ROSIE’S CASHMERE SCARF
By Len A. Hynds
The moment young Rosie, my
mistress tore open the Christmas
parcel and we saw each other for
the first time, it was love at first
sight. A fair haired six year old with
golden hair and blue eyes, rosy
cheeks with dimples, and as she
pressed her face into my warmth I
was completely lost.
I heard her mum say that I was a
special cashmere scarf, my fine hairs
cherished by generations in a part
of China called Alashan.
I remember being taken by Ox cart
to the coast and sold to an
American Scarf maker, and taken
there where I was made into a scarf.
I hated the long sea voyage in that
box to England, where I was bought
by Rosie’s mum.
I wrapped myself round Rosie
everyday in the winter, tenderly
looking after my mistress, but
yesterday on the way home from
school, some horrid boys were
throwing snowballs and one stuck
to me.
I became loose, and fell to the
ground completely unnoticed,
being kicked aside by the following
boys.
It snowed that night and I was
nearly covered completely but
during the night a torch shone
down at me, and I was pulled from
beneath the snow by the policeman
who I had seen many times guiding
children across the road outside the
school.
I was too full of snow to be put
through our letter box, so he tied
me to the knocker. I saw him write
a note which went into the letter
box which read, “Dear Rosie, I found
this little varmint crying in the snow.
He’s outside on the knocker and
needs warming up. See you next
week when I’m back on days,
PC 509 Williams”.
Aren’t your policemen wonderful?
I was afraid that the icy water would
seep through me onto her neck
and I tried to shake it loose. Instead,
Summer 2013 | THE VOICE
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