The Magic Faraway Tree and a Childhood Memory

By Belle Carroll

Some books are just stories. Others become anchors to a time, a place, and a feeling.

For me, The Magic Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton is one of those books.

It was the very first book my mum bought me with real intention. I must have been eight or nine. We were in WH Smith, and I remember the hardback cost £9.99 — which, in 1989, felt like a small fortune. I can still hear her saying, half serious and half laughing, “I’m not made of effing money, Belle.” It makes me smile every time I think about it.

What I didn’t realise then was that she wasn’t just buying me a book. She was giving me a doorway.

The Magic Faraway Tree was about possibility. New lands appearing at the top of the tree. Worlds changing. Adventures waiting. As a child, that sense that somewhere beyond what you can currently see there’s something brighter or stranger or more exciting — that sticks with you.

Books like that shape imagination in quiet ways.

They also shape comfort. There’s something grounding about revisiting stories that once made you feel safe and curious at the same time. The characters in the Faraway Tree weren’t perfect. They were mischievous, flawed, brave in small ways. That felt real.

Reading has always been one of my constants. Living in Hull, where weather can keep you indoors more often than you’d like, books have been companions through many seasons. Fiction in particular has a way of expanding empathy. You step into other worlds, other perspectives, and you return slightly changed.

With a new film adaptation of The Magic Faraway Tree due for release on 27 March 2026, I’m genuinely glad the story is being brought to the screen. It means a new generation of children can experience that same sense of wonder and imagination. Stories like this deserve to live beyond the page.

You can find more details about the upcoming film on IMDb here:

https://m.imdb.com/title/tt7734244/

The Magic Faraway Tree may be a children’s book, but the idea behind it — that new lands appear when you keep climbing — feels timeless.

Maybe that’s why it’s stayed with me.

Some stories aren’t about escapism. They’re about hope. About movement. About remembering that even when the current chapter feels ordinary, another one is coming.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

I’ve also written about the values that matter most to me here.