Description of Coloring Page: two little girls dress and redress their dolls, cradle, pillows, playing house, watering can, baby dolls and mama dolls, color children playing with their dolls
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Description of Coloring Page: overalls, checkered shirt, cap, monkey dressed up as a small boy, vintage stuffed toy, anthropomorphic doll, stuffed animal
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The Lonely Doll is the first children's book in a series by photographer and author Dare Wright. The story is told through text and photographs. It was first published by Doubleday in 1957, went out of print for years, was reissued by Houghton Mifflin in 1998, and brought out by Barnes & Noble
in a narrated version for their Nook eReader in 2012. Wright wrote 10
books starring Edith and the bears. The nine that have been reprinted
are The Lonely Doll, Edith and Mr. Bear, A Gift from the Lonely Doll, Holiday for Edith and the Bears, The Doll and the Kitten, Edith and the Duckling, Edith and Little Bear Lend a Hand, Edith and Midnight and The Lonely Doll Learns a Lesson. Read more...
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Ah, What was that? A loud crash, and a nearer boom than before. For two days past there had been this horrible sound in the air. Boom, boom, boom, just like someone battering against a wall, which is exactly what it was. The armies of Germany and Austria, pounding and battering against a wall of my gallant countrymen. A wall that was to bend and give‚ but never break, until the forces of destruction had been utterly and completely defeated.
Ghislaine, my little owner, was too young to understand all this, and she gazed with wondering eyes at the crowds that thronged the roadway all day and half the night. A crowd fleeing from the terror that pressed hard upon their heels. A crowd of women, children, boys, girls, and, yes, dolls too; for everyone carried some small article that was precious, so that you may be sure that the girls did not leave their dollies behind. Presently our turn came too, and we were ordered to retire from the village which had hitherto been the only bit of the world we had known. Poor, peaceful little village! I had but a small idea of how long it would be before I saw it again, or to what a condition it would have been brought. Ghislaine's mother grabbed her up, she herself grabbed me, and I am sure that none of us have the least idea how we did reach the coast.
Here, too, the confusion was indescribable, and no one seemed to have the smallest notion of where we were to go, or what we were to do. At last, however, we were hustled on to a ship that was to carry us to England, the country over the sea of which I had only heard the name. Ghislaine cuddled me very close to her, for she is a wonderful little mother, although I think she was nearly as frightened as I was. We had no room to move, so tightly were we packed, and when night came no one dared show the least glimpse of light. It was awful, and I expected every moment that we should all find ourselves in the sea, upon which the ship tossed and rolled in such an alarming way.
I could not sleep, because my eyes are not the kind that are made to shut, and all through that dreadful night I stared around me at the pitiful crowd; but Ghislaine slept soundly in her mother's arms, utterly tired out. A wee, wistful child. Truly " He giveth His beloved sleep."
And then Folkestone, with all the busy landing, where we were greeted by smiling faces and out-stretched arms, Ghislaine cried when a lady took her from her mother's arms, and she clung tightly to me as we were given milk and food before being put into the London train.
Through miles and miles, and miles again, of countryside we steamed, showing no traces of the horror that was behind us, save that everywhere were the khaki boys, that through long years were to stand side by side with us and suffer and die. God bless them, every one! God bless England, and may we neither of us ever forget that we are brothers indeed !
But I must hurry on with my story. A home was found, and nobody seemed as if they could do enough for me. Much that happened I did not at all understand; for, although I knew everything that Ghislaine and her mother talked of, it was a long time before I grew to know the language of the English. Many details of our life and home I shall omit, but you must hear the tale of the new doll. Everybody loved Ghislaine at once, and before many weeks had passed by the ladies who used to visit us in our hostel made her the greatest pet of all the children there, and especially because she loved and played with me very contentedly for so many hours of each day. It all seemed very strange, I can tell you. Just a little bit of Belgium, cut out and planted down in another land where one heard the "vlaamigen" spoken in the streets almost every time we went out.
Then came your wonderful Christmas, with its games and laughter, when, once again, all the ladies did everything that they could to make life good to us strangers. When Ghislaine woke up on Christmas morning, what do you think she saw? Hanging on the corner of her cot at the foot, a stocking, very fat and big, bulging out in the queerest lumps and corners. Up she scrambled to see whatever this might mean, and there, inside that stocking, was the most wonderful treasure-house of good things, including a wonderful new dolly that positively opened and shut' her eyes. For just a moment I did feel jealous, and then I looked at Ghislaine's face to see what she thought of it. Just as though she knew what I was feeling, she smiled at me as I sat on the end of the cot, reached out her hand, and gave me one mighty cuddle that soon told me I was second to nobody in her affection.
