Today’s guest post was written by Celia Miles.
I was never one for dolls, don’t recall a homemade rag doll or a store bought porcelain-faced doll. But I did have a unique doll among the girls at Dillsboro School—a soldier boy, complete with uniform, removable cap, black boots, and a “Yes Sir” look on his face. He arrived before Christmas, and I didn’t wait for Santa time to tear into the box and discard the stuffing. It was barely post WW II and I was barely six. My uncles, not yet demobilized (the two who were) or home (the one whose casket arrived years later), had sent a perfect gift for the niece who played “Cowboys and Indians” and roamed afield, far from kitchen or broom.
His name is lost in the annals of childhood and violence. I lugged him around (he was half as tall as I was, gangly, loose-limbed, straw-stuffed) in the woods, sat with him on the front porch, dragged him through the snow, and, yes, subjected him to violence. He was a perfect object to be yanked and pulled: me on one side, a “foe” on the other; and he lost an arm that way. No complaining from him, but I thought his face began to look drawn and his tan paled. Still my soldier lasted three winters, three Christmases, during which two sisters found pretty dolls beneath the tree. Of course, they vied for my soldier boy’s attentions and more tugging ensued; he preferred my company but they didn’t believe it. Then he was severely wounded. I’d left him outside they said—a cat or a rat had found his heart. I bandaged his wounds, noting his chipped lip, his scratched eye. “An enemy” fatally shot him, so said those who found him under my bed. Red smeared his bandaged chest. I knew it was lipstick but I wept for his death and put him away.
“A casualty of war,” Mama said. “Like your Uncle Winfred.”
I hope you enjoyed Celia’s post. She is a wonderful writer! I’ve enjoyed every book she’s written—and I think I’ve read them all 🙂
Last night’s video: The Christmas Barn – Part 3.
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Ahhhh, Doll memories. My 1st doll was named Bubbled-Dee-Do. I came up with that name all on my 2 year old self. One Christmas I got a doll that resembled a real baby and named her Elizabeth (I got more conventional with the names). I was crazy about baby dolls & carted one (along with a diaper bag) every where! I was proud to show her off at school. One day a girl, that I didn’t much care for, took hold of Elizabeth’s hand while sitting on a playground swing. She leaned back & went to swing and purposefully did not let go of her hand. She ripped Elizabeth’s arm right OFF. Oh, how I cried. Luckily, superglue had been invented and my mother fixed her up the best she could. Years later that girl stole my boyfriend. Guess it was foreshadowing. LOL. (I still have that doll)
Another doll came when I was starting to doubt that there was a Santa. She seemed so expensive (but probably wasn’t) that I reasoned there must really be a Santa. Surely my parents could not have afforded her, while still having to buy gifts for 3 other children and not much $. I named her Lucille. She had blond ringlets, pink gingham dress & little pink maryjanes. I loved her too, but never played with her much. I held on to her until just a couple of years ago, but neither girl of mine was much interested in dolls. Because she still looked like new, I moved her on to the thrift store & maybe some other little girl is enjoying her. Its funny that I loved baby dolls, as I never have enjoyed real babies all that much (other than my own, that is).
I thank all of you who read and commented on “My Soldier Boy Doll.” I only wish I could claim to have kept him, as Angelin did her Augie dogy. In various moves he was lost but like all good (and some bad) things, the memory remains. Of course, I loved your positive words and your seeing a deeper meaning to the story…which often happens long after the fact. Thanks again. celia
Tipper, this is a bit off topic for today’s post. Sorry.
Have you done an oyster stew recipe? If you have I can’t find it and would appreciate a link.
TIA
Robert-the recipe Matt uses is very simple. You can see it here: https://blindpigandtheacorn.com/oyster-stew-a-christmas-eve-tradition/ 🙂
Reminds me of the ‘Steve Irwin’ doll that my grandson had. They went through many adventures together. Thanks for sharing this.
Well, Tipper, last night’s reading was a thriller. Finding Baby John with a broken arm but ever the Baby John every one doted on. Pa’s skill a ‘doctorin’ was classic: cob webs and clay for a broken arm and gash. A barn with a fireplace was either quite on Pa’s part when pickin’ the place or just plain lucky (or perhaps poetic license?). A great story and very well presented by Miss Tipper! Thank you!!
I had a sister who was called Baby Lee throughout her 75 years, not only by the family but also by her friends and acquaintances. She was named Elizabeth Lee but my oldest brother had trouble with the Elizabeth part and called her “Baby Lee”. It stuck.
Loved the story today. I had a little stuffed bear I carried everywhere, even to the hospital when I was six years old to get my tonsils removed. Eventually one of his eyes came off. I even put a rope around his neck and tied him to my handlebars on my bike so he could ride with me. I kept him and when my niece came along, she wanted to play with him, but he was so worn out by then, he mostly just sat on my bed. Tipper, last night’s reading was wonderful. Sad the tree ruined their house, but thankful they had the barn to move into. Never heard of the remedy using the spider web. There was just so much of the story I loved. Can’t wait until the next reading. I do have the feeling they will have a wonderful Christmas. Have a blessed day everyone!
