retend, they’re invisible!”. This could show confusion about the concept of “pretend” but was more likely to be conscious pretence in itself.

Interestingly the younger sibling, needed no permanent companion – he had Rebecca for the first two years until she started school. His pretend friends were fleeting, usually small and cuddly – chicks or squirrels – and needing his protection. He would carry them around in his hands and ask you to admire or pat them. (Rebecca never carried Brownie physically – he was composed completely of words, it seems, and like her he was fiercely independent, and the repository of all sorts of valuable information. He certainly didn’t need protection).

We did not tell them that Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy were real. We saw it as a mark of respect to them that we told them the truth, in terms that they could understand. However this did not affect their pleasure in make-believe or in their own imaginary games. Rebecca’s always began with “Lets pretend that…”

In fact I’m sure that all children understand this difference. Even toddlers, using a block as a cup for instance,

“Do you believe in fairies? Clap if you do” instructs Tinker Bell in the pantomime of Peter Pan, and there is always a round of enthusiastic applause. But do the children actually believe in fairies, or just go along for the fun of it?

Fairies did not feature largely in the books or pretend games of my children. However they were sometimes mentioned in the context of fairy penguins. When we were discussing a forthcoming zoo visit, Rebecca at four joked, “Well if they’re called fairies, they can’t be real!”. When she was seven she explained to her little brother (three) that fairies were “really pretend”. He agreed: “Yes! They’re not in this part of Australia!” She corrected him: “They’re not anywhere ‘cause they’re pretend”.

She was a most pragmatic child. She seemed unmoved by the film of the Wizard of Oz, during which her two year old friend had cowered against me almost throughout, and the her one year old brother dived for the security of the breast when the Wicked Witch of the West appeared. On the way home she remarked of the Wicked Witch - “They must have put something on her nose to make it longer”. She had missed out on the fear of the two younger ones, but not on the experience itself. She understood that it was fantasy, that it was people dressed up, without any coaching from us. But she enjoyed it all the more for that.

I recorded my two children’s responses to books, acting as a parent-observer from the birth of my first child to the younger leaving home at 19. The reading journal comprises 27 volumes – for the first 13 years, almost 6000 handwritten pages. I used it to write my PhD “Is This a Real Story?”: young children’s understanding of the reality-status of books and pictures and now this has became a book - Stories, Pictures and Reality: two children tell (Routledge 2007).

Anthropomorphism is an interesting case of childhood fantasy. Because they lived with animals – pet cats, and several dogs they knew well – the children were never in any doubt about the status of the animals in their stories. They probably saw talking animals as an extension of our adult behaviour towards the pets – we speak to them as if they can understand, and treat any reply as a communication also. They knew our cat didn’t speak or wear clothes, but this didn’t spoil the pleasure in Peter Rabbit or the numerous other humanised creatures in the pages of their books. However Rebecca was three before she articulated this.

Her little brother had just received Miffy at the Zoo (Dick Bruna). The little rabbit Miffy visits the zoo with her parents, and the zoo animals ask her to come and play with them. It was probably this contrast between animals in the zoo (which you do not expect to be humanised) and Miffy, who is clearly a little girl in all but appearance, or maybe the story was just too simple for her at three and a half, but something led her to think about the parameters, because suddenly she exclaimed “Animals can’t talk!” of the giraffe and the monkey. And from there on she said it at every reading – always accompanied by gales of laughter. Having articulated it to this one simple book, she didn’t bother to express it to any others.

Of course Ralph would have heard this, and he had the same experience with pets. As early as two and a half he often noticed anomalies in his beloved Richard Scarry’s Best Word Book Ever including “Pussy cats don’t have kites!”, “Dog’s can’t drive!” and “But animals don’t do that”. However it was an audio tape rather than a book which brought his first statement on animals talking. While listening to “A Frog he would a-wooing go” at three he remarked “It must be pretend ‘acause it’s really people. They can’t talk can they? Animals can’t talk.”

The children understood that stories were imaginary. However the best example of their understanding of the real, is their own imaginary friends. Brownie the mouse was Rebecca’s companion for about three years from two years ten months. She called him a “pretend mouse”, and often blamed incidents and accidents on him However when I once tried to use this excuse: “I wonder how x happened? Perhaps Brownie did it?” she told me firmly “Brownie is pretend”. She was just three at the time. Next day when she spilt a glass of milk, she accused Brownie as she often had previously. I objected “But Brownie is pretend!” However he was her mouse, and she was in control: “He’s getting realler and realler!”

At five, she made a fine distinction about all her imaginary companions. “They’re not pretend, they’re invisible!”. This could show confusion about the concept of “pretend” but was more likely to be conscious pretence in itself.

Interestingly the younger sibling, needed no permanent companion – he had Rebecca for the first two years until she started school. His pretend friends were fleeting, usually small and cuddly – chicks or squirrels – and needing his protection. He would carry them around in his hands and ask you to admire or pat them. (Rebecca never carried Brownie physically – he was composed completely of words, it seems, and like her he was fiercely independent, and the repository of all sorts of valuable information. He certainly didn’t need protection).

