Entry for April 15, 2007

A colleague of mine advised me that she had, during her Easter holiday, come across a shop in the Western Isles which still sells Gollywogs. It made me remember that I had one when I was a kid – my grandma gave me it. It was for a time one of my favourite toys.
There is something deeply disturbing about the Gollywog with its little servant’s waistcoat and the exaggerated features, and I have to say that I’m glad they’re not considered appropriate toys for children any more. But, I did find it rather quaint to learn that there’s still a shop in the backwoods of Scotland that is still untouched by thoughts of political correctness.
The point is that the shop owner Is almost certainly not stocking these things out of any racist intent, just as my Grandma B was not being (deliberately) racist when she gave one to tiny two year old me. The thought just had not crossed their minds that the toy was anything other than a harmless plaything. The exaggerated features no worse (in their mind) than the staring eyes of Loobyloo on Play School or the wide mouthed gape of Zippy on Rainbow.
Those I guess were more innocent days, when we didn’t think about these things. Of course, we should have done, and I’m glad we’ve seen the error of our ways. These sorts of portrayals of race – however innocently intended - are insidious and dangerous.
But I always wondered where all the Gollywogs went after they were outlawed by the Thought Police. There must have been thousands of them in depots throughout 1970s Britain awaiting despatch before they were deemed to be harmful to young minds. Spare a thought for them. They were made to be loved; to literally be hugged to pieces by young and uncorrupted arms. No-one warned them that they would be left forever unfulfilled on some cold shelf in Nottingham because of a change in public mores. I used to worry about the innumerable ranks of them – sitting there sad and unloved, all melancholy in their jaunty waistcoats, a tear gently rolling from their big, big eyes.
But now I know there is still a home for them, somewhere on a remote Scottish Island. Someone still loves them in the old innocent way. I am strangely comforted.