After the death of his father, J.R.R., Christopher Tolkien spent the rest of his existence publishing everything that he found in his father’s handwriting, including such literary delights as ‘Just the two pints today and other notes to the milkman’ by J.R.R. Tolkien (edited by Christopher Tolkien, Harper Collins, 2023).
His fellow Inkling, C.S. Lewis, didn’t sire any children himself and his two stepsons declined to show the same obsessive dedication that Tolkien Jr. had to Reuel, to their adoptive daddy. It has therefore fallen upon myself and other ‘scholars’ to foist upon the unwitting public the collective scribblings that the late Lewis never wanted anybody to see.
With Greta Gerwig’s reboot of the Narnia films in the works, it felt like a fitting time to share some of this material and who knows, some of it might sneak onto the big screen as ‘Easter eggs’.
Lewis lectured for nearly 30 years at Magdalen College, Oxford, before becoming disillusioned by the spelling and getting a job instead at Magdalene College, Cambridge, whose extra ‘e’ he felt was more theologically sound. A secondary factor was that he had become fixated by the newly invented processed cheese from America ‘Cheez Whiz’, that was only sold in Britain at a specialist delicatessen in Cambridge. Upon resettling in Cambridge he declared in a letter to his friend Hugo Dyson that he was now “suitably fixed for the letter ‘e’ and the epicurean delight that is ‘Cheez Whiz’“, a statement that later inspired Jarvis Cocker in his 1995 hit with Pulp.
Before the publication of the first Narnia book (not chronologically narrative-wise, but the first that was written), ‘The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe’ (1950), Lewis had been working on several variants on the same theme. Some of these ideas are seen in a letter he wrote to his brother, Warren, in 1947:
“Dearest Wozza,
I’ve had a fabulous idea for a children’s story that will put bloody Blyton in her place. Provisionally I’m calling it ‘The Weasel, the Clown and the Attack of the Killer Tomatoes’. It basically all revolves around the adventures of four children (I’ve not got names yet but feel ‘Windchime’ is a strong one for the eldest boy), evacuated during the Blitz to stay with an eccentric relative in an old house in the country – think of a cross between Sherlock Holmes and the gardener from ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’. Anyway, they go down into the cellar one day whilst playing cribbage, to discover that it leads to a different world (talking animals, arctic conditions, half-day closing on a Wednesday, etc.) where a clown with a red balloon unleashes a horde of giant, mutated tomatoes at them to stop them turning on the central heating thermostat.
Obviously, it is essentially a Christian supposition with the tomatoes being the Gadarene swine, the four children being the Three Wise Men with Balthazar split into two (the id and the ego – you know what I think about the ‘superego’!), and the Clown being Salome and the balloon being John the Baptist’s head. The story is saying something essential about Episcopalians.
Let us know what you think. Oh, and if you get a chance, could you send me one of those honey-glazed hams that the butcher in the village does? I’ll pay you next time I’m up. I’m good for it.
Fondest regards,
Jack“
He wrote again a few weeks later:
“Dearest Wozza,
Thank you for the glazed ham. It made the centrepiece of a wonderful Sunday lunch with the chaplain and his wife and there was enough left to make sandwiches for the whole boat race team for a week.
I note that I didn’t mention the role of the Weasel in my last missive. He was essentially a leviathan-sized metaphor for the Dutch East Indian Company, but that’s all by the by now as, inspired by a jaunt through London Zoo last weekend when I went to town to visit Larry, I espied an Asiatic lion called Arfur coughing horribly on the smog, and decided to make my main (pun-intended) animal a lion with bronchial issues.
I’m quite keen to call the youngest sister, Clive. Blyton named one of hers George, and I think sub-textually this is a strong concept. I’m thinking of having her smoke cheroots and swear in Portuguese as a satire on the Latin American Catholicism of Brazil. Anyway, I’ve done a draft of the opening of Chapter 2 where she meets a faun. I’d be very grateful if you’d pass your learned eye over it and give me your honest opinion:
“Howdo,“ said Clive. But the faun was so busy picking up (not sure, possibly cabbages – you know, a comic scene like that Chaplin fellow) when it had finished it made her a little bow, wrinkling its nose up at the stink of her cheroot.