We did not tell them that Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy were real. We saw it as a mark of respect to them that we told them the truth, in terms that they could understand. However this did not affect their pleasure in make-believe or in their own imaginary games. Rebecca’s always began with “Lets pretend that…”

In fact I’m sure that all children understand this difference. Even toddlers, using a block as a cup for instance,

. She had missed out on the fear of the two younger ones, but not on the experience itself. She understood that it was fantasy, that it was people dressed up, without any coaching from us. But she enjoyed it all the more for that.

I recorded my two children’s responses to books, acting as a parent-observer from the birth of my first child to the younger leaving home at 19. The reading journal comprises 27 volumes – for the first 13 years, almost 6000 handwritten pages. I used it to write my PhD “Is This a Real Story?”: young children’s understanding of the reality-status of books and pictures and now this has became a book - Stories, Pictures and Reality: two children tell (Routledge 2007).

Anthropomorphism is an interesting case of childhood fantasy. Because they lived with animals – pet cats, and several dogs they knew well – the children were never in any doubt about the status of the animals in their stories. They probably saw talking animals as an extension of our adult behaviour towards the pets – we speak to them as if they can understand, and treat any reply as a communication also. They knew our cat didn’t speak or wear clothes, but this didn’t spoil the pleasure in Peter Rabbit or the numerous other humanised creatures in the pages of their books. However Rebecca was three before she articulated this.

Her little brother had just received Miffy at the Zoo (Dick Bruna). The little rabbit Miffy visits the zoo with her parents, and the zoo animals ask her to come and play with them. It was probably this contrast between animals in the zoo (which you do not expect to be humanised) and Miffy, who is clearly a little girl in all but appearance, or maybe the story was just too simple for her at three and a half, but something led her to think about the parameters, because suddenly she exclaimed “Animals can’t talk!” of the giraffe and the monkey. And from there on she said it at every reading – always accompanied by gales of laughter. Having articulated it to this one simple book, she didn’t bother to express it to any others.

Of course Ralph would have heard this, and he had the same experience with pets. As early as two and a half he often noticed anomalies in his beloved Richard Scarry’s Best Word Book Ever including “Pussy cats don’t have kites!”, “Dog’s can’t drive!” and “But animals don’t do that”. However it was an audio tape rather than a book which brought his first statement on animals talking. While listening to “A Frog he would a-wooing go” at three he remarked “It must be pretend ‘acause it’s really people. They can’t talk can they? Animals can’t talk.”

The children understood that stories were imaginary. However the best example of their understanding of the real, is their own imaginary friends. Brownie the mouse was Rebecca’s companion for about three years from two years ten months. She called him a “pretend mouse”, and often blamed incidents and accidents on him However when I once tried to use this excuse: “I wonder how x happened? Perhaps Brownie did it?” she told me firmly “Brownie is pretend”. She was just three at the time. Next day when she spilt a glass of milk, she accused Brownie as she often had previously. I objected “But Brownie is pretend!” However he was her mouse, and she was in control: “He’s getting realler and realler!”

At five, she made a fine distinction about all her imaginary companions. “They’re not pretend, they’re invisible!”. This could show confusion about the concept of “pretend” but was more likely to be conscious pretence in itself.

Interestingly the younger sibling, needed no permanent companion – he had Rebecca for the first two years until she started school. His pretend friends were fleeting, usually small and cuddly – chicks or squirrels – and needing his protection. He would carry them around in his hands and ask you to admire or pat them. (Rebecca never carried Brownie physically – he was composed completely of words, it seems, and like her he was fiercely independent, and the repository of all sorts of valuable information. He certainly didn’t need protection).

We did not tell them that Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy were real. We saw it as a mark of respect to them that we told them the truth, in terms that they could understand. However this did not affect their pleasure in make-believe or in their own imaginary games. Rebecca’s always began with “Lets pretend that…”

In fact I’m sure that all children understand this difference. Even toddlers, using a block as a cup for instance,

t speak or wear clothes, but this didn’t spoil the pleasure in Peter Rabbit or the numerous other humanised creatures in the pages of their books. However Rebecca was three before she articulated this.

Her little brother had just received Miffy at the Zoo (Dick Bruna). The little rabbit Miffy visits the zoo with her parents, and the zoo animals ask her to come and play with them. It was probably this contrast between animals in the zoo (which you do not expect to be humanised) and Miffy, who is clearly a little girl in all but appearance, or maybe the story was just too simple for her at three and a half, but something led her to think about the parameters, because suddenly she exclaimed “Animals can’t talk!” of the giraffe and the monkey. And from there on she said it at every reading – always accompanied by gales of laughter. Having articulated it to this one simple book, she didn’t bother to express it to any others.

Of course Ralph would have heard this, and he had the same experience with pets. As early as two and a half he often noticed anomalies in his beloved Richard Scarry’s Best Word Book Ever including “Pussy cats don’t have kites!”, “Dog’s can’t drive!” and “But animals don’t do that”. However it was an audio tape rather than a book which brought his first statement on animals talking. While listening to “A Frog he would a-wooing go” at three he remarked “It must be pretend ‘acause it’s really people. They can’t talk can they? Animals can’t talk.”

