Taddy

Yes, Taddy.

This bear is a very special bear. He belongs to my dad Billy, and has done since he was born in 1948. That's 65 years ago this year. Until recently Taddy lived in my granny's house in East Kilbride and shared an old, doll's bed with a few other much loved bears belonging to my dad's brothers. I'm not sure why he decided to bring him home, I'm guessing he must have missed him. As you can see from the photo, Taddy has been cuddled lots over the years. He has no eyes, has undergone tummy surgery and his joints aren't as flexible as I'm sure they once were, but he is a well loved bear, especially by my dad.

When my dad was a wee boy, he had Scarlet Fever, like the boy in The Velveteen Rabbit, and he was quarantined in hospital. So that he didn't miss Taddy, my granny brought him to the hospital, that way my dad and Taddy could wave to each other through the glass. Another time, my dad accidentally left him behind when he had been on holiday in Millport and, as this was (long) before the advent of mobile phones, they had to wait until they got back to East Kilbride to phone the guesthouse. Luckily, the owner had already popped Taddy in the post so my dad didn't have to be without him for long. Like I said, Taddy is a well loved bear.


'What is REAL?' asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. 'Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?'

'Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When someone loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt? Asked the Rabbit.

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.'

'I suppose you are real?' said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse only smiled.

'Someone made me Real,' he said. 'That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.'

Margery Williams (1881-1944)