My Teddy Bear

16 Jun


 teddy bear photo: Teddy-Bear-1980 Teddy-Bear-1980.jpg

That teddy bear, the one I lost.

I’ve recounted it before, along with details of how Refreshers are my cure-all and 50s history teachers were sadists. But if you missed the teddy bear thing, here’s what happened.

I was in my push-chair. I believe it was sunny though it may have been cloudy – but I’m as sure as eggs that it wasn’t raining. Nor was it snowing. Or hailing.

I was three. Or two, though back then two-year olds sat in prams rather than push-chairs. I suppose I might have been four, but even back then four year-olds probably walked. So I guess I was three(ish).

I had my teddy bear with me.

Now let’s get this straight. I loved that teddy bear. Not sexually, you understand, but emotionally. I told it stuff, important stuff, and it understood. It agreed with me. But either by some toy-induced mischief or because I was careless that teddy bear leapt out of the push-chair and landed on the pavement.

My push-chair faced my mum who was pushing it so I could see where we’d been. She was talking intently to someone, another woman, could be her sister Doris or best friend Audrey. Most likely one of them though I suppose she did have other friends. But the actual person she was talking to isn’t important. My teddy bear is.

I shouted loud as I could but nobody took any notice of me except to tell me to be quiet and wait my turn or something like that. And even now when I close my eyes I can see that teddy bear slowly disappearing down the path until we turned a corner and it was out of sight.

I’ve said I was very young so you will understand that I truly believed that my teddy bear was a great deal more important than anything two grown-ups might be talking about.

It was lovely and I loved it. I probably even prayed to that the mystical bloke in Heaven to breathe life into it like he had into Adam way back. I know I prayed that prayer about my knitted and stuffed elephant a few years later.

But the truth is, on the path near the swimming baths (or where they used to be if they’ve moved) in Rugby, against a green hedge (could be privet) my teddy bear lay still as the dead, and leaving me.

And the grown-ups talked on.

Two things emerged from this painful loss. Firstly, there clearly was no God looking down and protecting me and my teddy or it would have found its way back to me, and it didn’t. Secondly, grown-ups shouldn’t have such intensely important things to talk about when their small son’s toys get lost. It was plain unfair!

I wondered, years later, what could have been so important. Did it have, for instance, anything to do with the abscess on the lung that took my dad from me a year or so later? Is that what was so important?

And anyway, why wasn’t God watching over dad as well? He should have been, surely.

A growing boy needs a father and I can’t remember having one. I can’t even remember remembering him, if that makes sense. I guess you’d say I was deprived, though I didn’t feel it at the time unless losing a teddy bear is being deprived.

© Peter Rogerson 16.06.15


7 Responses to “My Teddy Bear”

  1. Anthony W Allsop June 16, 2015 at 2:26 pm #

    Teddys can have that sort of effect on a young person. Even on an older person, too. I can vouch for that. They become “real”.

  2. georgiakevin June 17, 2015 at 12:48 am #

    Your post is so very poignant, well done!

  3. Ain't No Shrinking Violet June 21, 2015 at 4:07 pm #

    Losing a teddy can be traumatic…especially in the way you did, watching him disappear. I have my childhood teddy with me still. We’ve been together well over 30 years and I would be devastated to lose him, even now that I’m an adult. Losing a teddy IS being deprived. Losing a father, tragic.

  4. Peter Rogerson June 22, 2015 at 6:31 am #

    I’m about to leave for a five day holiday. I’ll check it out on my return.

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