There is much more to a children’s book than cute pictures and pat morals. The narrative must be recognizable but fresh, the obstacles formidable but comprehensible. Moreover, with an audience that’s just beginning to pair words and images, picture book prose must resonate with young minds while meshing with evocative, imaginative art that recalls the landscapes of life in childhood and beyond while endowing them with something intangibly fantastic.

Creating a classic picture book is a task that requires attention to detail: to the smiles, frowns and leaps of children; to the drama of the everyday as seen from a non-adult perspective; and to the delicate and subtle feelings of tiny protagonists. It is a task which Shirley Hughes has accomplished many times over.

Hughes is the author and illustrator of the much-beloved children’s books Dogger and the Alfie series. Educated at the Liverpool School of Art and Oxford’s own Ruskin School, Hughes began her lifelong career illustrating projects including Noel Streatfield’s The Bell Family and children’s classic My Naughty Little Sister. Her first solo work, Lucy and Tom, was published in 1960, and she has since been the creative drive behind a world of memorable story-books.She has been applauded for her work on numerous occasions-receiving the Kate Greenaway Medal for Dogger, the Eleanor Farjeon Award for Services to Children’s Literature, and The Other Award. In 1998 Hughes also received an OBE for Services to Children’s Literature. Hughes’ latest book, the graphic novel Bye, Bye Birdie, came out last month.

When asked about Dogger and the Alfie books, Hughes claims that she never expected them to become staples of children’s literature. ‘I was amazed when I got into print, all those years ago. I was then in England, and I was told I wouldn’t be acceptable abroad. They said, this is all very well Shirley, but you’re too English! It just shows, you can’t predict what’s going to be a success and what isn’t!’

Discernible character-types and themes run through Hughes’ work. In particular there is the lost boy. Just look at Hughes’ retelling of Peter Pan (1976) and in The Lion and the Unicorn (1998) to see what we mean. J.M. Barrie’s tale was apparently a joy to work on. ‘It’s a very strange story, and Barrie was a very strange man. But it is an absolute classic; it’s got everything-flying, piracy, fighting-so it’s a bull job to be offered.’

Hughes is frank about the personal aspect of the lost child character in her books. ‘I was a child in World War Two. Being evacuated was a very terrible experience for a lot of children-it happened to me. We had several evacuated children all around us from when the blitz on Liverpool began, so I wanted to do a story about that.’

Hughes doesn’t just want to channel her experiences through pictures and prose-she feels that her art can help children understand these experiences and branch out into other types of reading. ‘I also feel, very strongly, that picture books can be used as a springboard into poetry, into legend, and into much bigger ideas, like this idea of being sent away during the war. And children will go on from picture books to other fiction that connects with that.’
She doesn’t just illustrate her own work – she feels that bringing someone else’s words to life has an appeal all of its own. ‘Its such enormous fun to illustrate another person’s book. You have to let your imagination run riot on what they’ve written and give it a visual form,’ Hughes said. ‘Doing your own book, you’re in charge of the whole thing-you give yourself a story that you want to illustrate-whereas if you’re illustrating someone else’s book, you’re trying to inhabit their imagination. I illustrated some stories called My Naughty Little Sister, by Dorothy Edwards; I didn’t meet her beforehand. When I did eventually meet her, she said, did you know that this little girl you’ve drawn looks exactly like me at that age? It’s very funny how you catch on to things.’

Hughes’s newest book, the wildly experimental Bye, Bye Birdie, has been pitched as a graphic novel for adults. In the wordless novel, a dapper young man meets an attractive woman on the street. He courts her, wins her over, and takes her home-only to discover, when she removes her hat, that she has the face of a bird and the instincts of a predator. A chase through several dimensions ensues. In Bye, Bye Birdie, the silent film meets graphic novel horror at its best.

However, the author would rather not box it in. ‘I wouldn’t categorize it,’ said Hughes, ‘I just had this idea for a wordless story. But the idea, I suppose, of a little chap being relentlessly pursued by a predatory bird woman with a very sharp beak is very unnerving-especially to men, it seems. I don’t know that children would be particularly frightened by it. But my hero does manage to give her quite a run for her money, or rather a flight for her money. He is a true dandy, and he keeps on trying to survive. But he just cannot get away from her, you know?’

The novel and its format were inspired by the cartoons and choreographed dancing film greats of Hughes’ childhood. ‘I’ve been fascinated by strip cartoon all my life,’ said the author. ‘The very sophisticated strip cartoons came in when a lot of the American GIs came in to Liverpool, near where I was living, during World War Two. So I’ve always had strip cartoon as a form of storytelling in my mind. I just love doing it. As for the hero, he’s a sort of boulevardier. He’s halfway between Buster Keaton and Fred Astaire.’

The author-illustrator is returning to her picture book roots for her next work. As she describes it, ‘My next book is going back to the audience of the very young child. It’s called Don’t Want to Go, and it’s about a little girl and that terrible moment when Dad is sort of at his wits end, Mother has the flu, and Dad’s got to go to work.’ Apparently, the idea was a hit among new parents when Hughes presented the book to publishers. ‘When it was brought out at the acquisitions meeting at Random House, a lot of young mothers were on the staff, and said they’d been in that position.’

That is a reflection of Hughes’ talent for capturing parent-child interactions in words and images, a consistent strength that has made her beloved of children and adults alike. ‘I think picture books for the very young are what I was put on this earth to do, and will go on doing, with great pleasure,’ she said. ‘But I will keep doing lots of other exciting things as well, I hope.’

