What is this ugly thing? You may well ask; I had to ask myself the same thing when I found it last week. But then I saw Mrs Washington’s handwriting, and it all came back to me. Mrs W, from Marlborough School, my teacher for the whole four years, was very ken=en on handicrafts. She had us making, over the four years, a whole selection of things, as she taught us how to thread a needle. tie a know sew tacking and running stitches, which later turned to zig zag, and backstitch ad blanket stitch and lazy day stitch and french knots. We had tarlatan and binka and felt to embroider on and I generally enjoyed it. I learnt enough to be able to teach it when I worked in a special school fifty years later.

But when it came to proper sewing – we had to make a skirt and blouse at one point, by hand, decorated with ricrac braid – well , I couldn’t do it, but luckily my mother obliged, much to Mrs Washington’s chagrin. I didn’t care. I was in the fourth year by then, and not really interested.

But in the third year we had to make puppets. This completely foxed me. I think we started off at school and then we were supposed to finish them at home. I didn’t have a clue – or I forgot. That is perfectly possible. Anyway, the day before they were due in, I was at home being babysat by my step grandmother, a very serious and I thought fierce old lady. She was actually very kind, as she proved that evening, as she took one look at my plaintive efforts and said leave it with me. I did. She did her best, even embroidering the front. I remember the relief taking it into school. What I don’t remember is, it looking so awful.

Though after sixty years in a bin liner I suppose it has an excuse for being so deformed, poor thing.