Bootees by Vivien Teasdale

 

“For Sale: baby bootees, never worn”

Attributed to Ernest Hemingway, this ‘short story’ in six words always brings a sigh of sadness as we think of the poor parents who have lost a baby.

But is this actually what it’s all about? Since the story is so vague, there are lots of other interpretations.

Imagine two sets of grandparents, each determined to outdo the other. Each buy baby bootees. One chooses blue, the other chooses pink. Baby finally arrives and is … well, you can see what might happen.

‘No, Douglas, we must be first with the bootees.’

‘But why pink ones, Mary? What if it’s –’

‘Our Sally is craving sweet things all the time and she’s carrying high. It will be a girl.’

‘Tom’s mother thinks –’

‘She has no idea what she’s talking about. She only has one child. I have had three! We will have a grandaughter, there’s no doubt about that.’

And so the bootees have to go, before Sally, Tom – and worst of all, his parents – find out the colour Mary has bought for little Ajax.

But what if both blue and pink bootees are presented, which will be useful since Sally is having twins, one boy, one girl?

‘I’m so glad we agreed, Mary, to buy different colours. So important to have that first set of bootees just right. Now they’ll be able to have them preserved forever.’

‘Oh, I quite agree, Denise. Traditions are essential in families, aren’t they?’

‘Well, it’s very nice of you, mums and dads.’ Tom stated firmly. ‘You’re very welcome to preserve them in aspic if you like.’

‘You might have noticed,’ Sally joined in, ‘that the nursery has been decorated in Jasmine White and Avocado Whip. We intend to bring up our children as gender neutral, so can only accept gifts in green, yellow, purple and so on. Not blue or pink.’

Of course, it’s a long time since grandparents had babies. They forget how quickly a tiny baby becomes a big baby and outgrows whatever was bought last week. Bootees bought to keep tiny tootsies warm in winter can easily be outgrown before the summer baby has reached September.

And there are other frictions:

‘Oh, mum, not those awful things. I thought I’d said –’

‘Sally, I’ve told you before, you must keep baby warm at all times. How is little Ajax to thrive if Mummy doesn’t wrap him up well?’

‘Nowadays—’

‘Oh, nowadays you young ones think you know it all. Just remember that I’ve brought up three babies! You were all healthy and –

‘Well, we all had measles, and Jack was forever getting colds and passing them on to the rest of us. And what about--’

‘That’s not the point. Those were just childish ailments. Everyone had them.’

‘Mum, the midwife and the doctor both said Ajax doesn’t need shoes of any sort until he starts walking. Socks will do just as well to keep him warm.’

‘Socks? They’ll get filthy.’

‘They are washable. And I can use whichever matches the colour of the babygrow I choose to put on him. And when he has to be changed. Much more practical, Mum. You can see for yourself. The babygrows are in that drawer, socks in the one below. I’ll put the kettle on while you sort out his nappy.’

Could the baby (or parents) have an allergy to the material the bootees are made of? Perhaps the parents have decided to go vegan and object to wool-based items, especially if the wool is mohair from the angora goat. Even worse if the fabric is angora wool, which is ripped from a rabbit’s back.

You can have fun imagining that there are secret messages within the phrase. Count up the number of each vowel and you might be meeting someone at 5 pm on the 2^nd of April. If you get it wrong, you’ll be standing there on the 4^th of February wondering where everyone has got to.

Try anagrams. It could be a rejection of a hopeful lover, because ‘Abbye Berton never woos.’. A secret rendezvous may have been discovered as ‘we observe Abbye Norton.’.

But not everyone thinks the same way. Picture the scene:

‘Hello, Aunty Jemima, how lovely to see you after all this time. Come in.’

‘Tom, how you’ve grown. And a father, now. How is the little one?

Tom laughs. ‘Ah, the secret’s out is it? She’s doing fine, quite a little roly-poly. Takes after her mum, I say.’

They both chuckle as Tom leads the way from the front door, through the house and out into the garden. Sally looks up and smiles. ‘Dear Aunty, have you come to see the baby? Here she is.’

She gathers up the bundle of a small tartan blanket and squirming legs. She holds it out towards the old lady. ‘She does wriggle a bit. That’s why we decided to call her Ziggy.’

Aunty Jemima’s face falls as she clutches the twisting torso of a tiny terrier. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous,’ she says, mentally consigning the blue bootees to the charity shop.