The Last Doll
In the beginning there was a rather strange bear called Koala.
Then I moved on to the dolls.
It seems to be the thing now for girls to say "Oh no, I never played with dolls much, I preferred Lego."
Well, I didn't. Nasty, prickly stuff, Lego. Its only use was for building a dolls' bed.
I did all the other proper-childhood stuff - - all the treehouses, and the dens, and the fishing - - fantastic.
But I always loved the dolls.
Early on I had Charlotte, with a pottery head, given to me by my grandmother and given her name too - not by me, for I was then too young even to name my own dolls.
Charlotte's head was prone to breaking, and having to be mended at the Doll's Hospital (yes, such a wonderful shop did actually exist). For "mended" read "a whole new head" but I didn't know that then, or I would have been upset. I've still got her, of course, final head intact: I've still got them all.
Later, I graduated to the teenage dolls. I never had Barbie: I had Sindy, and her little sister Patch, and Penny Brite, and Tressy: slogan "Her - Hair - Grows!" And so it did, after a fashion - you could pull up a long strand of it from inside her head and put it in a pony tail.
But that was not where my interest lay. I wasn't interested in dressing them up or doing their hair - they stayed in one outfit for ever and their hair got only a perfunctory combing.
No, my dolls had adventures. Usually out in the garden, and usually involving tremendous peril up a tree, with a Robin Hood-type good and evil element. They didn't await rescue like soppy girlies. Oh no, they were early feminists and always secured their own release from the forces of evil. They were, of course, all girls - there were no boy dolls in those days.
What this says about me, and my childhood, I leave to your conjecture.
When I was about eleven, I was given some birthday money and decided to buy a doll. We went to the shop: I looked round and finally decided on a baby doll in a white dress with a sweet expression: the look on dolls' faces was always of paramount importance to me.
And, as I bought it, I knew it was too late really: I knew it was the last one. I knew I was growing up. I remember knowing, and yet buying the doll, and knowing she'd be kept in pristine condition because I was really too old for her. Damn.
Then I moved on to the dolls.
It seems to be the thing now for girls to say "Oh no, I never played with dolls much, I preferred Lego."
Well, I didn't. Nasty, prickly stuff, Lego. Its only use was for building a dolls' bed.
I did all the other proper-childhood stuff - - all the treehouses, and the dens, and the fishing - - fantastic.
But I always loved the dolls.
Early on I had Charlotte, with a pottery head, given to me by my grandmother and given her name too - not by me, for I was then too young even to name my own dolls.
Charlotte's head was prone to breaking, and having to be mended at the Doll's Hospital (yes, such a wonderful shop did actually exist). For "mended" read "a whole new head" but I didn't know that then, or I would have been upset. I've still got her, of course, final head intact: I've still got them all.
Later, I graduated to the teenage dolls. I never had Barbie: I had Sindy, and her little sister Patch, and Penny Brite, and Tressy: slogan "Her - Hair - Grows!" And so it did, after a fashion - you could pull up a long strand of it from inside her head and put it in a pony tail.
But that was not where my interest lay. I wasn't interested in dressing them up or doing their hair - they stayed in one outfit for ever and their hair got only a perfunctory combing.
No, my dolls had adventures. Usually out in the garden, and usually involving tremendous peril up a tree, with a Robin Hood-type good and evil element. They didn't await rescue like soppy girlies. Oh no, they were early feminists and always secured their own release from the forces of evil. They were, of course, all girls - there were no boy dolls in those days.
What this says about me, and my childhood, I leave to your conjecture.
When I was about eleven, I was given some birthday money and decided to buy a doll. We went to the shop: I looked round and finally decided on a baby doll in a white dress with a sweet expression: the look on dolls' faces was always of paramount importance to me.
And, as I bought it, I knew it was too late really: I knew it was the last one. I knew I was growing up. I remember knowing, and yet buying the doll, and knowing she'd be kept in pristine condition because I was really too old for her. Damn.
posted by Daphne at 3:07 pm
3 Comments:
getonwithyourbother, there was Action Man in those days, surely?
Oh, yes, I'd forgotten about him - but he would never have been allowed in our house, far too militaristic. Sindy had some kind of boyfriend doll I think - - oh yes, called Paul - - probably after the Beatle - but I had no interest in him, he had no personality and existed only as Sindy's eye candy.
I never had boyfriend dolls either - my girls were independant women! My first doll was Flower Baby (so named by my young self since she had a flowered dress on...) I used her as my model for the first thing I ever sewed - she's still wearing it, in fact! Always been fascinated by Barbies (especially those high-fashion ones with huge designer dresses) but never bought any - by that point I knew I was too old...
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