So does she intend to do more graphic novels for adults?
‘Yes, I do,’ said Hughes. ‘I’ve just got to get a good idea first.’

Oh the joys of the internet. More sites than you could possibly explore even in a grossly extended lifetime. So many: too many? That was how I felt when I decided to do a ‘quick’ online search for some information about family history.

Glaring back at me were 90 million sites which claimed they might be able to tell me something about my ancestry. How on earth was I to wade through this virtual sea of flashing advertisements, ‘read my success story’ case studies, and black and white pictures of desolate looking children in 19th century overalls? I took my chances with one particular site whose home page claimed in large blinking letters ‘WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE’. The next step on said website invited me to enter in my surname to help them in their search for my roots. Smith-that really narrows it down. Unsurprisingly, my brief flirtation with these few genealogy websites didn’t reveal any family scandals, aristocratic roots or illegitimate children, but my curiosity was not deterred.

In reality the results of my little investigation wouldn’t have produced anything that my family don’t already know. I am lucky enough to have a grandfather who has spent his thirty year retirement avidly researching our family history and has discovered some truly fascinating things in the process. His journey through the hundreds of archives, church records and registry offices began with the simple discovery of his grandfather’s death certificate and the realisation that the name had been printed incorrectly. From one piece of paper to thirty years of detailed research and discovery. Why? He seemed a little perplexed when I asked him. ‘It becomes a compulsion’ he said ‘the more you discover the more you want to know’.

Millions of people try to trace their roots every year. A recent poll by the market researchers Maritz has shown that the number of people researching their family history is up 45% from five years ago. What is even more staggering is that 35 million Americans said they had researched their family history on the internet- that’s nearly half of all American internet users.

Ok, so there is one big glaring question in all this: Why? What’s the big deal? The funny thing is, that it’s not just our own backgrounds that interest us, but those of others too. Take the BBC programme ‘Who do you think you are’- why did 6.3 million viewers care about the distant exploits of some incessantly annoying celebrities’ father’s mother’s father’s brother’s wife?

For me this is a big question. Is family history gripping because it gives you a sense of where you came from, or because researching it is just a bit of light entertainment? Does tell you something about who you are actually are, or is it just a collection of half interesting stories? Can it reveal anything about your inner character, explain your traits, make sense of your habits and shed light on the fundamental dynamics of the way your immediate family functions…or is it just a bit of fun?

Historically, of course, genealogy was hugely important in dictating who you were, your status in life and the way you were treated. It was so important that several Anglo Saxon Kings had their ancestry traced back to the God Woden – ambitious genealogical research indeed. In the Indian state of Bihir there is a written tradition of genealogical records among the Maithil Brahmins and Karna Kayasthas called ‘panjis’ which date back to the twelfth century CE. Even today these records are still consulted prior to marriage. But in our modern day society, the fundamental importance of your background has faded somewhat. Nothing your distant ancestors did will directly affect your own path; in reality they are people we have never known and never will know and most probably have little to nothing in common with. Despite all this it seems incredibly hard to tear your emotions away from what you discover.

Let me give you an example. In the process of research it was discovered that one of my great great (plus a few more greats) grandfathers was in the navy during the battle of Trafalgar. On closer research it came to light that this lieutenant John Smith (sadly not the same one that married Pocahontas) had pushed a man overboard. The man had died. Ridiculous as it may seem, I found myself making desperate excuses for this John Smith. Perhaps it was an accident, perhaps it was self defence, perhaps there was some terrible insult done to my ancestor, a previous murder maybe or an affair? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Having given it a huge amount of thought I still can’t work out why I so badly want to excuse him. Does what he did make me a murderer? Of course not. I’m just person who hears the story with a twang of emotion that others probably wouldn’t experience. Maybe I could give you another example. Another great, great, great, grandfather of mine was a lieutenant in the East India company Army during the 1857 Indian mutiny and the siege of Cawnpore (modern day Kanpur). Of a population of seven hundred British men, only four survived the massacre by swimming six miles down the Ganges River to safe territory- my ancestor was one of the four. What is this to you? An interesting story I expect. What is it to me? A fascinating twist of fate without which I would not exist.

I asked my Granddad if there has ever been anything in all his searches that he would have preferred not to have known. He pauses, perhaps tellingly, and then answered, ‘No, it’s still fascinating’. This is a pretty big thing for my grandfather. About two years ago, having just installed broadband and being able to spend much more time searching through internet sites, he discovered that his own mother had had an illegitimate child in 1918, ten years before he was born. He had never had any idea and is almost certain his father didn’t either. The child, Phyllis, now a 91 year old lady, was adopted when she was two and has apparently spent her whole life wanting to know who her family were but being told she should never try to find out. Tragically, Phyllis is now gripped by dementia and was confused and unsettled when my grandfather went to meet her for the first time.

There is something desperately sad about this story. For Phyllis, the women who always felt lost; for my grandfather, who will never properly know his sister; and for his mother, who lived her life in silence, never being able to tell those she loved about the child she lost. For me, this more than anything captures the essence of what I’m talking about – stories which really are so much more than just stories.

This week Antonia and Katie zoom in on hustings, St Hilda’s recent elections and Susan Greenfield’s extreme scientific statements. They also check out the impressive photographic frenzy that was the paper’s centrespread.