Shirley Hughes: A Tribute

 by Emma Kirby

Last week, Shirley Hughes, beloved writer and illustrator of children’s stories, passed away. The tributes from writers, journalists and the millions of readers that experienced the joy of Hughes’ stories came pouring in. What is striking is just how adored she was by people of all ages, being heralded as an ‘intergenerational author’. This certainly rings true for me. Shirley Hughes’s books were a staple of my childhood and, although she is one of several brilliant authors that captured me at a young age, few have endured in the same way. ‘Dogger’, ‘Alfie’, ‘Sally’s Secret’ and the ‘Tom and Lucy’ stories were among the first I selected for my own children to read.  I watched my mum read them to her grandchildren, feeling that uncanny nostalgic twinge you do when something familiar resurfaces in a new context. I watched my own children gripped by the small tragedies (losing a favourite toy) and massive inconveniences (unknowingly wearing your wellies on the wrong feet) that Hughes’ children experience and capture, quite perfectly, the troubles and wonders of childhood.

Hughes’ gentle, precise rendering of the childhood experience is moving in its seeming simplicity. These were not action-packed books as such but stories that spotlighted and celebrated the simple moments of childhood that, while seemingly innocuous, cut straight to the childhood psyche: the drama of a scooter race when a friend helps you when you fall; the first experience of ice cream on a beach; the first time your parents leave you at a party. And of course, her illustrations propelled these small and moving dramas into an immersive world that the reader never wants to leave.

My first experience of Hughes’ drawings was reading Dorothy Edwards’ ‘My Naughty Little Sister’, and Hughes’ illustrations of this little sister, head tilted, hands behind back, eyes glancing sideways under large eyelashes captured the precocious, mischievous character quite perfectly. Soon I was captivated by the vast, stunning world of Hughes’ coloured illustrations. When I think of a perfect beach afternoon, it’s Hughes’ mellow and rich canvas of the sea and sand in ‘Lucy and Tom at the Seaside’ that I think of. Similarly, a shadowy October day with a fiery sun set or the pinks and sky blues of spring are all vividly immortalised in Hughes’ ‘Seasons’. She had a talent for capturing something quintessential about the scenes she depicted and consequently they sold in multiple countries.

However, there is undoubtedly something essentially British about Hughes’ stories and this is particularly evident in the urban landscape she evoked. In plenty of other British children’s stories in the mid-late twentieth century, the pastoral is the setting for the glorious rompings of childhood (consider the Hundred-Acre-Wood or The Enchanted Wood). But Hughes took that excitement and wonder, innate in the child’s developing experiences of the world, and transposed it to the shabby, sublime urban world of London’s sprawling townhouses. So too, Hughes’ city is not an imaginary London but one that documents the shifting cultural landscape from the 60s right through today. The city that Alfie and the rest inhabit is diverse and eclectic.

Hughes did not sanitise childhood, nor patronise the subjects of her stories. Instead, she created honest, compelling and beautiful stories about a time eventually swallowed by adulthood. Fortunately, for those of us lucky enough to have read her work and rediscover it via our own children, her world will persist, and generations of other children will be lucky enough to experience the magic of Shirley Hughes.