of all her books, the power to evoke the greatest response among young readers. The Big Swim in particular strikes a very deep chord.

The assertion that Christobel Mattingley has contributed greatly to the provision of top-quality reading for young people is further validated by Rummage, the Children's Book Council of Australia's inaugural Junior Book of the Year in 1982. Undoubtedly enhanced by Patricia Mullins' illustrations, it is a story of individuality triumphant. Mr Septimus Portwine's street market stall is too untidy for the tastes of some of his fellow stallholders, who try to improve his appearance and upgrade his clientele. He becomes ill and pines for his former self, which he finally reasserts with good-humoured defiance. Every reader can recognise and respond to those aspects of Mr Portwine's character and behaviour which they share, and they immediately reject the snobbism and intolerance of his critics.

The second of my assertions about Christobel Mattingley's work is that she led the way in the creation of stories for young readers which have serious (though not solemn) social messages. The Battle of the Galah Trees demonstrates the author’s commitment to environmental conservation. Somewhat longer than most of her books, but still intended for and readable by younger readers, it tells how a boy called Matt determines to prevent the destruction of two big gum trees in a neighbourhood park, initially because they are home to a galah which he has nursed back to health after a fail from its nest. It's no easy task, however, for, as Matt discovers, the protection of the environment means little to some people in responsible positions. For example, there is Mr. Cain, a nouveau-riche local councillor and father of a boy in Matt's class at school — 'Mr. Cain and his car were like an ant and a beetle under the huge trees but Mr. Cain had power. Matt was disquieted.’ With the help of his friends — especially Janey, a hitherto meek and retiring girl new to the school — Matt leads a fight which culminates in the saving of one of the trees at least.

The destruction of the other tree gives the writer the opportunity for an impassioned and exceptionally moving account of its dismemberment and uprooting, which is a model of committed writing. The book is noteworthy too for its characterisation of Matt: it portrays a caring, sensitive boy unafraid to step out of the more traditionally masculine mould of most of his schoolmates. Yet the book came out in 1974, before publications such as the first Sugar and Snails non-sexist book guide began drawing attention to the need to break down traditional stereotypes in children's books.

The characterisation of Janey is also of interest, both with regard to the fact that it is she who becomes the decisive participant in the battle to save the galah trees, and also that in so becoming, she ceases to be the class misfit and achieves acceptance by her fellow pupils. (The plight of the misfit is a recurrent sub-theme in Christobel Mattingley's work, featuring for example in Rummage, The Great Ballagundi Damper Bake and New Patches for Old, among others.)

If additional evidence is sought of Christobel's contribution to environmental awareness in young readers, there is no need to took further than Lizard Log, in which a boy on a camping holiday finds himself saving lizards from an unsavoury pair of illicit dealers who trap and sell their ill-gotten reptilian prey. Understated in Christobel's typical style, the book offers another portrayal of a caring, sensitive boy who shares an affinity with the bush creatures (especially the lizards) he loves to observe and to feed. The story is told within an unobtrusive structure which allows the attentive reader to notice that despite contrary appearances the boy's mother has observed his removal of various items of food for his beloved lizards.

In discussing Christobel Mattingley's contribution to the creation of stories for young readers which reflect social concerns, attention must be given to The Angel with a Mouth-organ and The Miracle Tree. Both are heart-rending, but ultimately optimistic, accounts of war-ravaged families. Both are presented in richly illustrated formats and seek a readership among younger readers. These books are very different from Christobel's other children's books in that they are also read by adults for their own pleasure. It may even be that the depth of emotion and concern these books contain can only be fully discerned and felt by adults, with their fuller experience and insight. Certainly they have the power to leave adults in tears on first and subsequent readings. It is probably no coincidence that both books are based on collections of real incidents, told to or observed by the writer, which involved adults rather than the children whose experiences underpin her earlier books.

The Angel with a Mouth-organ begins and ends with scenes of a present-day family in which two children resolve their argument about which of them should complete the decoration of their Christmas tree by the family tradition of placing a glass angel at its top. In between, we hear from the children's mother the story of how the angel came to belong to the family. It is a sombre and narrowing story. given alleviating counterpoint by the richly-coloured illustrations of Astra Lacis (whose father’s wartime experiences were among those incorporated in the story), and by the contrast with the present-day Christmas scene.