Yes, the new dolly, brilliant with wax face, might open and shut her eyes, but I, I was the dolly that held her heart. Since then I have grown to be ashamed of my jealous feeling, not alone because Ghislaine was so loyal a little soul and stood by her first love, but because the English doll is such a good sort, and we live together the happiest and most perfect friends: a sign, let us hope, of the feeling that will ever endure between our races. Yes, the new doll was clothed and played with and cuddled just the same as I was, so that she too could have no feeling of neglect.
So the years went by, and with startling suddenness came Armistice Day and the succession of events that led to peace again, and we Belgians had proved above everything else that, though we had sacrificed much, we had retained that which counts above all else, our soul.
And then, one day, we set out upon the last stage of our great adventure, the return home. For, good as England had been to us; much as she had given with both hands, one thing she could not provide, the little Belgium, our native land.
Memories of you are very sweet and pleasant, and I am glad that I, a Belgian dolly, should have grown to know you and your English life so well, but for me always it is the little Belgium.
And so we returned again to our village home, sadly torn and wrecked by the ravages of war, but still the best place on earth, Home! I was especially nice to the English dolly for many weeks after our return, for I knew exactly how it felt to be quite alone among strangers, and many other little Belgian girls, beside Ghislaine, have played with the wonderful doll that came from over the sea with us and can go to sleep when she is laid down.
Henri was not killed, although he is very lame in one leg; but now that we are all together again, what does that matter beside the many who gave up the greatest thing of all, their life?
And so ends my Great Adventure.
"Dolls for Daughters and Kenzi’s Kidz works to support
underprivileged
children and their families in Colorado by
providing toys, food, and
more during the holidays,
school supplies and clothing during the school
year,
and assisting families through community outreach,
Did you ever see two more curious dolls than the Mongolian lady and the Manchu gentleman that are shown on this page? There is no need for me to tell you much about them, for you can see for yourself the splendid silks and charming colors in which they are dressed. Chinese dollies are certainly amongst the most wonderful of all the world's dolls, and remarkable copies of the living people that they represent.
Almost every phase of Chinese life is shown by these dolls, and if you were a Chinese girl it is quite possible that you might have one dressed as a farmer as he appears when walking in his rice fields. And a very curious fellow he looks too, with his straw garments and big straw hat. He wears no shoes upon his feet, because he is always working in the wet fields; for rice always grows in fields that are soaking wet, and shoes would quickly be ruined.
Two more unusual Chinese dolls that I should like to tell you about are the widow and chief mourner. When a man dies, the widow mourns most extravagantly, and at the funeral she cannot show too many signs of her grief. The clothes worn, both by the widow and the chief mourner, are made of hemp, and strange hats are placed upon the head. That of the chief mourner is the most remarkable of the two, for in the front are three large tears that are as big as oranges, and which are bought with the hat.
Representing a lady and a gentleman from Mongolia.
Dolls just exactly like these can be bought in the shops, and you would be greatly surprised at the marvelous modelling and coloring of the faces and limbs. Everything about them is perfect, even down to each tiny finger and toe. Years ago it used to be the custom to bind the feet of the better-class Chinese girls so that they could not grow very big; the smaller the feet, the more beautiful she was considered to be, and I have seen a wee Chinese dolly with the tiniest feet, and correspondingly tiny shoes splendidly embroidered in vari-colored silks. A poor, pitiful little figure she looked, and one can but be glad that this cruel custom is now a thing of the past, although dollies are still made to show how the living girls used to be crippled.
Not only are wonderful dolls made that are exact models of live people and their clothes, but other objects are manufactured too. For instance, there is the coolie doll and his barrow. He wears short pantaloons that only just reach to the knee, a short coated tunio with a broad sash, and a twisted turban-like cap of the same color as the sash. Pad! pad! pad! His bare feet flop over the road as he trundles his barrow in front of him. This barrow is quite different to the English one, for it has a big wheel towards the center, and it has two feet at the back to balance it when stood down. The top of the barrow is quite flat, with two boards at the center, so that the wheel does not rub against the baskets or whatever is being carried. Usually two large baskets are roped upon this, one on either side, and thus goods and merchandise are carried from place to place.
One of the most showy Chinese dolls is the girl bride ; and how very different she appears to our own English girl who is going to be married! Brilliant color and embroidery are a great feature, including the shoes, which are simply one mass of finely worked silk. Down the front of the skirt hangs a kind of apron, gorgeous in gold and silver embroidery, the sleeves of the coat being similarly decorated. On her head she wears a cap upon which beads and strings of beads are lavishly used, with a covering for the face that comes nearly to the waist, and over which strings of pearl beads are hung. Her hands are most carefully concealed, it being the height of bad manners for these to be shown.