“Good evening, good evening,“ said the Faun, “excuse me – I don’t want to be inquisitive – but should I be right in thinking that you are a daughter of Eve?“
“My name’s Clive,“ said she, taking a deep drag on the cheroot and blowing smoke at the faun’s face, “and me Mam’s called Barbara.“
“Clive? But you are – forgive me – you are what they call a girl?“ said the Faun.
“Of course I’m a girl,“ said Clive, “I have hair down to my shoulders and I know the rules of lacrosse.“
“You are in fact Human?“
“Of course I’m human, seu bastardo!“ said Clive, still a bit puzzled.
“To be sure, to be sure,“ said the Faun, “How stupid of me! But I’ve never seen a Son of Adam or Daughter of Barbara before. I am delighted! That is to say,“ and then it stopped as if it had just processed being insulted in Portuguese. “Did you just call me a . . .“
“What’s ya name goat-boy?“ Clive cut him off before he repeated the word.
“Oh yes, how rude of me! Let me introduce myself. My name is Bogtrot Windlepuss.“
That’s as much as I’ve got so far.
Nevill Coghill is intrigued by the honey-glazed ham, so could you send two up, one for myself and one for dear Nevill?
Yours, as ever,
Jack.“
As we can see, the scene is almost identical to the final published version. The book was a huge success and garnered immediate praise globally, attracting the attention of production companies keen to make a buck or two out of Lewis’ work. We read this in a note he wrote to his literary agent shortly after the publication of ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ in America:
“Dear Mickey,
MGM have been in contact, interested in turning the first book into a major motion picture. They propose having the Marx Brother star as the children with Margaret Dumont as Aslan. I’m pretty sure they are all in their 60s and Zeppo hasn’t acted since the early 30s, so I’m not entirely sure that anyone at MGM has read my book. Big fan of Dumont for Aslan though – think that’s genius casting. Gravitas, the voice, everything.
Jack
P.S. How do you feel about honey-glazed hams?“
He followed up the first book with the novel ‘Prince Caspian’, although initially it had a very different feel to the one it eventually got as revealed in this letter to his friend, Hugo Dyson:
“Dear Hugo,
Thank you for your kind words about ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’, they were greatly appreciated and will look good on the advertisement. I’m quite a way through the draft of the second book ‘Prince Castration’ where I’ve taken a darker tone. The publishers are kicking up a bit of a fuss. I’ve written below some notes and extracts to see what you think – it might help sway the powers that be! Note, about a thousand years have gone by in Narnia, but just a year for Earth and the Pevensie children (something to do with solar rotation and quantum):
“Prince Castration awoke to find himself in an unfamiliar den, one beyond the reach of Big Miraz and the Telmarine-Police.
“Where am I? This is double not-good,“ he spoke.
“Quiet, they’ll hear us,“ This voice came from a badger. It looked furtive, intense, glancing around in a darting fashion, staring at shadows, shapes in the wall, flickering lights. It turned back to Castration and gripped him by the collar. “Were you followed?“
“What?“
“Were you followed, Aslan-dammit!“
“I. . .er“ Castration floundered, unable to gather his thoughts.
“Go easy on him, Trufflehunter, the kid’s clearly concussed, look at the egg on the back of his head there.“ This voice was from a swarthy looking dwarf, a patch over one eye and the unmistakable logo of NarnSoc stitched on his well-worn tunic.
“Easy on him, Stealablok? How do we know he wasn’t sent by them?“ The badger was foaming at the mouth in paranoid terror. “You saw what happened to Trumpkin! That bloody chaffinch was part of the Telmarine-Police. He got dragged off to that room, that awful room. I don’t know what they showed him, but what came out of that room was no longer Trumpkin. You saw his eyes. You saw his cold, dead eyes!“
A bit of a shift in tone, I grant you, but this is what the kids are screaming out for nowadays. Anyway, I’ve got a line on some fantastic honey-glazed hams, so if you’re interested just let me know and I’m sure I can get one over to you sharpish like.
Ever yours,
Jack.“
Dyson wasn’t impressed, and suggested Lewis tone it down a tad. This is somewhat fortunate as if it had been published in that form he’d have been sued to rats by the famously litigious, Orwell.
