Jackie French and Bruce Whatley found a special place in the hearts of many Australian families with their wonderful collaboration Diary of a Wombat. Now they have returned with a new book, and while the style is a bit different, the whimsy and cute appeal remains.
Emily and the Big Bad Bunyip has all the elements of a great story for pre-readers and beginning readers alike. There are cute characters in the shape of Australian animals. There is clever word play, and funny sounds. Most importantly there is a simple yet endearing story to relate to-despite all the other animals thinking that the bunyip is a bit of a lost cause, dim-witted Emily the Emu refuses to give up and tries her hardest to make the Bunyip smile.
As with any children’s book, there are holes to be found in this story if you really want to look for them. Emily is meant to be playing a tuba but the illustrations show her playing something that looks a lot like a sousaphone. The story itself is a little bit twee (okay very twee) with the idea of a good hearted emu that annoys everyone with her inability to play in tune, but she obviously has a heart of gold that wins over a cranky bunyip. But you know what, most little readers are not going to give two hoots about that. My bet is they are going to giggle and cackle and laugh with glee at the silly bunyip and the funny animals who try to make him happy. What’s more, there is enough sly humour in this book that parents will most probably also crack a wry smile as they follow the exploits of the gang of Australian animals in Shaggy Gully on Christmas Day.
It was a sweltering Christmas morning and my family and I were on our way to visit grandparents in Orange, when our dinosaur of a commodore decided it could go no more. With a flowing river of fuel making it’s way down the highway, Dad quickly realised a fuel leak had caused the beast to splutter and stop, and that we needed to unload the car, fast. And so, for the next 15 minutes, that’s what mum and dad did. They ran back a forth between the car and a tree 50 metres away, carrying two miserable under 5 year olds and a car load of Santa pressies. By the time the NRMA arrived, it was mid afternoon and we had spent a glorious Christmas day, sitting on a moth-eaten picnic rug, on the side of the M4, well and truly bored of our new goodies and desperate for my Nan’s famous fruitcake.
My three-year-old comes up with original names for all her toys, so on Christmas night when she unwrapped a doll, complete with girls’ clothes, we asked her what its name would be. Earlier that day, we had been at my devout mother in law’s Christmas lunch, and she had read my daughter a Dick Bruna book telling the Christmas story. She told little miss about the baby who was born in a stable, and who did very wonderful things in the world.
So naturally, after a moment’s thought, my daughter named her doll “Jesus”. She decided it was a very fitting name for such an important baby.
Since then we’ve had several moments of hilarity – like “Mummy, have you found Jesus?” and “I love Jesus”. One night we were driving home, thinking the girls were asleep, when we had to hit the brakes suddenly for a runaway cat. “Oh Jesus!” came the shriek from behind. Eventually we worked out (amid tears of laughter) that the sudden force had ejected the beloved baby Jesus out of her arms and onto the floor.
I suppose it’s safe to say that we love Jesus in this family.