Rosebud

I was really pleased to hear from D’Arcy that children still learn poetry off by heart in class. It’s a fantastic skill – like mental gymnastics, and gives you a great appreciation of grammar, structure and rhythm. One of my favourites was ‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree …’ I loved it – sacred rivers, caverns measureless to man. We found my old poetry book from school the other day, and each night at bath time we are trying out a couple of different ones – Blake’s ‘Tyger Tyger’ went down well tonight.

Not forgetting Olivia Newton John’s pop contribution, Xanadu was also the name of Citizen Kane’s estate I think? I was thinking about Rosebud the other day – if you’ve watched this seminal film, you’ll know the last word he uttered was ‘Rosebud’, the name of his childhood sled, symbol of when he had nothing but had everything, the last link with an innocence lost when his mother sent him away.

Do you have a Rosebud? Is there some potent totem of your childhood? What was your favourite toy? I (predictably for a Brit perhaps), have a Brideshead Revisited style bear. He came from Hamleys and was a first birthday present from my uncle, the architect who lived in a Bacofoiled apartment in homage to the Factory. Big Ted (as he is called), has stuffing coming out of his stomach, has lost his growl but makes up for this with a jaunty scarf (don’t we all).

I’ve always subscribed to the ‘if it’s not beautiful or useful bin it’ school of thinking, but this is less easy with the tidal wave of plastic that arrives with children. I don’t know about you but I spend my whole time picking stuff up – perhaps it would have been more efficient in evolutionary terms if child carers still walked on all fours (would save a lot of backache). There’s a TV ad where the toyboy who has acquired two kids along with his girlfriend momentarily dreams of hiring a skip and clearing the whole house of clutter. Sometimes I know where he’s coming from. Maybe if I went out to work everyday it would be easier to ignore the chores – perhaps this is why a lot of established writers have an office a couple of streets away from home, or retire to sheds at the end of the garden? One day my home will be as restful as this:

One recent purchase, which if push came to shove, would be the last thing I’d sell is my Mora clock. The picture above (for all we SGTG fans), is Diane Keaton’s living room in the film. The clock is about as close as I'm going to get to this dream beach house at the moment. I hadn't realised this house appealed to so many people until I looked it up (maybe Flying Point is the writer's equivalent of the Happy Hunting Ground where we'll end up if we've all been good girls and boys ..?) Nor had I noticed until a couple of days ago that they had a Mora clock on set – hers is painted, and presumably ticking. Mine I found after searching for years for an affordable original – and my beloved pilot drove half way across England to collect it for Mother's Day. The wooden case dated 1849 is scuffed and chipped, the mechanism has seized up, and it was bell-less until I tracked two down from a Swedish dealer in Brighton. It’s my project. One day this lovely old clock will tick at the heart of our home, and chime off the hours. The Swedish farmers made these in their village communities during a time when farming was at an all time low. Each member of the community would use their particular skill – metal work, carpentry, painting, and between them they made these rough but beautiful long case clocks. Maybe there’s a lesson there for our credit crunch times? My Mora stands silently by the desk where I work. One day it will be gently ticking the hours away. It’s my middle age Rosebud. What’s yours?

TODAY’S PROMPT: What are the touchstones in your home? Have you ever told your children about your favourite toy as a child - why not make up a story for them? Even if (as with most writers) you’re not particularly materialistic, are there particular objects that mean a great deal to you? Which of your children’s toys could you not bear to part with, even once they are outgrown? Do any of us quite recover from the first time you return home to discover ‘your’ bedroom has been turned into a guest or hobby room – or is that just me? (Only in films I think does the hero/ine come home to a room held in aspic with football pennants and posters still in place). Why not take your notebook today and tell the story behind something you live with everyday and love?