In my wider family are two great-nieces. One (Matilda, aka Tilly) is now six, the other (Ruth) has just turned two. I don't buy proper presents for anyone in my wider family except these two very special little girls.
I do have a problem, though, in knowing what to buy for them. When I was young, I had no sisters, only a brother. And whatever toys I had then are unfashionable or obsolete now, over sixty years later.
When she was younger, I bought the older great-niece Matilda a variety of cuddly companions - a big Teddy Bear, a Peppa Pig (I had to be told what, or who, Peppa Pig was), a Spotty Dog, a Red Dragon and a Horse. So far as I know, none of these really struck a chord with her. So now I just give her a £20 note to spend how she likes. And I dare say that, at six, she is perfectly old enough to spend it with some discrimination. Money is a bit impersonal, but it's the most useful form of present, and as she gets even older I expect that Matilda will object to having anything else. And I wouldn't be surprised if, quite soon, I'm able to send it electronically, as I do when paying the lady who runs the local pilates class. (I gave up using cheques some time ago, and sending a £20 note with a birthday or Christmas card carries a small risk of theft. So an electronic transfer, with a message, makes good sense)
The younger child Ruth isn't ready for that yet. She's still young enough to enjoy a 'real' present. And yet so far I haven't sent her one. The reason: her Mum, my niece Jenny, tells me that she has already had so many nice presents from other people that she is overloaded with stuff. I take her point. So Ruth gets a £20 note too, or rather her Mum does, to spend on nice experiences and treats for her. But in a year or two, she'll get the money personally.
It's an easy option for me, as I don't have to imagine what might appeal to her. I can't just assume that one of the 'standard' gifts for little girls would be well received. There were once quite a lot of those, mostly to do with the traditional family and household duties of women, but in miniature; or personal beauty, or fashion. Thus it was that a little pram, with a little 'baby' to wheel around in it, and care for, were standard and completely acceptable. So was a doll's house. And, of course, a doll of some kind. Though not necessarily a baby doll; it might resemble a young teenager with lots of outfits to try on, and blonde hair to style. You know: Barbie, or perhaps Sindy.
I used to scorn the fascination many young girls found in their dolls, but it wasn't so far removed from the fascination little boys found in tiny plastic soldiers and cowboys, and mechanical objects such as diggers, tanks, model cars and railway layouts. My young brother was hooked on his Action Man, although I couldn't see why. But then I wasn't into mannikin-type toys. Nor mechanical or scientific things like Meccano or chemistry sets. I preferred picture books, and atlases, and coloured pencils, and very personal possessions like a small seahorse bought with my own pocket money, whom I called Sandy. I still have him. Here he is:
My nearest approach to a doll was my teddy bear, Teddy Tinkoes, who is even now propped up on my settee, and gets a 'Good morning, Ted' or 'See you later, Ted' or 'I'm home, Ted' or 'Goodnight, Ted' every single day when I'm home and not on holiday. I'm sixty-seven, and he's sixty-six, and through extraordinarily long acquaintance we have the deepest understanding. He is the very first thing I would save if the house caught fire. He is the direct link to my lost, failed childhood. He has been my only friend and confidant at various difficult times in my life. I have never looked on him as I might a mere doll. He is a person. These three 2014 shots will explain how I feel about him.
Maybe our bond is quite unlike the closeness many little girls have - or once upon a time had - with a favourite doll. But I assert the way it is with Ted and myself helps me to glimpse why little girls used to lose themselves with their dolls in a perfect, make-believe world, with no intruders allowed.
Do they do so now? Heaven knows. Times change. I don't want to blunder. So I wouldn't attempt to buy any kind of doll for young Ruth. She might like Barbie; but then she might already prefer something techy - and why not?
And of course there is now a recognition that a little girl may turn out to be - in fact - a little boy. Or something not specifically a boy or a girl. They may still like dolls, but not necessarily for traditional reasons.
So I'm not going to inflict dolls on my great-nieces, present or future. The traditional doll has probably had its day anyway. I'm sure girls prefer electronics now.
There's an aspect of dolls that I don't like. Some (speaking now of antique dolls, Victorian perhaps) are so realistic that they seem to have a life of their own. I still remember the disquiet I experienced when looking at these rather-too-lifelike dolls in The Bowes Museum at Barnard Castle up in County Durham in 2018:
Hmm. Some of them need counselling, I'd say. Definitely not toys.
