We moved to Cairns when I was five because my mother went to work as a pharmacist at the Cairns Base Hospital on a 12 month contract. My sister started school there and my mother put me into in-home care. The year passed.
As Christmas approached, our mother asked us what gifts we would like Santa to bring. My sister said 'a walkie-talkie doll'. Oooh, how grand! I said that I wanted one too. Sue called me copy-cat and said I couldn't have the same as her.
"Copy cat! Copy cat!"
To keep the peace my mother suggested that I would like a baby doll. So I went along with that.
A few days before Christmas, Sue and I were playing hide and seek. One of us hid under our mother's bed where we bumped into some packages. We peeked inside and saw a doll. Oh! our illusions were shattered, our trust betrayed. It wasn't Santa who brought gifts at Christmas. It was a lie. It was our parents all along. Still, there would be wonderful dolls this Christmas.
On Christmas Day, Sue opened her big package and there was the most magnificent doll with real hair and beautiful clothes. When she leaned forward she said "mama"; and she had a real walking action with her arms moving in time and her head moving from side to side. She was perfectly splendid.
I found these pictures of similar dolls from the period.
My package contained a baby doll dressed in a nappy. She could say "Mama", and her beautiful eyes opened and closed, but her hair couldn't be combed. She couldn't stand up, nevermind walk. And she had no clothes. She looked just like this.
Oh, she was nowhere near as nice as the doll my sister played with. I felt very second-best.
We wondered what to call her. 'Baby' was Mum's suggestion. Then I noticed some writing on the back of her neck.
"What's this? Is this her name?" I asked, as I couldn't read yet.
Mum tried to explain that 'Pedigree' was the brand name or the name of the company that made the doll. I didn't know what that meant, but I liked the sound of it, so the baby doll was called 'Pedigree'. She might not have much else, but she could have a grand name with three syllables.
We played with our dolls and carried them everywhere with us. We even took them with us when we went on an outing to the beach a few days later. We were inseparable. This was a VERY successful Christmas present.
When we came home from the beach outing, Sue discovered that she didn't have her beautiful doll. She realised that she must have left it at the beach. Dad made the return trip to look for it, but the lovely new doll was not there.
Sue was distraught. Crying and crying. Mum was angry. The money wasted. I was miserable and sad. Our whole household was upset.
I was so sorry for Sue that I offered to give Pedigree to her. She didn't believe me. So I said it again. Really truly. We talked about it some more and sorted out some details so that we finally agreed that Pedigree would be hers, absolutely and completely, until she turned 12 years.
And so it was. Through all the years of our childhood we both played with Pedigree, but when it came down to it, Sue had the final call. I was always aware that I had given her away and that one day she would come back to me. She was mine and also not-mine.
Of course I see that maybe it wasn't so hard for me to give away a doll that I thought was second best. But at that moment in time, she was the best we had. I couldn't bear the thought of being the only one of us with a doll, while Sue had nothing. I just couldn't bear the thought of that gaping hole between us.
Over the years, at dark moments, I have taken some comfort from the generous act of the small child I was then. I know that I have that potential.
When Sue turned 12, Pedigree returned to my ownership. And that was a moment of special tenderness for me. That doll was a bond between us, a key part of our shared history. The day of her return marked a transition out of childhood.
I have always kept Pedigree though she has lived in a box in various cupboards throughout my adult life. Maybe it is time to get her out and rehabilitate her.
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