1978 School Magazine

Write a composition of about 700 words on: "A thing of beauty is a joy for Its loveliness increases; it will Pass into nothingness . . ." ever: never Keats

P.G. Walters,6C. For some reason yet unknown to me, I have always treasured my teddy-bear and, now, looking at my subject propped drunkenly against the wall, the puzzle becomes more unfathomable yet more understandable. It can't be nostalgia; I don't see Teddy as he was; a com- fort to a small child, a f riend to talk to if sleep was slow in coming; but as he is; a mature, young bear, character as deeply ingrained in his face as dirt. None of his endear- ing traits have been lost in the passing time, but like a good wine, he seems to have mellowed, become more refined and nonchalant. Why wasn't he discarded years ago? Had he been a mere toy, or form of security perhaps he would have been, sawdust and stuffing retur- ning to the scrap heap. Once loved, however, "th-en you become real" and take on a beauty that can't be clouded over simply because the aura of youth has been [ost. I remember the crises. My brother and I hunched over Teddy's prostrate form alternately stuffing and resewing, we cut up innumerable shirts to keep him in shape, we removed his ailing heart and substituted a roll of ban- dage, we stitched his threadbare balding chest together, reattached his ears by which I so often transported him, painted in eyes for the ones he'd lost, stuck band-aids over wounds that never healed. Teddy recovered, of course, and now had the air of a jaunty returned soldier with a lop-sided grin and deep, ugly scars. To many it probably wasn't worth the trouble, several operations to keep a retired bear alive. I find, however, that I am deep- ly indebted to my brother for his surgical skill as I gaze upon my bear who seems as perennial as the grass, and more beautiful than any novice to the teddy-bear profes- sion. Admittedly Teddy is showing his age, thirty years active service would turn anybody's hair grey, languishing in dark, musty cupboards must affect one's lungs, a lack of exercise must tend to obesity. A true love, though, will see these not as blights, rather accept them, or, better still, see them as complementing the character, facilitating a growth and ripeness that, previously, was unimaginable. Thrpwing away Teddy would be throwing away emotion, th6 physical evidence may disappear, you may force his memory deep into your subconscious, but emotions linger and manifest themselves in supel- ficially bland but perhaps deeply insidious ways. lf , suddenly, Teddy vanished (and, I suspect, there were many times my mother was tempted to play a "Merlin the Magician" type role and spirit him away), the im- mediate effect upon me would seem to be negligable and the conjurer would be relieved of all guilt feelings. Then, realising the injustice, (even if it wai establishld that Teddy had been innocently lost, a victim of being in the wrong place at the right time), I would fly into the kind of rage that film makers usually reserve for the false mourner. With the image of Teddy stiil firmly fixed in my mind, I would, eventually, encounter a third reaction. After calming down I would realise that the worth of Ted- dy, the lessons I had been taught through him, the

pleasure I had derived, had not been lost, that Teddy would always remain as part of me. To those who had no dealings with Teddy, he is nothing already, not existing, not even being, just filling up space. For me, and most of my family, there will always be a little yellow ghost, although he is not yet dead, prop- ped at the bedside of each of us and our future children. This time, however, he'll be talking to us, instead of the reverse, sternly yet gently reminding us of our failings and peculiarities in childhood; urging, entreating us to be tolerant and compassionate; Teddy will be exercising a hold on me long after the moths have turned him into a leper, a bear shunned by society and cast out to die. His eyelids have started to droop; sitting up for long periods of time tends to tire him out, his bright blue eyes are ringed with red (permanently, a slip of the paint- brush), his snout rests comfortably on his chest. lt seems I should return him to his cupboard. ". . . once'you are realyou can't be ugly, except to peo- ple who don't understand." Quotes taken from What is Real? by Mariorie Williams 63