It’s a funny old world: Gabrielle Mullarkey

This week’s columnist: Gabrielle Mullarkey

My teddy bear Randolph is no more. Let me say straight off that I’ve never been a sentimental collector of soft toys, nor the kind of kid who sat exams with their lucky gonk on display. But years later, when I was living abroad and on my own, I won Randolph in a raffle. He came pre-christened with his moniker on a bow around his neck. To my surprise, we bonded immediately, possibly because he reminded me of an ex I’d left back in Blighty – large, fluffy, glassy-eyed, and rather strong and silent. Randolph accompanied me on further adventures and eventually, back to Blighty, and in the mysterious way of these things, he came to reside in the back of a wardrobe in a relative’s home, where I never doubted he was safely, if dustily, intact. But then came news that Randolph had been ‘discovered’ by said relative’s newly acquired puppy – and subsequently chewed to pieces. ‘Stuffing everywhere,’ sniffed pup-owner, as if I was liable for kapok reduced to kibble. I wondered, briefly, if his furry remains merited a trip to The Repair Shop’s team of brilliant restorers, but Muffin the

It’s a funny old world

terrier had left them very little to work with. Randolph had gone instead to the great workshop in the sky. I was taken aback by my wave of emotion on hearing of his demise. As with all things casually neglected, I expected him to languish in forced retirement until I deigned to recall his existence. Now I find myself glancing appraisingly at bears in toyshops, weighing up a possible replacement while pretending it’s for ‘a child I know’. I’m not sure why I’m so furtive about declaring a bear-owning interest. Bears have an impressive hold on our childhood memories, from Yogi and Baloo to Pooh and Paddington. A mixture of the naughty, noble and ridiculous. I can only speak more highly of cats. In fact, as if to counteract the loss of Randolph, recently I rediscovered a Bagpuss pyjama case I’d carried with me throughout my 20s. In those days of moving from one flat-share to another, he was a symbol of continuity. Until, of course, I shoved him in a cupboard and hightailed it abroad – where Randolph was waiting in the wings to fill a gap I hadn’t noticed leaving. So I would never scorn adult owners of pliable plushies, and I’m still on a bear hunt to compensate for Randolph’s loss. This time, my bear of necessity will never be consigned to a cupboard or a teething pup. I might even take him on a picnic.

‘They’re naughty and noble’