Dismayed by Dyson’s response, Lewis experimented with several ideas. One that was found taped into the back of a Bunty Annual that was on his bookshelf, placed the Pevensie children in a department store in Narnia. In the section he wrote, he has them stuck in a lift:
“The air was beginning to get close and the children had started to get agitated.
“Can I make a suggestion?“ Asked Edmund.
“No, you can’t, Edmund,“ snapped Peter. “I think you’ve already caused enough problems as it is.“
“Oh, so you’re blaming me for the lift being stuck?“ Edmund’s cheeks turned red, indignant with fury.
“Well it was you who went with the Ice Queen; you who ignored all the warnings about accepting sweets from strangers. You who is always getting into bother.“ Susan turned on Edmund too.
“What’s the Ice Queen got to do with us being stuck in a lift?!“ Edmund bellowed.
“Please everyone stop arguing!“ Lucy seemed distraught with her siblings bickering.
“And now you’ve upset Lucy!“ Peter pointed accusingly at Lucy who wept in the corner.
“Lucy’s always upset because she’s a baby,“ Edmund said unkindly.
“No I’m not, Edmund!“ protested Lucy.
“Yes you are, and anyway, I think we all know why the lift’s stuck,“ Edmund said.
“Oh really?“ sneered Peter.
“Yes, really,“ said Edmund. “The lift clearly says it can carry loads up to 320kg. And we’re clearly well over, and we all know why.“
There was an awkward pause. The children tried not to look.
“Honestly, I’m a lot lighter than I look,“ said Aslan.
“A small Schindler lift has a maximum load of 320kg and is not designed to take a fully grown male African lion,“ said Edmund.
“Narnian,“ corrected Aslan.
“Sorry?“ said Edmund.
“Fully grown male Narnian lion,“ Aslan expanded.
“That’s hardly the matter,“ said Edmund.
“Well, it’s good to be accurate about these things,“ Aslan insisted, “and anyway, the maintenance person should be along shortly, Lucy did press the button.“
“Yes, that’s true,“ agreed Lucy, “I did press the button.“
As if on cue, a voice emerged from the intercom grill.
“Hello,“ it said, “this is maintenance, is everyone okay in there?“
“Hello!“ Peter called into the intercom, squeezing around the hind of a rather large lion. “We’re fine, just a little fractious and claustrophobic. There isn’t a lot of room in here.“
“Gosh,“ said the intercom, “how many of you are there in there?“
“Five,“ replied Peter.
“Just five?“ said the intercom. “That’s odd. That really shouldn’t have triggered the weight safety cut-out.“
“One of us is a lion,“ explained Edmund.
“I beg your pardon?“
“We’re four children and one full grown male African lion,“ Peter expanded.
“Narnian,“ said Aslan.
“Shh!“ said Edmund.
“A lion?“ said the intercom voice.
“Yes,“ said Peter.
“There’s a lion in the lift with you?“ The voice seemed unsure.
“Yes, that’s right,“ said Peter.
“You really shouldn’t have taken a lion into the lift with you,“ said the intercom voice.
“There wasn’t a sign,“ said Lucy.
“Does there have to be?“ said the voice. “Isn’t it obvious that taking a fully grown male African lion . . .
“Narnian,“ interrupted Aslan.
“Whatever mate,“ said the intercom voice, “a fully grown lion into a lift is not a good idea.“
“That’s what I said,“ insisted Edmund. “Make him take the stairs, I said, but oh no, ‘mister perfect’ Peter knew better.“
“I will thump you one in a moment,“ said Peter.
“Is any of this relevant?“ asked Susan. “Surely, we should just be working on getting out.“
“Your lion is right,“ said the intercom.
“I’m not the lion,“ said Susan.
“Really?“ said the voice.
“No,“ Susan was flabbergasted. “I’m a girl, not a fully grown African lion.“
“Narnian!“ Aslan was exasperated.
“Shut up!“ all the children shouted.“
This is as far as Lewis got with this version of the sequel before plumping for his final ‘Prince Caspian’ plot.
For the Caspian follow-up he turned for early advice from his brother once again.
