A little Girl’s Heart’s Desire
As a small girl, you can’t express in words what really matters. Looking back at your life you know that you had a clear understanding of what really meant something. The explanation on this comes in three different descriptions and small glimpses of what I mean.
Dagny was the tenths child from quite a poor family in the countryside in Denmark. She is my husband’s mother’s sister and the last living of her many siblings. The family had lost a home as her father had cautioned for a brother in a situation with a farm. I am sure the children weren’t used to having toys. I had heard a story about a doll and Dagny, and at a party not long ago I asked her about it.
One of my older sisters was married to Luis, a Spanish sailor who once brought a big and lovely doll from a trip to England. His children were too small to enjoy the doll so I, then six years old in 1938, was allowed to have the doll. In March 1940 his ship was torpedooed in The Atlantic Ocean and Uncle Luis lost his life. My mother told me to give the doll to Luis’s girls who now ought to have the doll. In tears I walked the long way to my cousins and gave it back. Later at a visit to my smaller cousins I found that my doll had been changed into a boy doll and I was not sure that they even cared about the doll. My mother never mentioned the sitiation again.
Henry, my husband, did a post on his uncle Luis on a Danish trade ship on its way to Marocco was torpedoed by a German submarine even before Denmark was engaged in the war. The article is in Danish and can be Google translated on the page if you are interested to read about him.
I have a friend from Copenhagen who is six years older than I. She had some lovely toys that I would have loved to have had. We have known each other for the last 22 years, and she has told me a lot about her childhood. She felt that her mother hated her. If she wanted to play the flute as her brother she had to play the piano instead. As a very young child, she said she wanted to become a nurse, and her mother kept on reminding her even though her interests showed to be completely different. She was forced into the nursing school and had to leave shortly after the start. Her mother never understood her, and she fled her parents by marrying very early. Her husband was a worse tyrant than her mother, and later he became psychotic and lives in a nursing home for mentally ill people.
Anne-Marie is a weaver and creates carpets. The photos don’t show that she as a girl was lonely and unhappy. She seems to have had beautiful clothes and beautiful toys, but the emotional scars have never left her. If old photos have your interest, I made a post from her early childhood in the days of the liberation May 1945.
I knew that my mother loved me and I also knew that she couldn’t buy me the things as shown in Anne-Marie’s photos. I dreamt of waking up with a doll and a pram or cradle like Anne-Marie’s.
Today I am so grateful that I knew that my mother loved me unconditionally also when I was a teenager and became very challenging. Here a few posts about my father. My mother. More on my mother And on my homes
To compensate for the missing baby dolls and prams, I have a collection now similar to a toy museum.
What is the ideal childhood? You are secure in the love of your parents and you get some of your desires of your heart?
Modern day parents know more about children’s needs today than before but I still think that the ideal is hard to find and if you receive all your deepest wishes it might be challenging to be an adult and manage life?