Whimsical locations play a key role in stories for children. Think back to your own childhood… did you assemble cozy blanket tents with chairs or other pieces of furniture? Perhaps you were like me and created a reading nook inside your closet. Maybe you were even lucky enough to have a tree-house or a club/fort in an outdoor shed. The smaller the hideaway, the better it was because it meant your parents or older siblings couldn’t join you.
To me, nothing said ‘Kid’s Only Clubhouse’ quite like Peter Pan’s underground den. It was the ultimate secret hideout where no adults (or pirates) could enter. J.M. Barrie referred to Peter’s home as “rough and simple, and not unlike what baby bears would have made.” Here’s an excerpt from the novel:
A Never Tree tried hard to grow in the center of the room, but every morning they sawed the trunk through. By teatime it was always about two feet high, and then they put a door on top of it, the whole thus becoming a table; as soon as they cleared away, they sawed off the trunk again, and thus there was more room to play. There was an enormous fireplace… and across this, Wendy stretched strings made of fiber from which she suspended her washing. The bed was tilted against the wall by day and let down at 6:30 when it filled nearly half the room; and all the boys slept in it lying like sardines in a tin.
This description feels claustrophobic to me now, but I loved the version that was created for the Disney animated film. Even modern-day children tend to gravitate towards basements — assuming they aren’t scary, of course! Underground hideaways feel safe and separate from the rest of the household, making them a popular place to hang out with friends.
Mr. Tumnus’s cave from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is another example of a child-sized haven. Like Peter Pan’s burrow, it’s also located inside the earth — although it feels cozier and more accessible. Let’s take a look at the description:
Lucy thought she had never been in a nicer place. It was a dry, clean cave of reddish stone with a carpet on the floor and two little chairs (‘one for me, and one for a friend,’ said Mr. Tumnus) and a table and a dresser and a mantelpiece over the fire, and above that, a picture of an old Faun with a gray beard. In one corner there was a door which Lucy thought must lead to Mr. Tumnus’s bedroom, and on one wall was a shelf full of books.
When I saw the illustration that accompanied this paragraph, I was immediately drawn to it. I could easily imagine myself curling up with a book in front of that crackling fireplace. The British call a room like this a ‘snug,’ and it’s still the sort of retreat I’d like to have for myself someday.
Do you have a favorite fictional hideaway? Let me know in the comments!
I always loved the description from The Magician's Nephew of Polly's little hideaway in the attic:
Polly had used the bit of the tunnel just beside the cistern as a smugglers' cave. She had brought up bits of old packing cases and the seats of broken kitchen chairs, and things of that sort, and spread them across from rafter to rafter so as to make a bit of floor. Here she kept a cash-box containing various treasures, and a story she was writing, and usually a few apples. She had often drunk a quiet bottle of ginger-beer in there: the old bottles made it look more like a smugglers' cave.
Interesting connection between hideaways, escape, and dreaming. It is the first time children begin to define their personal, private life. It marks privacy and growth at the same time. When I was 18, I pushed into a storage closet to set up my first writing area with a door. I worked a lot at that desk. A different hide out. I love my home desk now. Very different than my work desk. The last remnants of private, creative space where I can just be again.