On Dahl's chickens

The same year that I was born, one of the greatest writers who has ever lived died. His name was Roald Dahl. His brilliance was his seemingly effortless talent for writing for children.

It's funny how it's only when you grow up and read children's books again – and maybe have a go at writing one yourself – that you realise how difficult it is to write for the young. You can't swear, or make reference to things they wouldn't understand, and you absolutely mustn't be boring. A vivid imagination is also essential.

Dahl's skills went much deeper than this, though, because his books also appeal to adults and I would urge any adult at all to read them (they're nice and easy, with lots of pictures!). I bought a boxset of Dahl books in the January sales and am rapidly working my way through them. They make me laugh heartily. Perhaps I have the sense of humour of a child, but hopefully it's Dahl's magic making me laugh. For example, the BFG sitting down on top of a chest of drawers, which in turn was perched on top of a piano, and gleefully exclaiming: “What a phizz-whizzing flushbunking seat! I is going to be bug as a snug in a rug up here,” had me giggling like a schoolgirl.

Dahl has written his own personality into each book. You don't just picture his characters when you're reading his books – you picture him too. Personally, I've always imagined he looks a bit like the BFG. I recognise the same love of language and the jumpy excitement in both of them. And I love what Dahl did with words – nooks and crannies became crooks and nannies, while a catasterous disastrophy was never far away. And, of course, “Dahl's chickens” wrote Nicholas Nickelby.

Dahl was obviously a truly kind man and he valued it in other people. He once said: “Kindness is my number one attribute in a human being. I'll put it before any of the things like courage or bravery or generosity or anything else. If you're kind, that's it.”

So if he didn't exactly set out to enrich the lives of the youngsters (and adults) who read his books, he achieved it nonetheless. They are filled with references to great literature, for one thing. The BFG taught himself to read and write from Nicholas Nickelby, which he borrowed from a small boy. If that's not an endorsement from Dahl that this book is not only good, but suitable for children, I don't know what is. Matilda is filled with the titles of books that Matilda has read – classics including plenty of Dickens again, the Brontës, Austen, Kipling, Orwell, Hardy and Steinbeck, to name a few. Surely nothing can encourage a child to read these classics more than a ringing endorsement from the heroine of a book they love? They might even fancy themselves a bit of bookworm, like said heroine.

But to say that Dahl wanted to 'educate' children is surely to use far too stuffy and academic a word for it. It is entirely possible that he didn't, anyway. I didn't know him. But he had a wonderful gift for entertaining them with mischief. He taught kids that adults can lie and steal and be every bit as bad as children, and far from being appalled, the children were delighted – after all, being a little bit bad is a human's failure, not a child's failure, and I'm sure most children would like to know that.

However, there is much to be said for Dahl's sense of morality and the way he conveys it in his books. His best and most honest characters can still dish out the odd light-hearted punishment to those who deserve it. Matilda was particularly adept at this. The BFG couldn't resist blowing that rotsome trogglehumper into the sleeping Fleshlumpeater. George's marvellous medicine put paid to that horrid old witch of a grandma. And Danny and his father were borderline thieves, poaching pheasants from the despicable Mr Hazell's wood. None of this is ever done maliciously though, and the reader is always left with the certain knowledge of who is in the wrong.

So in conclusion: go back to your childhood at once and read Dahl's books again. You'll love it. You can borrow them from me.