As a tiny child going to Russia for me was pure horror which
turned into mystery pain love and excitement. From the bitter introduction way
back in 1975 I was a tiny six year old little girl. Stepping from the aeroplane
in a long white fir trimmed coat with red piping, carrying my dolly that was
almost as big as me. The doll was given to me by the press. What a perfect
picture for their front cover. A tiny little girl with blond hair blue eyes
milk skin and a dolly. With headlines such as Russia with love and behind the
iron curtain, facing blindness and out from the dark. Just to name a few of the
tabloid tasters that they presented their readers with.
Little did I know that was going to be my life? Soldiers met
us with guns pointing and 27 below freezing was the January temperature.
My first doll I was given by the press was called Catriona.
She even had her name written on her dress. She wore a green and white floral
head scarf if I remember rightly. With a matching dress.
Forgetting the torture and horrific treatment I received I
fondly remember the kindness shown to me by Russian people. Not all, there were
some evil just like everywhere in the world. But the difference is, in Russia,
the kindness I found, I felt drawn towards, like a magnet to a needle. And oh
boy, needles and I didn’t agree. After receiving thousands of them over the
years, seeing pre perestroika plain paths walls and clothing, a gift of a book
at first filled me with dread. “Oh. Would I be asked to read this by the press?
Would I be expected to recite some words?” But once left to my own devices, I
looked in amazement at the illustrations as I turned the pages with my
trembling fingers. The colours were stunning. The words before me hurt my eyes
to read but there was one children’s poet. This person I enjoyed reading their
poems because she wrote short poetry…. Those of you who know my poems may say
right now. “Well she hasn’t inspired you!” as my poetry is far from short,
almost volumes of words, but Agniya, the former ballerina was different as she
wrote for very small children and one of her poems I have written for you
below.
Agniya had her first poem published in 1925 at the age of
19. She married I believe an Italian engineer had two children one at the age
of fifteen was killed knocked over. An yet she could find time to write such
innocent poetry. Very simple just like this one.
Mishka
By Agniya Barto 1906 / 1981
Teddy Bear
On the floor lies tiny teddy
Half a paw has gone already
He is tattered torn and lame
Yet I love him just the same
I think we can all relate to that poem. We all at some time
in our lives I’m sure had that old bear we couldn’t throw out, but we did at some
point, right? Or where is it now? Thing is, when did it see the bin our rubbish
calls heaven? I can’t remember the sad ceremony of saying goodbye to my old
teddy. Can you?
Whenever I write my chocolate children’s poetry, I remember
this lady and I dream one day to have my poems in a book or eleven. For the
children I hope also to have such beautiful illustrations so that the little
people who either can’t read or like what I was as a child, can’t see well enough
to read but enjoy the colours pictures of a world beyond the reality of truth.
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