The children understood that stories were imaginary. However the best example of their understanding of the real, is their own imaginary friends. Brownie the mouse was Rebecca’s companion for about three years from two years ten months. She called him a “pretend mouse”, and often blamed incidents and accidents on him However when I once tried to use this excuse: “I wonder how x happened? Perhaps Brownie did it?” she told me firmly “Brownie is pretend”. She was just three at the time. Next day when she spilt a glass of milk, she accused Brownie as she often had previously. I objected “But Brownie is pretend!” However he was her mouse, and she was in control: “He’s getting realler and realler!”

At five, she made a fine distinction about all her imaginary companions. “They’re not pretend, they’re invisible!”. This could show confusion about the concept of “pretend” but was more likely to be conscious pretence in itself.

Interestingly the younger sibling, needed no permanent companion – he had Rebecca for the first two years until she started school. His pretend friends were fleeting, usually small and cuddly – chicks or squirrels – and needing his protection. He would carry them around in his hands and ask you to admire or pat them. (Rebecca never carried Brownie physically – he was composed completely of words, it seems, and like her he was fiercely independent, and the repository of all sorts of valuable information. He certainly didn’t need protection).

We did not tell them that Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy were real. We saw it as a mark of respect to them that we told them the truth, in terms that they could understand. However this did not affect their pleasure in make-believe or in their own imaginary games. Rebecca’s always began with “Lets pretend that…”

In fact I’m sure that all children understand this difference. Even toddlers, using a block as a cup for instance,

g “Pussy cats don’t have kites!”, “Dog’s can’t drive!” and “But animals don’t do that”. However it was an audio tape rather than a book which brought his first statement on animals talking. While listening to “A Frog he would a-wooing go” at three he remarked “It must be pretend ‘acause it’s really people. They can’t talk can they? Animals can’t talk.”

The children understood that stories were imaginary. However the best example of their understanding of the real, is their own imaginary friends. Brownie the mouse was Rebecca’s companion for about three years from two years ten months. She called him a “pretend mouse”, and often blamed incidents and accidents on him However when I once tried to use this excuse: “I wonder how x happened? Perhaps Brownie did it?” she told me firmly “Brownie is pretend”. She was just three at the time. Next day when she spilt a glass of milk, she accused Brownie as she often had previously. I objected “But Brownie is pretend!” However he was her mouse, and she was in control: “He’s getting realler and realler!”

At five, she made a fine distinction about all her imaginary companions. “They’re not pretend, they’re invisible!”. This could show confusion about the concept of “pretend” but was more likely to be conscious pretence in itself.

Interestingly the younger sibling, needed no permanent companion – he had Rebecca for the first two years until she started school. His pretend friends were fleeting, usually small and cuddly – chicks or squirrels – and needing his protection. He would carry them around in his hands and ask you to admire or pat them. (Rebecca never carried Brownie physically – he was composed completely of words, it seems, and like her he was fiercely independent, and the repository of all sorts of valuable information. He certainly didn’t need protection).

We did not tell them that Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy were real. We saw it as a mark of respect to them that we told them the truth, in terms that they could understand. However this did not affect their pleasure in make-believe or in their own imaginary games. Rebecca’s always began with “Lets pretend that…”

In fact I’m sure that all children understand this difference. Even toddlers, using a block as a cup for instance,

retend, they’re invisible!”. This could show confusion about the concept of “pretend” but was more likely to be conscious pretence in itself.

Interestingly the younger sibling, needed no permanent companion – he had Rebecca for the first two years until she started school. His pretend friends were fleeting, usually small and cuddly – chicks or squirrels – and needing his protection. He would carry them around in his hands and ask you to admire or pat them. (Rebecca never carried Brownie physically – he was composed completely of words, it seems, and like her he was fiercely independent, and the repository of all sorts of valuable information. He certainly didn’t need protection).

We did not tell them that Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy were real. We saw it as a mark of respect to them that we told them the truth, in terms that they could understand. However this did not affect their pleasure in make-believe or in their own imaginary games. Rebecca’s always began with “Lets pretend that…”

In fact I’m sure that all children understand this difference. Even toddlers, using a block as a cup for instance, do not really expect to be able to drink from it. Of course they know the difference. Nor do they think for a minute that they are actually dogs, when they are trotting round on all fours, and woofing. They understand pretence, and enjoy it immensely.

This is true also of children who are told that fairies (and other pretend beings) are real, though they may find their parents’ insistence a bit confusing. They know that their parents really want them to believe and they are obliging creatures, so they go along with what the adults clearly want.

Did my children learn less of the joy of giving and loving, because they knew the Christmas presents came from their parents rather than Santa Claus, just as they had bought little presents for the adults as well? I don’t think so. The tree was as much fun. Dressing as elves was as much fun (Rebecca’s idea) and they understood that the many Santas they saw at the shops were people dressed up.

Learning to distinguish pretence from reality is an important life skill, one that can’t be learned too early, in my opinion. And the pretence is just part of the fun.