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Post 1420. Sunday January 8 2016

He had a little workshop at the bottom of his garden. As kids, we always wondered what went on inside. We’d clamber up his fence trying to see through the dusty window pane. We heard whirring noises and once saw him holding a piece of cream coloured cloth, but nothing more.

It was my fifth Christmas. Sitting atop my presents was a teddy bear. ‘Santa made it for you’ mother said. Every child in the village received one for their fifth Christmas. Of course, it never occurred to us that these lovely little bears came from the mystery workshop at the bottom of the gentleman’s garden. And so the tradition carried on when we had children of our own.

He continued making bears until he died. On the day of his funeral, many of us were invited to visit the little workshop and for the first time, we saw inside. On benches sat rolls of cream cloth, scissors, a sewing machine and buttons. In the centre,a coffin; on its lid a family of teddy bears. Each of us took the bear he had made for us all those years ago and touched the coffin with it. I looked out of the dusty window just a scrap of cream cloth blew up into the blue sky.

Sunday Photo Fiction

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