As a little girl growing up at Shalimar my grandmother gave me a cane chair which suitably matched a larger version labelled “Dad’s chair”. Many years later that chair is doubly precious to me, as my siblings and grandchildren have spent many hours in it cutting and pasting, plaiting hair, watching TV and now sorting out my photos.
My sewing machine likewise saw lots of activity when it was new – dolly clothes and handkerchiefs. Any spare scrap of material was made into curtains for the precious doll house made from a cardboard box with matchboxes for furniture. My mother was always liberal with the use of scissors and we used them sensibly, no hair cutting or taking chunks out of the cat to stick on the celluloid dolls who never had any hair.
Another gift from my grandmother was a crockery tea set. So precious it was only used for very special friends and of course my doll. Now my doll was a sight to behold, she was much more regal than my first doll who my mother made from one of dad’s old socks. I loved both of those dolls. These few toys would entertain for hours but as a child there was always that “special” one that felt your tears, listened to your complaints and was loved more dearly than the rest.
Author: Marilyn Boyd