“Dear Wozza,
Idea for ‘Dawntreader’: I’m thinking of Prince Caspian being concussed by a low swinging boom and spending the whole novel only being able to say ‘Hellmann’s Mayonnaise’. It may slow down the narrative as I’ll have to describe him signing or gesticulating the finer nuances of his plan to Reepicheep but it will bring in plenty of money from sponsors, which, after the MGM film deal fell through, I could really do with. Do you realise the pittance I get paid from book sales despite it going huge globally? I get more for teaching posh people’s children how to spot a metaphor.
Have a look at my draft for this bit before and after the boom hits his head when he’s talking to Reepicheep about how great Lucy Pevensie is:
“Caspian pointed at Lucy as she stepped aboard the ‘Dawntreader’ and turned to speak to his trusted rat lieutenant.
“Well, look-a there, look-a there, ooh wee, Reepicheep, the finest girl you ever wanna meet.“
“Well I guess so, your maj . . . look out!“ Reepicheep shouted in alarm as he threw himself to the deck. All too late for Prince Caspian, as the low-swinging boom clobbered him a good one on the back of his nut . . . (and here I’ll have something about the panicked crew’s reaction and the Pevensie kids etc.)
Caspian’s eyelids began to flutter and at long last he regained consciousness and opened his eyes.
“My prince, are you okay?“ Reepicheep was stricken with anxiety, his eyes wide in terror at what might have befallen his beloved leader.
Caspian reached out, placed a hand on the faithful rat’s cheek and said “Hellmann’s mayonnaise.“
I reckon it could work.
Fondest regards,
Jack
P.S. I reckon Hugo’s up for some honey-glazed hams. How many do you think the butcher could supply?“
It is interesting to note that Lewis unsuccessfully tried to sue the singer-songwriter, Jackie Wilson, a couple of years later for plagiarism.
Seeking guidance and feedback from someone outside his circle, he wrote about his Narnia novel, ‘The Silver Chair’, to the French philosopher and writer, Albert Camus.
“Dear Albie,
Can I just say how much I enjoyed ‘La Peste’? It reminded me greatly of my ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’. I wonder if you’d be so kind as passing your learned eye over a draft I’ve done of my next Narnia book, ‘The Silver Chair’. My protagonists find themselves in the ‘Underland’ ruled by the Lady of the Green Kirtle where they are greeted by a mysterious young man:
“The young man was handsome but wore a mask of ennui that brought a sharpness to what would have been mellow features.
“You are welcome, if indeed this is what you desire,“ said the young man. “How fleeting the moments are in which desire is met before the inevitable suffering of existence returns.“
“So true,“ replied Jill. “Our colleague here is called Puddleglum – his very name embodying the misery that is attached to all we see in nature. Puddles bringing momentary joy for toddlers in wellingtons, but their arrival is heralded by unbearable drizzle, and the toddler soon becomes disheartened after the puddles are depleted of splash-worthy water.“
“You must tie me to the silver chair for at night I become a serpent and would slaughter you all in a malaise of melancholic psychosis,“ the young man pointed to a silver chair that sat in a circle of light.
“Are we not all tormented by the green serpent at night?“ declared Eustace.
“If we’re lucky,“ said Puddleglum and winked coquettishly.“
I would greatly appreciate your feedback – I know you are a very busy man, so any little note would be a true honour. On a different note, is there a market over your side of the mare brittanicum for honey-glazed hams? I have a great supplier – just let me know.
Yours in gratitude,
Jack.“
Camus never wrote back.
Wanting to add a bit of humour after the drudgery that was ‘The Silver Chair’, Lewis decided to write to the pre-eminent young comedy writers of the day, Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, about his next Narnia book, ‘The Horse and His Boy’.
“Gents!
Can I just say that ‘Hancock’s Half Hour’ is an utter triumph! Love the tuba! I don’t know if you’ve been following my Narnia books during your hectic scriptwriting schedule, but I’m trying to add a bit of the comic touch to it and would greatly appreciate your thoughts. First of all, I’ve decided to try and give the latest book the zaniest title I could think of ‘The Horse and his Boy’. I mean, that’s just mad isn’t it. It’s boys who have horses, not the other way around! My friend, Ronnie Tolkien has been laughing about it non-stop now for a fortnight since I told him. Anyway, have a butcher’s hook, as you comedy-folk say, at this bit where the boy and horse meet and tell me what you think:
“Shasta walked into the stable to tend to the stranger’s horse, hoping against hope that Arsheesh wouldn’t sell him like a slave! Although Arsheesh was foul and abusive, the thought of being owned by someone was repulsive.
