Now We Are Six

by A. A. Milne, Ernest H. Shepard (Illustrator)

Overview

Celebrate the 90th birthday of one of the world's most beloved icons of children's literature, Winnie-the-Pooh!

Whether you’re six, sixty-six, or anywhere in between, this enchanting collection of verses about Christopher Robin and, of course, Winnie-the-Pooh, will enchant.  

Filled with gentle humor and playful rhythms, Now We Are Six contains some of the best-loved poems for children. Between its pages, readers will delight in the always accessible, sun-filled realm of the imagination, perfectly rendered in Ernest Shepard’s beautiful illustrations. The essential book for that all-important birthday, Now We Are Six is a classic in its own right, treasured by every new generation of readers.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780140361247
Publisher:	Penguin Young Readers Group
Publication date:	08/01/1992
Series:	Winnie-the-Pooh Series
Edition description:	Reissue
Pages:	112
Sales rank:	51,576
Product dimensions:	5.06(w) x 7.75(h) x 0.31(d)
Age Range:	8 - 12 Years

About the Author

A. A. Milne was born in 1882 in London. He was a playwright and journalist as well as a poet and storyteller. His classic children's books were inspired by his son, Christopher Robin. Milne died in 1956.

Ernest H. Shepard was born in 1879 in England. His pictures of the Pooh characters are based on real toys owned by Christopher Robin Milne. Shepard died in 1976.

Hometown:

Cotchford Farm, Sussex, England

Date of Birth:

January 18, 1882

Date of Death:

January 31, 1956

Place of Birth:

Hampstead, London

Place of Death:

Cotchford Farm, Sussex, England

Education:

Trinity College, Cambridge University (mathematics), 1903

Website:

http://www.penguinputnam.com

Read an Excerpt

Solitude

 

  I have a house where I go

 

  When there’s too many people,

 

  I have a house where I go

 

  Where no one can be;

 

  I have a house where I go

 

  Where nobody ever says “No”;

 

  Where no one says anything—so

 

  There is no one but me.

 

   

 

King John’s Christmas

 

  King John was not a good man—

 

  He had his little ways.

 

  And sometimes no one spoke to him

 

  For days and days and days.

 

  And men who came across him,

 

  When walking in the town,

 

  Gave him a supercilious stare,

 

  Or passed with noses in the air—

 

  And bad King John stood dumbly there,

 

  Blushing beneath his crown.

 

   

  King John was not a good man,

 

  And no good friends had he.

 

  He stayed in every afternoon....

 

  But no one came to tea.

 

  And, round about December,

 

  The cards upon his shelf

 

  Which wished him lots of Christmas cheer,

 

  And fortune in the coming year,

 

  Were never from his near and dear,

 

  But only from himself.

 

   

  King John was not a good man.

 

  Yet had his hopes and fears.

 

  They’d given him no present now

 

  For years and years and years.

 

  But every year at Christmas,

 

  While minstrels stood about,

 

  Collecting tribute from the young

 

  For all the songs they might have sung,

 

  He stole away upstairs and hung

 

  A hopeful stocking out.

 

  King John was not a good man.

 

  He lived his life aloof;

 

  Alone he thought a message out

 

  While climbing up the roof.

 

  He wrote it down and propped it

 

  Against the chimney stack:

 

  “TO ALL AND SUNDRY—NEAR AND FAR—

 

  F. CHRISTMAS IN PARTICULAR.”

 

  And signed it not “Johannes R.”

 

  But very humbly, “JACK.”

 

   

  “I want some crackers,

 

  And I want some candy;

 

  I think a box of chocolates

 

  Would come in handy;

 

  I don’t mind oranges,

 

  I do like nuts!

 

  And I SHOULD like a pocketknife

 

  That really cuts.

 

  And, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all,

 

  Bring me a big, red, india rubber ball!”

 

  King John was not a good man—

 

  He wrote this message out,

 

  And got him to his room again,

 

  Descending by the spout.

 

  And all that night he lay there,

 

  A prey to hopes and fears.

 

  “I think that’s him a-coming now.”

 

  (Anxiety bedewed his brow.)

