Teddy bear

135. 6 December 2021

My teddy bear was called Buc –

‘Cub’ backwards on the suggestion of my grandmother.

He was fawn, made of sheepskin stuffed with straw,

With quite a flat face but kind-looking.

I got him when I was three.

Before him was Scotty-toodle, a small stuffed dog

With a Royal Stuart tartan coat.

I don’t know what happened to Scotty-toodle,

But I do know what happened to Buc.

I kept him, not with any great care,

Far into my adulthood, when my children were young.

Sometimes in my bedroom, sometimes in a box.

He came with me through Clapham and Tooting

And made the long trip to Cornwall in another box.

And there, in Carnon Downs, I made a terrible discovery.

Buc had worms. In point of fact,

Moth larvae munching holes in the sheepskin

And scoffing the straw stuffing.

I almost screamed when I saw it –

You would too! It had never occurred to me

That such a thing could happen!

Burning Buc seemed too cruel and macabre.

I couldn’t just put him in the bin.

How could I abandon my old friend so?

In the end I buried him in the back garden.

Secretly, weeping the whole time.

***

Actually, what I need is a whisky but I’ll take coffee.