“Oh horse,“ said Shasta, “what a foul predicament to be in!“
“Why the long face?“ said the horse. “Oops! You should be saying that to me really, because I am a horse, and we have literal long faces.“
“By Aslan!“ Shasta fell over in the hay with shock as the proud looking horse whinnied in delight. “You can talk?!“
“That’s nothing, I can do impressions too, moo,“ it said and laughed uproariously.
“But wherefore came you by this ability to talk?“ asked Shasta, rising from the hay.
“Why I was born like this. Well, not exactly like this, I was a lot shorter then. My name is Breehy-hinny-brinny-hoohy-hah. My parents were heavily into jazz. People call me Bree for short. What’s your name?“
“Shasta,“ said Shasta, “nice to meet you Bree – like the cheese?“
“Like it, I love it!“ said the horse. “Say, we just covered a lot of ground. Speaking of which, you cover a lot of ground yourself. You better get a move on, I hear they’re going to tear you down and put up a castle in your place. You could leave in carriage. If you can’t find a carriage, you could leave in a huff. If that’s too soon, you could leave in a minute and a huff.“
“What on earth are you talking about? And where did you get that cigar from?“
“Remember, boy, we’re fighting for Aslan’s honour, which is probably more than he ever did.“
I got a nibble from MGM about the Marx Brothers a couple of years ago, so thought I could re-hook them with a bit of classic schtick. I’d really appreciate your thoughts, gents.
Tony Hancock looks like he enjoys his food – do you think he’d appreciate some honey-glazed hams? Do you have Hattie Jacques’ phone number?
Thank you kindly,
Jack.“
Of course, the most famous of Lewis’ friends was his fellow lecturer and writer, JRR Tolkien, and it was to him he turned to for advice with his sixth Narnia book.
“Dear Ronnie,
Congratulations on ‘The Fellowship of the Ring’ – it’s a hoot. Though I do feel it could do with some talking beavers. Maybe in the sequel? Anyway, I was wondering if you could scan your eye over my latest draft for ‘The Magician’s Nephew’. It’s the latest Narnia book but is actually a prequel – essentially it’s the first couple of chapters of Genesis. It involves a couple of magic rings, and no, before you cry plagiarism, you’re not the first person to use magic rings (Aladdin, the Ring Saga, Lady Chatterley’s Lover), so it’s just a coincidence. Anyway, two children, Digory (I lost a bet) and Polly, wind-up in a place that acts as a gateway between the different universes – a ‘wood between the Worlds’, a ‘multiverse’ for want of a better word. Anyway, they end up eventually in a new world that’s just being created by Aslan (my big lion fellow). At this point there is Digory, Polly, Digory’s Uncle Andrew, Frank a cab-driver and his horse, Strawberry, and the wicked queen from the wardrobe novel (I’ve called her Jadis – whole backstory thing in this one). So in order to create the world, Aslan sings a song, but they all keep chipping in (pretty neat idea hey, a god singing a song that creates a world). Hilarity ensues:
“The great lion raised its proud head and began to sing a tune that at once was both powerful and beautiful. And as he sang, miraculously things began to form in front of him out of the very ether: plants, trees, rivers, clouds – all of nature in a wondrous scene.
“I’m making a lovely world of plants and trees
Of birds and animals and buzzing bees
Of mighty mountains and green-clad vales,
Of creepy-crawlies and proud-shelled snails“ Aslan’s song was hypnotic and mesmeric.
“How about a talking beaver and a minotaur,
And Santa Claus and an evil dwarf?“ Digory chimed in to Aslan’s tune.
“Wait? What? No!“ Aslan roared, but it was too late, these things appeared.
Frank saw this wonder and immediately decided to join in: “Free horse-feed for anyone called Frank,
And free cash for me when I go to the bank.“
“I really don’t think you’ve got the spirit of this, Frank,“ Aslan scorned.