 

  “He’ll bring one present, anyhow—

 

  The first I’ve had for years.”

 

  “Forget about the crackers,

 

  And forget about the candy;

 

  I’m sure a box of chocolates

 

  Would never come in handy;

 

  I don’t like oranges,

 

  I don’t want nuts,

 

  And I HAVE got a pocketknife

 

  That almost cuts.

 

  But, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all,

 

  Bring me a big, red, india rubber ball!”

 

  King John was not a good man—

 

  Next morning when the sun

 

  Rose up to tell a waiting world

 

  That Christmas had begun,

 

  And people seized their stockings,

 

  And opened them with glee,

 

  And crackers, toys, and games appeared,

 

  And lips with sticky sweets were smeared,

 

  King John said grimly: “As I feared,

 

  Nothing again for me!”

 

   

  “I did want crackers,

 

  And I did want candy;

 

  I know a box of chocolates

 

  Would come in handy;

 

  I do love oranges,

 

  I did want nuts.

 

  I haven’t got a pocketknife—

 

  Not one that cuts.

 

  And, oh! If Father Christmas had loved me at all,

 

  He would have brought a big, red, india rubber ball!”

 

  King John stood by the window,

 

  And frowned to see below

 

  The happy bands of boys and girls

 

  All playing in the snow.

 

  A while he stood there watching,

 

  And envying them all...

 

  When through the window, big and red

 

  There hurtled by his royal head,

 

  And bounced and fell upon the bed,

 

  An india rubber ball!

 

  AND, OH, FATHER CHRISTMAS,

 

  MY BLESSINGS ON YOU FALL

 

  FOR BRINGING HIM

 

  A BIG, RED,

 

  INDIA RUBBER

 

  BALL!

 

   

Table of Contents

Solitude
King John’s Christmas
Busy
Sneezles
Binker
Cherry Stones
The Knight Whose Armour Didn’t Squeak
Buttercup Days
The Charcoal-Burner
Us Two
The Old Sailor
The Engineer
Journey’s End
Furry Bear
Forgiven
The Emperor’s Rhyme
Knight-in-Armour
Come Out with Me
Down by the Pond
The Little Black Hen
The Friend
The Good Little Girl
A Thought
King Hilary and the Beggarman
Swing Song
Explained
Twice Times
The Morning Walk
Cradle Song
Waiting at the Window
Pinkle Purr
Wind on the Hill
Forgotten
In the Dark
The End
 

Editorial Reviews

Gr all levelsPenguin's production amplifies the fact that A.A. Milne has created some of the most memorable poetry and prose in children's literature. Charles Kuralt narrates all the tapes. When We Were Very Young resounds with Kuralt's lively reading of the nonsensical and onomatopoetic rhymes that fill the heads of toddlers. Opposite these poems, the narrator reads, with loving care, the verses about the real and imaginary playmates that warm youngsters' hearts. Now We Are Six reflects the growing complexity of a child's world. The narrator's voice is soft and vulnerable when reading of the innocent, inquisitive thoughts that preoccupy children, yet Kuralt speaks with a touch of exasperation when reading the poems depicting the young's struggle to understand the adult world. He does equally as well with Milne's stories. All the inhabitants of the Hundred Acre Wood are introduced and their humorous escapades chronicled in Winnie-the-Pooh. While portraying the characters, Kuralt's child-like tone reflects their goodness, innocence, and wee intellect. The House at Pooh Corner continues the adventures of Pooh and introduces the bouncing, pouncing, lovable Tigger. Besides the delight children will experience when listening to the light-hearted, captivating stories, young listeners will also identify with the universal hopes, fears, and wishes of the characters. Kuralt's deep, learned-sounding voice gives the narration a fatherly, comforting feel. Libraries will want to acquire these high quality productions.Mark P. Tierney, William B. Wade Elementary School, Waldorf, MD

School Library Journal

‘Winnie-the-Pooh has always been a very special (albeit funny old) bear, not least of all because his books are filled with wonderful words of wisdom.', Stylist magazine

Named one of Quentin Letts’ best books – The Week

‘… a tome to cherish now and pass down through the generations for years to come.’, The Independent

From the Publisher