Now, I admit that Pooh Bear is not really a traditional tale but he is part of the great canon of English Literature and an essential element of family life. I am not talking about the Disney version with its exaggerated behaviours and over-bright colour. I mean the original Winnie the Pooh books with their line drawings and their delightfully differentiated characters and their gentle humour which appeals to adults as well as children.
Anyway, although I am a firm believer that bedroom activities should remain private and not be discussed on social media except in the most general terms, I will just share the fact that Prince Charming does enjoy a Pooh Bear story at bedtime sometimes. We will draw a veil over the fact that he frequently falls asleep before the end of the chapter, despite my best rendition of the characters’ voices – in the style of Alan Bennett, who was born to play Eyore – and simply move on to the main point of this post.
It was a warm day in early August. Son Number Three was with us and we were all a bit bored and lethargic. Son Number Three suggested pooh sticks and Prince Charming responded with a completely blank face. Either he had quietly been taken over by a zombie apocalypse, or he had no idea at all what pooh sticks might be.
Eagerly, Son Number Three and I explained the basic level version of pooh sticks. The facial expression changed from blank to incredulous. We made the unanswerable argument that you should not knock a project till you have tried it and the three of us set out within minutes.
On the way, Prince Charming was reluctant. He didn’t see the fun in this at all. Son Three and I busied ourselves with finding suitable sticks, offering him excellent specimens in a spirit of sportsmanship and generosity which he did not initially appreciate. However, seeing our enthusiasm, he began to take more notice a
nd before long the competitive element had kicked in. By the time we reached a suitable arched bridge over a stream, he was snapping twigs and weighing for comparison with the rest of us.
The stream was slow moving, which meant we had to be quite creative about making the sticks travel. Soon we were merrily debating what level of remote propulsion was permitted and leaning perilously far out over the parapet to check on the progress of the contenders in each race. There were several ‘last races’ before we eventually headed home, happy and invigorated.
This experience made me realise that the Prince of Charm has not had any of the simple pleasures of family life we take for granted in my family. He grew up in an isolated, rural location on a farm. His parents were busy and his next sibling was ten years older. There were no neighbouring children. His own son was kept away from him by Real Mother, and there was none of the father-son rough and tumble which both people need. He needs to be taught how to play.