The storyteller describes how, as refugees towards the end of World War II, she and her sister and mother become separated from her father and undergo a series of horrifying experiences. having to confront death, hunger and destitution before being reunited with him. The story is told in simple, spare prose using repetition to great effect in conveying the wearying trudge towards safety and peace, It also has a tight structure which allows incidents like the death and burial of an accompanying refugee's baby to find telling resonances in the furtive concealment of the shattered remains of a representation of Jesus. In an especially shocking scene this is taken from its crib by the narrator's sister, unable to contain her rage at the crib's appearance of peace and tranquillity amidst her own experience of the turmoil of war.

It is, however, the sequence where her father returns which brings readers to tears. In the space of five lines the word 'hugged' is repeated six times, to spine-tingling effect. Then the father brings out the glass angel which he found in a ruined church and which has sustained him during the separation from his family. It is a richly crafted story.

The Miracle Tree, on the face of it, is a less subtle story, based not so much on a gifted retelling of actual experiences as on a wishfully imaginative (but finely wrought) reassembly of unconnected incidents, albeit still actual. Again, it is a story of a family separated by war, but this time there are no young children. Instead, there are a husband and wife and her mother (who was alienated from them by their hasty and unannounced marriage before the war). Taro, the husband, and Hanako, the wife, are parted by the war and after its end Taro discovers that Hanako was in Nagasaki when the atom bomb was dropped. He goes there in search of her but eventually presumes her dead and concentrates on his new gardening, caring in particular for the pine tree of the title, which he has planted himself.

Unbeknown to him, his work on the tree, and the tree’s growth, are observed by his wife's mother, who had also come to Nagasaki in search of her daughter. Never having met, neither knows the identity of the other. The daughter meanwhile, alive but disfigured by the bomb, lives in seclusion in sight of the tree and fills her time writing poetry. Years pass and the tree grows until one Christmas when, all unknown to one another, Taro comes to tend the tree; his wife struggles against worsening illness to write one more poem, about the tree; and his mother-in-law watches his work on the tree. Hanako finishes her poem, folds it and launches it from her window. It lands on 'Taro’s tree and, accompanied by his still unrecognised mother-in-law, he goes to look for its author. Despite her disfigurement, Hanako is recognised by Taro and the family of course is reunited. thanks to their shared interest in the tree, just in time to celebrate the miracle of their first (and, it is implied, probably their last) Christmas together.

Though seen by some as contrived. the story has, rather, the inexorable quality of a folk tale, in which the reader almost wills it to as happy an end as the circumstances allow. It certainly makes the horrific subject of nuclear war and its effects accessible to young readers, while not compromising poignancy or emotional power. And the Christmas message of peace has probably never been more forcefully conveyed in a book for younger readers.

This has merely scratched the surface of Christobel Mattingley's work. I have not discussed the breadth of range in her writing — in addition to her books for younger readers there are the picture books (like Lexl and the Lion Party and Black Dog) and the longer novels (like The Jetty and the inexplicably little known Southerly Buster, a moving book for young teens). In addition to the stories of social concern, there is the comedy of The Ghost Sitter and McGruer and the Goat; the fantasy of The Magic Saddle; and the good-natured everyday incident of The Surprise Mouse.

Christobel herself realises that some critics consider her style and themes a little old-fashioned — not sensational enough for today's television-stimulated readers. To some extent that may be true, but it surely does not diminish the quality of her writing and many young readers will be surprised to discover that they are not supposed to respond to her books. Certainly Christobel Mattingley does not write about (and by so doing celebrate and encourage) 'spoilt brats'. She writes with a moral purpose, though not in a preachy or didactic way. She wants her readers to aspire to, and recognise the need to strive for, better things, She knows that that involves struggle and requires fortitude, but she writes stories which show that the effort and persistence bring worthwhile and satisfying rewards, as we saw Tim tell us at the end of Windmill at Magpie Creek.

Christobel consistently invents characters who embody models of behaviour which affirm and encourage moral conduct, characters who do what we all know to be the right thing and what we want for each other: characters who persist even when the going gets tough.

Sometimes criticised for not being realistic enough in her fictions, Christobel Mattingley in fact exalts a truer reality: that it is effort, fortitude and perseverance which win out in the face of adversity, rather than the adoption of the easy way out.