^ Enid Blyton was on top of her game as a writer. John Denver not so much.
'The Secret Seven'. Now you're talking. So much better than the 'Famous Five' (she must have borrowed the name from Frank Richards anyway). I spent years reading her, Richmal Crompton, Richards and Buckridge. No finer grounding. Then I discovered Ian Fleming and the days of innocence were over.
Agree that The Secret Seven is better than the Famous Five. But I went straight from about three books of those to Roald Dahl's Tales of The Unexpected and heavy sci-fi, which my father most definitely did not approve.
^Not really, I was the one sent to speech therapy and was relegated to the brown table at primary school. Meanwhile, good old sis, was playing classical guitar and solving the treasure hunt of Masquerade.