property of A PUFF I N BOOK
Tove Jansson was born in Finland in 1914. She began her career as a painter and illustrator and went on to write and illustrate many books for adults and children. She drew her first Moomin in the 1930s, just for fun, and in 1945 he became a character in a children’s story. Tove became world-famous for her Moomin books, which began with The Moomins and the Great Flood in 1945, closely followed by Comet in Moominland in 1946, Finn Family Moomintroll in 1948 and six more Moomin adventures.
Tove Jansson was born in Finland in 1914. She began her career as a painter and illustrator and went on to write and illustrate many books for adults and children. She drew her first Moomin in the 1930s, just for fun, and in 1945 he became a character in a children’s story. Tove became world-famous for her Moomin books, which began with The Moomins and the Great Flood in 1945, closely followed by Comet in Moominland in 1946, Finn Family Moomintroll in 1948 and six more Moomin adventures.
Tove lived and worked with her long-term partner, artist Tuulikki Pietilä, spending the winters in Helsinki and moving in the summer to a beautiful remote island in the Gulf of Finland.
Tove lived and worked with her long-term partner, artist Tuulikki Pietilä, spending the winters in Helsinki and moving in the summer to a beautiful remote island in the Gulf of Finland.
Tove Jansson received many prestigious awards during her lifetime, including the international Hans Christian Andersen Medal. She died in 2001, aged eighty-seven. international Hans Christian Andersen Award.
Tove Jansson received many prestigious awards during her lifetime, including the international Hans Christian Andersen Medal. She died in 2001, aged eighty-seven. 1914 to Swedish-speaking parents. She began her career as a painter and illustrator and went on to write and illustrate many books for adults and children. She drew her first Moomin in the 1930s, just for fun, and in 1945 he became a character in a children’s story. Tove became world-famous for her Moomin books, which began with The Moomins and the Great Flood in closely followed by Comet in Moominland in 1946, Finn Family Moomintroll in 1948 and six more Moomin novels.
Books by Tove Jansson, published in A Puffin Book
Comet in Moominland
Finn Family Moomintroll
The Exploits of Moominpappa
Moominsummer Madness
Moominland Midwinter
Tales From Moominvalley
Moominpappa at Sea
Moominvalley in November
Described by himself
written and illustrated by
A PUFF I N BOOK
Tove Jansson
translated by
THOMAS WARBURTON
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First published in Finland as Muminpappans bravader, skrivna av honom själv 1950
Revised as Muminpappans memoarer 1968
This translation first published in England by Ernest Benn Ltd 1952
Published by Puffin Books 1969
Reissued 2019
This edition published 2025
Text and illustrations copyright © Tove Jansson, 1950, Moomin Characters™ English translation copyright © Ernest Benn Ltd, 1952
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isbn : 978–0–241–34448–4
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PREFACE 1
CHAPTER 1 3
In which I tell of my misunderstood childhood, of the tremendous night of my escape, of the building of my first Moominhouse, and of my historical meeting with Hodgkins.
CHAPTER 2 21
Introducing the Muddler and the Joxter, and presenting a spirited account of the construction and matchless launching of the houseboat.
CHAPTER 3 40
Recapitulating my first heroic exploit, its staggering outcome, a few thoughts, and my first confrontation with the Niblings.
CHAPTER 4 65
In which the description of my Ocean voyage culminates in a magnificent tempest and ends in a terrible surprise.
CHAPTER 5 81
In which (besides giving a little specimen of my intellectual powers), I describe the Mymble family and the Surprise Party which brought me some bewitching tokens of honour from the hand of the Autocrat.
CHAPTER 6 103
In which I become a Royal Outlaw
Colonist and show remarkable presence of mind when meeting the Ghost of Horror Island.
CHAPTER 7 122
Describing the triumphant unveiling of the Amphibian and its sensational trial dive to the bottom of the sea.
In which I give an account of the circumstances of the Muddler’s wedding, further touch on the dramatic night when I first met Moominmamma, and finally write the remarkable closing words of my Memoirs.
PREFACE
I , MOOMINPAPPA, am sitting tonight by my window gazing into my garden, where the fireflies embroider their mysterious signs on the velvet dark. Perishable flourishes of a short but happy life!
As a father of a family and owner of a house I look with sadness on the stormy youth I am about to describe. I feel a tremble of hesitation in my paw as I poise my memoir-pen.
