My Life on a Plate

Byron

When my sister and I were informed our dad was being placed on 'Byron' ward at the local hospital, we had to laugh despite the continued anxiety regarding his health.

I'm sure as writers you will all know of Lord Byron the famous poet. Byron originated from Nottinghamshire and his home Newstead Abbey is just a short drive from my house. Well, we have a 'Byron' in our family too, which came about around seven years ago, but the story really starts from my childhood years.

When I was a little girl I had no desire to own a doll like others, and I suppose in a way I was a bit of an oddball as my dad often says. I did however have a passion for animals and owned a huge collection of stuffed toys. Now that won't come as a surprise to some I'm sure. Each animal had a name and I suppose my teacher instincts were evident even then, as I kept a register of them all and taught them lessons each day. They all had a birthday and at Christmas I'd make them all a present and wrap them in newspaper. Don't worry, I had real friends and played as any other child too, but my stuffed animals were my pride and joy and wherever I went I was constantly adding to the collection.

I also enjoyed making things, as most children do and my grandma had tried on many occasions to teach me how to knit. My sister took to it straight away but for me it was a struggle and even though I've improved no end since those days, she's still a neater knitter than me. But I digress.

One rainy afternoon when I was about seven and feeling bored, I raided my mum's case of knitting materials and found a pattern to make a bear. Grabbing the first pair of needles and wool I could find, I set about my task of creating a new animal for my collection. Needless to say, with no planning and little technique the finished product didn't quite look like the photo on the knitting pattern, but I never did have the heart to dispose of any of my animals, no matter how strange, threadbare or damaged they became.

The years rolled by, I grew up, (sort of) went to college, started teaching and eventually married and left home. The register of names was long gone, but my huge collection of stuffed toys remained at my parent's house. Many family jokes were made about my inability to part with them. Eventually, my parents moved house and my toy collection came with them in a large plastic bag.

Over the years I know my mum gave many away to my niece and nephew and to charity shops, but some still remained including the knitted bear, which I'm sure would never have found a second home anyway. One weekend when my sister came over, we sorted through the toys and my mum suggested I take said bear home with me, as its colour matched my bedroom. I declined and my sister seized the opportunity to accuse me of neglect and being uncaring towards something I had created. She's a great tease.

Later that day, the family took a ride out to Newstead Abbey and unbeknown to me, sis had smuggled the bear out in her bag. Half way round the grounds, she produced the bear and told it if I wasn't going to care for it and was content to leave it in a black bin liner for the rest of its days, then she'd make sure it saw a bit of the world. The rest of the afternoon was spent in fits of laughter while sis kept taking out the bear and introducing it to new sights. 'Now this is grass,' and 'Those are trees,' 'That's the sky,'and 'Smell these flowers.' etc etc. You can imagine the faces of passers by who'd come to the Abbey to learn about its history and Lord Byron.

I couldn't remember the name I'd given to the bear originally, so due to his first outing at Newstead Abbey, he was christened Byron. Over the years, Byron has had many adventures and travelled widely and been the cause of much hysterical laughter. I always promised one day I'd write an illustrated book about the adventures of Byron, but the problem would be what age group to aim it at. Children may be the obvious choice but many of his adventures are rather raunchy to say the least. And I'm not sure how many adults would want to read about the antics of a knitted bear.

Maybe I'll record some of them in here; you know how I like to impress readers with my deep and serious entries. But for now, let me introduce you to Byron the bear, in all his garter stitch glory.