In Good Night, Mr. Tom, individual talent needs a supportive community to express itself. The novel’s protagonist, a school-aged child named William Beech, is an innately talented artist. Yet his abusive biological mother Mrs. Beech and his under-resourced school in London, full of discipline-focused teachers and bullies, prevent him from expressing that talent. William, along with many other children, is evacuated from London in 1939 at the outbreak of World War II because the English government anticipates that the Nazis will bomb densely populated urban areas in and around London. Staying in the rural village of Little Weirwold, William finds the supportive community that allows his artistic talent to flourish. He stays with Tom Oakley, an elderly widower who—unlike William’s abusive mother—praises his drawings and buys him art supplies. He makes friends with fellow evacuee Zach and Little Weirwold children George, Carrie, and Ginnie, who—unlike the bullies at his school in London—appreciate rather than mock his artistic sensitivity. Finally, he finds supportive teachers in young Mrs. Hartridge and veteran Geoffrey Sanderton who—unlike his punitive, discipline-focused teacher in London—encourage him to express himself and develop his technical artistic skill. William cannot flourish as an artist in London; it is only when he has a whole community supporting him that his innate talent comes to the fore. In this way, Good Night, Mr. Tom implies that people must have supportive communities if they are to develop their talents.
Talent and Community ThemeTracker
Talent and Community Quotes in Good Night, Mr. Tom
He raised the lid and stared at the brightly colored pots. “Paints?” he inquired.
Tom grunted in the affirmative. “Bit old, but the pots’ll do. You paint?” Willie’s face fell. He longed to paint. “Nah, ‘cos I can’t read.”
“The ones that can read and write gits the paint, that it?”
“Yeh.” Willie touched one of the pots gently with his hand and then hastily took it away.
Willie continued to gaze at the materials. He loved the reds, but Mum said red was a sinful color.
“We must all help one another now.”
“As soon as I see someone I like, I talk to them.”
Willie almost dropped the clod of earth he was holding. No one had ever said that they liked him. He’d always accepted that no one did. Even his mum said she only liked him when he was quiet and still.
He couldn’t read or write. He couldn’t swim or ride a bicycle. He had never made anything and he couldn’t tell the difference between one flower and another. He couldn’t play cricket or any other game for that matter and he had never been fishing. He began to panic. The others would get bored with waiting and go off on their own without him. He swallowed hard and looked up at their faces. They didn’t look bored. He relaxed a little and then he remembered something.
“I likes drawin’.”
The jersey had a polo-neck collar in red. The cuffs and the waistband were ribbed in the same color. Willie thought that next to Zach’s deep complexion and black hair the red looked pleasing.
“I think it’s fine,” he said quietly, and Zach knew he was speaking truthfully.
“And here’s me dying to act and I can’t be in it because I’m Jewish.”
“Now you know how I feel about the high school,” said Carrie.
“I’m afraid I’ve had some rather bad news. Robert and Christine’s mother came early this morning and took them back to London. It seems she felt they were being used as unpaid labor. This means we have no Scrooge.”
“Everythin’ has its own time,” he whispered, and he blushed. “That’s what Mister Tom ses.”
Tom grunted. “I ent ‘ere to listen to meself. One more time.”