The Oxo Bears by Sarah Swatridge
Pink Champagne!
‘What are you making, Mummy?’ my three-and-a-half-year-old daughter asked.
‘A bear,’ I replied and cast on more stitches.
‘Another bear!’ she exclaimed, ‘You keep making bears and they’re all for other people. You never make me a bear.’
I put down my knitting needles and wool carefully so I didn’t drop a stitch. Then I picked up my little girl and held her on my knee.
‘You have a box full of teddies and toys in your room. I didn’t think you wanted any more teddies.’
‘But you keep making the same teddies for someone else and they must have a box full of teddies that all look the same.’
‘These bears,’ I tried to explain, ‘are for children who don’t have any toys…’
My daughter’s eyes were wide at first and then the disbelief took over. ‘Don’t be silly, Mummy – everyone has toys.’
I hoped she wouldn’t say, ‘you just have to ask Father Christmas,’ because I would have found that difficult to answer.
Instead, I reminded her of a television programme we’d seen of children playing in the street with stones. I don’t know how much she took in. I thought of changing the subject but it seemed like a good opportunity to impress upon her that she was a lucky child and some were not so lucky. It’s never too early to learn.
‘The bears are for children who are in hospital. Doctors find that children who have a teddy to cuddle and to take home with them, get better more quickly than those who don’t have anything to hug or play with.’ My child nodded. Sometimes she was three, going on thirty, with her knowing looks and wise comments.
Quite suddenly she got off my lap and disappeared up to her room, which was more like a small branch of Hamley’s. I left it at that and took the opportunity to knit a few rows. I’d made several bears now and only needed to glance at the pattern to reassure myself that I was on the right lines.
A short while later, my daughter appeared at the door with an armful of assorted toys. I was about to remind her that she already had two boxes of toys downstairs at the moment, when she smiled up at me and asked if the children in the hospital would like these toys, too? A lump came to my throat.
‘Oh darling, I’m sure they’d love your toys and it’s very kind of you but won’t you miss them?’
‘I have lots of toys and it’s my birthday soon,’ said the mature little voice.
‘Well, perhaps we could give these to the driver when he collects the bears,’ I suggested.
‘Don’t the children get toys for their birthdays?’ she asked innocently. I felt we were getting dangerously near Father Christmas again.
‘Darling, this is Bobbin – surely you want to keep him?’ At this, her determination melted. Yes, she would keep Bobbin and the small blue bear that Granny had given her and the one that looked like a space monster, but the poor, sick children could have the white bear, the Rupert bear, the spotty bear and the one that had a plastic face and was half bear and half doll. I’d never liked that one either!
‘I’ll put them in the bag and keep them until it’s time for Mr Robbins to load up his lorry again.’ She nodded, clutching Bobbin, close to her.
‘You can put them with the Oxo bears,’
‘Oxfam bears,’ I corrected, remembering where the original knitting pattern had come from.
Two retired teachers collected things, loaded them into a van and drove over to Bosnia themselves. I felt happy about this because I knew that everything really did go to the hospitals, orphanages and schools that they were intended for.
There were no middle-men, no red tape, no huge organisation with staff to pay; just Mr and Mrs Robbins who made their journey once a year and took it as their holiday. And the photos – well, I admit I shed a few tears. It was a wonderful, heart-warming feeling to see a child hugging a small knitted bear; it could have been one that I’d knitted only I’d have given him a smile.
I recalled my aunt saying once when the news was on that you never see people in hand-knitted jumpers or wrapped in blankets made from ninety-six crocheted squares. I had to agree, but now I’d seen this child with her bear. Her Oxo Bear. It was enough to keep me knitting.
My aunt called in a few days later. She had three Oxo Bears: Bear Right, Bear Left and Stark Naked! I chuckled and put them in the bag under the stairs. I soon finished my latest bear – they don’t take long – it now had that, in my opinion, essential happy face.
‘That one’s called Boxer after Granny’s dog,’ said my daughter. She’d become quite attached to Boxer, who was dressed in Barbie pink. I made up my mind that if she wanted to keep it, she could, at least until the next lorry went and she’d grown out of handmade teddy bears.
In due course Mr and Mrs Robbins called round to tell us that they were off in a few weeks and to ask if we had anything for them to take. I produced the bags from under the stairs, one stuffed with Oxo Bears and one of donated toys.
My daughter duly unpacked the bags and lined up all the bears on parade to have them inspected.
Mrs Robbins knelt down and looked very carefully at each in turn.
‘Oh, what a lovely smile…I do like this one’s trousers…which one is your favourite?’
She was introduced to Boxer. ‘Is Boxer coming with us, or staying here with you?’ asked Mrs Robbins tenderly. Boxer was thrust into her arms.
‘He’s to go with you and you’re to give him to a sick child who likes pink.’ Instructed my little one. ‘He gets a bit travel-sick, so he needs to sit with you at the front of the lorry.’ The cab of the lorry had always held a fascination.
A month or so later we waved them off with a reporter and photographer from the local paper. He photographed them in the cab of the lorry; we’ve got the picture and Boxer can be seen quite clearly looking out of the window on top of a pile of maps.
About three weeks passed; then we received a postcard from Boxer saying that all the girls liked pink, but he had found a special little girl and was very happy.
This story was originally published in Home & Country Magazine December 1998.
About the author
Sarah Swatridge writes short stories for women’s magazines worldwide. She now has a collection of twenty uplifting short stories called Feel-Good Stories along with her large print novels available in libraries and online. Visit www.sarahswatridge.co.uk and sign up to her monthly one page newsletter.
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