I love her writings too.
That story reminds me of my stuffed animal I called Augie dogy. I don’t remember a day without him in my 58 years. To this day he sits in my sewing room with other sentimental things from my past. Bless him, he has no ears, no tail and one amputated leg that was replaced with a muslin leg. He is threadbare and his stuffing falls out if you move him too much. But I love him anyway. My Dad loves to tell about the time we had to turn around and drive hours back to my aunts to get him cause he was left behind. Being without Augie would never do! My heart still melts when I look at him and he always makes me smile.
My hubby has a stuffed blue hippo that he received as a baby. It is one of the only things that survived his hellish childhood. Its fur is totally matted and dingy, even though it has been washed. Its ears are chewed up and its neck stuffing is flat. Its head lolls comically to the side. I offered to open it a bit in the seam to restuff it. Sacrilege! He said I was allowed to do no such thing. It has stayed the way it is.
I just ordered 2 of her books on kindle, and noticed that one reviewer cited your recommendation as the reason that reviewer purchased a book! Well, me too.
I’m looking forward to reading these over the holidays.
Merry Christmas, Tipper, to you and all of your family. I really enjoy reading your blog every day. That’s quite a chore you have set for yourself.
I love this story!
Terrific tale of childhood! This took me back to my “tomboy” years when I preferred my brothers’ toys over the fluffy dolls.
This was a great story with a few sad points like getting your deceased loved one’s remains YEARS after the fact. I’d have been both madder than a hatter and relieved to get what’s left home. I’ve come to the sick conclusion the poor fight wars the rich create (while their precious broods are hidden safely at a private college…) When the kids were little, I took them to Chuck E Cheese. (I loved it there myself. The bear band was great!) Anyway, Chuck E. had a piece busted off his false face. My little daughter asked him if that hurt and he nodded yes… I love kids. I really really do think they’re AWESOME AND INNOCENT!!! So very precious they are and the best blessing of life… Chuck E. was pretty creative too. Bless his heart.
Wars are between governments, not people. Wars are old men sending their young men to kill and die for them. If wars could only be fought between men over 70 they wouldn’t last nearly as long.
I loved that story. Celia weaves a tale like a fine piece of cloth. I too was a tomboy but I liked my dolls, too. I hunted and fished with my Daddy and played with my dolls in the red velvet dresses with eyelet lace. I saved my dolls but we lost them in a house fire when I was in high school. Some were even still in the original box, having never been played with. But I did so love this story. Thank you, Tipper for sharing.
Celia is not just a writer, but she can tell a great story. Even though I was a bit of a tomboy as a child, I had my favorite doll. It was an era when boy dolls had become popular. We never got toys other than Christmas, and we could pick out one item we wanted. I wanted a “big boy doll” and Christmas morning there he was under the tree. He was especially memorable nestled under those bubbling lights with the fragrance of pine permeating the small living room. I loved him all dressed in his blue corduroy jacket and blue pants. He wore one of those flat Newsboy hats. Unfortunately, I was OCD even at that young age, so my big boy did not enjoy a lot of adventure. He had to sit quietly while I climbed trees, rode bikes, and walked out the lane on homemade stilts. I would have kept him forever, except I watched helplessly while a neighbor boy twisted his head off. By this time, I was too old to be playing with dolls. It was upsetting, as I was quite attached to my boy doll named Calvin. In all fairness to the neighbor boy, he was a curious sort who was always trying to see how everything worked. That neighbor went on to marry a friend of mine and became a reputable “church going” man. As usual, Tipper, your posts take me back in time and help me dig into my sweet memory bank.
This is a real good thoughtful story. To me, she was showing her love and concern for her her uncles in the war through her doll.
Patty, I did not see your reply to me about your bloodhound puppy until last night.I read a story about a girl naming her bloodhound puppy “Ears”. Her first words when she saw him were “look at his ears”.
Wow what a story teller, so vivid! I loved my baby dolls, but we got 3’ tall weddin dolls one Christmas, can’t remember much about them other than gettin them. My best memories of dolls are my off brand Barbie dolls. We could make a home for them with just about anything, dad’s big ashtrays always made a hot tub …..hahahaha
Great read yesterday. Can’t wait for next Monday and then I will read the book. I purchased it right have your first installment. Thanks for all you do for Appalachia…we, my family and I’ love you guys.
I had a Sweet Sue Doll as a child. I drug her around for several years, inseparable, till she was absolutely worn out. She was of the era as these lovely Christmas Cards Tipper has been posting at the head of our Christmas posts. I have really enjoyed seeing these lovely old Christmas Cards!
Celia is a good story teller
Delta’s story reminds me of “The Velveteen Rabbit” and also my black ‘Smoky’ bear stuffed toy I just called Teddy. He to had a hard life and had a ‘drug’ problem. He was drug all over the place and sometimes got forgotten outside overnight. Once upon a time I never wanted him to be far from me. But little boys grow up somehow and “put away childish things” until they grow wiser still.