A couple of days ago, I was reacquainted with an old friend. ‘Blackie’, the toy dog I won at a school tombola thirty years ago.
Of course, those were more innocent times. I don’t think you would get many parents who wouldn’t baulk at their child giving a toy that name, not in these absurdly politically-correct days. And the intervening years have not been kind to Blackie – he’s lost both of his eyes (though I think those went pretty early on in our life together) and one of his back legs needs stitching up for the umpteenth time.
And the sad thing about getting Blackie back, wonderful though it is to have him back, is that it has made me realise just how few of my old toys I can remember. Big Ted is safely tucked away in a wardrobe, out of the sunlight that was thinning his fur (well, he is over 40 years old now) and Brian (who must be even older, as I inherited him from my late Uncle Valentine) has been passed to my son. But what happened to Lenny the Lion? Or the golliwog I dimly remember having at one time?
And, more importantly, what other toys did I have? I know there were more than these 5 – I used to be able to fill my bed with them. I do hope that this blog will stop me forgetting other important things.