I only liked Enid Blyton’s non-fiction stuff. She did a very good book on birds, and good natural history books.
I loved the Katy books, and anything by Noel Streatfeild. The children in those books were real, living characters, as was Just William. My problem with Arthur Ransome (my brother’s favourite) was that I thought the children characterless and boring. Lorna Hill’s books managed to combine ballet and ponies, which I thought was very clever. Every middle-class little girl seemed to be obsessed with one or the other, or both.
We had Alice in Wonderland (dramatised) on a series of 78 rpm records, and I knew those before I read the books.
Milly Molly Mandy was read to us at school. I loved it, but never owned the books. When we were older, about nine or ten, a book about Marco Polo was read to us. I have no idea who wrote it and have never been able to trace it, but we all adored it. This was about 1950.
I liked Mary Plain, the Swiss bear, but can’t remember the author. Also, of course, Winnie the Pooh. I can’t bear the Disneyfication of Pooh.
I always read a lot of poetry. My mother gave me two children’s anthologies, which I still have, and I was always reading the Poetry sections of Arthur Mee’s Children’s Encyclopaedia. Anything from nursery rhymes to Shakespeare - I wasn’t fussy.
I could go on....
.