Still, I draw strength from some words of wisdom I have come across in the memoirs of another remarkable personage: ‘Everyone, of whatever walk in life, who has achieved anything good in this world, or thinks he has, should, if he be truth-loving and nice, write about his life, albeit not starting before the age of forty!’
Tove Jansson
I feel rather nice, and I like truth when it isn’t too boring. I will attain the suitable age on 9 August.
Yes, I really think I must yield to Moomintroll’s persuasion and to the temptation of talking about myself, of getting into print and being read all over Moominvalley! May my simple notes bring delight and instruction to all Moomins, and especially to my dear son, even if my memory isn’t quite what it has been.
And you, foolish little child, who think your father a dignified and serious person, when you read this story of three daddies’ adventures you should bear in mind that one daddy is very like another (at least when young).
I believe many of my readers will thoughtfully lift their snout from the pages of this book every once in a while to exclaim: ‘What a Moomin!’ or: ‘This indeed is life!’
Last but not least I want to express my heartfelt thanks to the people who most of all contributed to forming my life into the work of art it has become: Hodgkins, the Hattifatteners, and my wife, the matchless and exceptional Moominmamma.
Moominvalley in August
CHAPTER 1
In which I tell of my misunderstood childhood, of the tremendous night of my escape, of the building of my first Moominhouse, and of my historical meeting with Hodgkins.
ONE cold and windy autumn evening many years ago a newspaper parcel was found on the doorstep of the Home for Moomin Foundlings. In that parcel I lay, quite small and shivering with cold, and without the least idea of where my father and mother were. (I’ve thought sometimes how much more romantic it would have been if mother had only laid me instead on green moss, in a small straw basket. But she probably hadn’t any.)
The Hemulen who had built the Foundlings’ Home snorted her customary snort and clamped a numbered seal on my tail to avoid mixing me up with the other Moomin-children. There were a lot of us, and we all soon became grave and tidy youngsters, because the Hemulen had a most solid character and used to wash us more often than she kissed us.
Still, she had one little weakness; she was interested in astrology, and every time a Moominchild was found on her doorstep she observed the position of the stars. They seem to be most important things!
Just imagine – had I come into the world only half an hour later I would have felt compelled to join the Hemulic Voluntary Brass Band, and one day earlier only gamblers were born. (Mothers and fathers should keep such things well in mind.)
But when the Hemulen looked at my stars she just shook her head and exclaimed: ‘This will be no easy Moomin. He’s overtalented.’
I think she was right (except that I have always felt at ease with myself).
I’ll never forget the house we lived in. It wasn’t like a Moominhouse at all. No surprising nooks and corners, no secret chambers, no stairs, no balconies, no towers. The Foundlings’ Home was bleak and square, and it stood on a lonely heath.
I remember the fog, and the cries of the night birds, and the lonely trees on the horizon – and dark corridors with rows and rows of doors opening on square and beery-brown rooms. I remember that nobody was ever allowed to eat treacle sandwiches in bed or to keep pets under it, or to get up at night for a walk and chat.
I remember the dismal smell of oatmeal soup. And just imagine that you had to carry your tail at a certain angle when saying ‘good morning’ to the Hemulen!
‘Have you washed your ears?’ she inquired. ‘Whatever are you thinking of?’ she asked. ‘Please be sensible!’ she said.
I wasn’t sensible. At first I was only unhappy. I used to stand before the mirror and look deep in my unhappy eyes and heave sighs such as: ‘Oh, cruel fate!’ ‘Oh, terrible lot.’ ‘Nevermore.’ And in a few minutes I felt a little better.
But then spring came . . .
It came all at once. Shoots and sprouts pushed dazedly out of the ground, crumpled like the ears of newborn Moominchildren. New winds were singing at night, and the world was full of all kinds of whirring, chirping and humming noises. Everything was new once again.
And one day I heard a calm, regular thunder far away. The sea had shed its ice, and the surf was breaking on the shore. But we were never allowed to go to the shore.
I walked about, all alone, thinking.
I thought of everything I’ve just described to you. Of stars, Hemulens, square rooms, tail-seals and the surf. And I expect you’ll understand that I decided to run away. There simply wasn’t anything else to do.
The escape was easy, almost too easy. I had only to wait until everybody was asleep. Then I silently opened my window and made fast