“Lots of sweets for me to eat and a pony called Jeff,
And a great funfair, and lovely fresh breath,“ Polly joined in, her halitosis immediately evaporating much to everyone’s relief and surprise as they’d assumed it was Strawberry the horse.
“For pity’s sake people, I’m not a chuffin’ genie, get a grip!“ Aslan roared.
“Winter all the time and death to my foes,
A lovely glittering carriage and neatly painted toes,“ Jadis tried her luck.
“And you definitely don’t get a bloody go!“ Aslan’s enigmatic veneer cracked. “I’m going to bite the head off the next person who sings.“ Everyone immediately stopped composing and instead trembled in fear. “I’m going to have to start again.“
“Can we keep the talking beaver and stuff?“ asked Digory.
“Maybe,“ conceded Aslan, “but none of the other bloody stuff, it was ridiculous. And just brush your teeth Polly, that’s all you need to do.“ And with that Aslan, giving a warning glance to the others, began his song again.“
Anyway, let me know what you think. Oh, and what’s yours and Edith’s position on honey-glazed hams?
Enormous love,
Jack.“
Lewis was, understandably, a prolific reader and many different authors heavily influenced his literary style when writing Narnia. We see this in a note to his brother in 1955:
“Dearest Wozza,
I’ve been re-reading Ogie’s ‘Brave New World’. I’m thinking of having all the Narnians smashed off their faces on drugs. It would help to explain EVERYTHING e.g. talking beavers, magic wardrobes, the whole Turkish delight thing. I’m not sure how it will run past the publishers – I heard they stopped Blyton having Big Ears snorting temazepam – but it will help solve this massive plot hole I’ve dug for myself. None of it makes any sense at all unless they are all high as kites.
I’m getting a lot of interest in the honey-glazed hams. I reckon I could shift a couple of dozen. If we whack on 50% to what we pay the butcher for them, we could be looking at a very tidy profit. Let us know what you think.
Fond regards as ever,
Jack.“
It wasn’t only other novels that influenced Lewis, but also musicals, both in Britain and across the Atlantic in America. Here he is displaying such influences in a note to his literary agent, also in 1955:
“Dear Mickey,
I think with ‘The Last Battle’ it’d be great to finish it on a big sing-song – Vera Lynn-esque with a Narnia equivalent of ‘We’ll Meet Again’. I’m thinking of giving Aslan a top hat and a cane and having him tap dance with the antagonist, Tash. Give it the feel of a classic Hollywood musical (perhaps get MGM interested again?). Do you think Hollywood would be interested in a supply of honey-glazed hams? What’s the catering like in those big studios? I’m sure I heard something about Warner Brothers importing tonnes of Bratwursts from Garmisch-Partenkirchen. Put out feelers for me would you?
Thanks,
Jack“
Despite, ‘The Last Battle’ bringing the Chronicles of Narnia to a logical conclusion, Lewis was tempted at several points to develop and expand upon the narrative that he had created. Who better to seek advice on such detailed and expansive world building than his friend, Tolkien?
“My Dear Ronnie,
I hope this finds you, Edith and the children in fine health. Could you put out the feelers for me at Allen & Unwin and see what they feel about honey-glazed hams? I’ve got a couple of dozen I could do with shifting. Of course, I’m happy to give you a honey-glazed ham as a sort of commission as it were.
I’ve been kicking around a potential Narnia spin-off: Mr Tumnus moves to Brooklyn. A kind of ‘A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court’ kind of thing. I’ve done a few notes, see what you think:
“The yellow beast screeched to a halt in front of a frozen Mr Tumnus, smoke billowing from its wheels. Much to Mr Tumnus’ surprise, a head emerged from its hide.
“Where the Hell do ya think ya’re walkin’ ya goat-legged freak?“ It called.
“I’m awfully sorry, I . . . er . . .do apologise,“ Mr Tumnus found himself muttering helplessly.
“Aw God, a Limey, I might’ve known,“ the head seemed disappointed, “just get ya frickin’ goat ass out of the road ya schmuck.“
I spoke to my American friend, Joy, and she says I’ve got the dialect absolutely spot-on.
Love to all, and don’t forget the glazed hams, Jack.“
Treatises of Gloria 