Well, mine was a lamb – his name was Baa-nim. The only bit
of Baar-nim that had magical comforting powers was his tail which I rubbed
against my nose. Baar-nim’s tail had to be replaced several times during my
childhood and now it is gone for good.
One of my sons didn’t need a
special thing; just sucked his thumb. The other two did; one had a ‘Shawly’ (originally
a beautiful shawl knitted by a Scottish neighbour at his birth) and the other a
‘Bompy;’ a striped football scarf. ‘Shawly’ and ‘Bompy’ survived surreptitiously
all through Primary school; were both smuggled into Cubs camp and hidden at the
bottom of sleeping bags. My sons weren’t the only Cubs with comforters. Hidden in every
sleeping bag in every tent was some sucked, worn, unravelling, but very
precious thing, that mustn't be discovered for fear it would be mocked.
Now there’s money to be made out
of comforters: little creatures designed with dangly bits to suck and stroke that
regularly have to be replaced. This little girl needs at least three at night plus several more replacements in the washing machine. But her army of
bunnies do the trick because with them all around her, she’s happy to go to bed
and doesn’t mind the dark.
When I drew the mouse in my new
book, I decided to turn it into a thing that can comfort with a bit of cloth attached
for rubbing and fingering at bedtime.
