Goodbye Childhood
This is Julie, the sleeping doll I got for Christmas when I was seven.
Actually, that’s not true. The one I got was dressed in pale green, my mother’s favourite colour. I was so disappointed that I cried. My favourite colour was blue. My father hastened back to the shop to try and change her. (It stayed open Christmas morning just for that reason.) Luckily he could. Then I was happy.
I loved Julie dearly, and used to walk her in a little toy pram. She came without underwear! I made her some black panties. They weren’t very glamorous; they were square, seams tacked together in white thread (I didn’t have black). But she wore them forever after, under her pretty clothes. I couldn’t comb her hair; it was glued to her head in a mass, no strands to separate.
Mum said later how sad she was that it was so soon after the war (World War 2) that we still felt the effects of rationing. China dolls weren’t available. Julie had bakelite limbs and head and a rag body stuffed with something that felt like stiffly packed chaff. I didn’t care. No basis of comparison! I thought she was beautiful.
Originally there was lace around her bonnet. Several decades later, she looked shabby, and almost bald (that hair disintegrated over time). She’d lost the booties that matched her bonnet. A crafty friend gave her new hair and booties. I sat her by my bed. She shouldn’t be hidden away, I thought.
Years after, in a recent decluttering, I took a good look at her. High time I washed those clothes again! I took off her bonnet. It was thickly lined with bits of hair that had come away. In the wash, the ribbons on her dress fell to pieces. Her cloth body felt lumpy. Her stumpy bakelite fingers showed some knocks.
I’d sometimes contemplated selling her to an antique shop. But who’d want this war-time baby in her deterioration?
I hadn’t cuddled her in a long time. I’d let her get dusty.
So much for sentimentality! Julie and her clobber, even the black panties I lovingly made her when I was little, all went into the bin.
Written for Weekly Scribblings #93 at Poets and Storytellers United, where we're asked to write about something we loved as a child.
Ah, well. She gave little you a lot of joy when you needed it.
ReplyDeleteYes, and for all those years after was a source of affectionate reminiscence. But I have reached the time of wanting to shed some skins.
DeleteI admire you that you treasured her for so many years. I have no idea what happened to my dolls. I DO remember I was crushed on a return visit home in my 20s when I discovered my mother had sold my bicycle! I guess I thought it would always be there!
ReplyDeleteI have never quite got over discovering on a visit home in my thirties that my mother had got rid of all my childhood books, saying, 'I didn't think you still wanted them' – after begging me for years not to take them away with me, 'So that I know you'll always come back', and my very reluctant agreement to that. I replaced some titles over the years, but it's not quite the same as that physical volume one cherished.
DeleteWhat a sweet memory. Still, when things fall apart it's sometimes best to get rid of them. Washing has done in some things of mine too.
ReplyDeleteAs they say, nothing last forever!
DeleteYour Julie and my Phoebe would have been the greatest of chums. I so enjoyed reading this, Rosemary.
ReplyDeleteI think Little Helen and Little Rosemary would have been, too, could they have met (and been the same age).
DeleteClose enough ....
DeleteRosemary, this is sooo sweet!!! You are too are sweet, thank you for the Friday vote. Nice too, if there isn't time for one to write anew or the Muse doesn't come, then as usual in the Pantry, the choice can me made for an older poem.
ReplyDeleteBTW, today I am rather sad that my old monkey is lost. I may put him in some place special that I cannot remember.
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Julie had some very good years. Still, I bet it was hard to let her go--she was full of stories. I guess the stories remain with you, so Julie will never be really gone.
ReplyDeleteI did have to steel myself a bit. I was curious as to what she was stuffed with – but in the end could not bear to cut into her poor, dead body to find out. Still, as you say, there are the memories.
DeleteEnticing reminiscences.Nicely worded.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteMy doll stage was a happy one and i loved the tiny porclein teasets. Don't see them about these days
ReplyDeleteMuch💜love
Ah, you're right. I'd forgotten them; but yes, they were lovely.
DeleteI guess ladies don't take afternoon tea in each other's homes so much any more – they're all out working. And so little girls and their dollies don't do that either.
DeleteA favorite toy is a wondrous thing and I'm glad that you had a precious companion to share your younger life with. It must have been a sad day to give her up.
ReplyDeleteNot as sad as one might expect. It was time.
DeleteHow nice to keep a treasured doll all those years.
ReplyDeleteYes, it certainly ensured that the memories remain fresh.
DeleteDid you throw her away? That sort of bin? I have a doll from when I was little. She had that string that you could pull and she would say something. I don't recall what she said and it doesn't work anymore.
ReplyDeleteYes, she went out with the rubbish. (Maybe you say garbage.)
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