Of the more common dolls that the girls play with, there is a great distinction in the way they are dressed according to the age they are supposed to be. A young girl doll would not have a skirt, but a pair of silk trousers reaching to the ankles, while she wears a piece of her hair loose and hanging over the right shoulder. Should she be a young lady, however, her hair would be gathered up beneath a close-fitting cap; instead of the trousers, she would wear a long skirt, from beneath which only her toes, with their tiny shoes, would show.
In Central China, where they are less civilized, dolls are nothing like so good as those I have described to you, and are but crude representations indeed. One that is very common is made of china, a squatting figure with a round head and funny little short arms. The head is the most life-like part of it, and the whole is decorated in different colored paints, then burned and glazed. There is nothing lovable at all about it, but the other and earlier described dolls are certainly as perfect as anything that is made in the most up-to-date European factory.
Ah, but yes ! I do want to tell you all about myself, and my country, and my dear Ninette, who loves me so much.
Perhaps it is that I do - how do you call it? - "speak" - yes, yes, that is it! - "speak" your language in the funny way, and you will laugh at my English, but that matters not. We do understand each other, there is le hon camaraderie, and if you speak the French to me - well, I laugh also. I have been in your wonderful land and seen your London, and I like it, but La Belle France, that, to me, is better. For I love my land; I love my Paris; I love my Nice and Toulouse, with its wonderful churches; and I love Ninette.
For myself, I am a Parisian, one of the most accomplished and exquisite dolls in all the world; but now I live in Nice, the Land of Flowers, where the gay sun is always smiling and we all smile too.
For Ninette, nothing is too good. Alphonse, the old gardener; Marguerite, her nurse; Jeanette - how we all do love her, and how she does love us in return. Her kiss is the sweetest thing in life, and, though I am only her dolly, when those soft lips caress my cheek and the same lips whisper in my ear, something inside me stirs and leaps in a way that would surprise you humans. My hair is fair, with a rare gleaming gold in it, for, of course, it is "real" and once grew on the little head of a southern peasant girl before it adorned my own head.
And my dresses! Of course, I have numberless Parisian dresses and hats, so that I am fit to appear upon any and every occasion - une bien elevee, as the aristocratic French girl is called. All of these beautiful clothes were packed into a - how do you say it? - case? - no, a little trunk. Ah, my little trunk ! It is so chic, and every one of my so lovely dresses does just pack in, so that nothing is spoiled. Yes, it is very good and quite charming. With this are my shoes and gloves - again, good. Dainty little shoes, and slippers to match my dress or frock. My tailor-made gown for outdoors, my morning gown that I wear in the house until after dejeuner, my glorious evening dresses! Never, never, never would you find so well equipped a dolly as I am outside La Belle France. My lingerie, my brush, and toilet requisites - all are perfect. And what a chattering there is, and how we all laugh together, while' Ninette is changing my clothes and making me look so pretty to go on the Boulevard with her! Yes, she is the most " spoiled " little girl in Europe, but, ah! how sweet and attractive and vivacious! From early morning, when she has finished her cafe an lait, long song, and it is to me just so good to be with her when the night has come as it is while the light is with us. Every night she unrobes me and puts me to sleep close beside her, and I shut the eyes - ah, yes! - just the same as she does do. In the winter-time, many and many people from your country do come to stay in Nice with us, and, indeed, we are then the very cosmopolitan country; for, to escape the fogs and the dullness of other colder and less sunny lands, many people of all nationalities do come. And so we are always gay and merry with the charming people, and always the flowers.
Often when we are out, Ninette and I, we meet the English girls with their dolls, and one day last year I did see an American girl with her New York doll, that walked by her side just like a live thing. It is possible that you have heard of this, but to me it was new, and I did stare. For this dolly walked - yes, walked! - exactly the same as her proud young mistress did. I would that I could have talked with them; but no ! the English of Ninette was not good, for she is a very little girl, and the French with her has to be first.
One day she will it speak as I can write it, and then she will perhaps see London and New York and the other wonderful cities of the earth‚yes, it is possible.
And now let me take up the tale and tell you something about the wonderful French fisher dolls that are shown in the picture. These are real French dolls, dressed by the coast peasants just in the ordinary everyday clothes in which they work and live. The old lady in the center is a typical fishwife in her holiday dress, with lace apron and handsomely embroidered shawl and lace cap. On the left is her daughter, with striped skirt and knitted cardigan, carrying a basket of fish and one of the nets. Notice that she is bare-footed and wears no stockings, because of the sea in which she so often wades to bring the catch ashore when the menfolk return. On the right hand is her son, a hefty youth with his wooden- soled sea-clogs, and oilskins rolled up in his hand. Except that he has slipped out of his oilskins, he is just as he went to sea and stepped ashore. Over one shoulder is a coil of rope, on the other his trawl with the cork " bobbers," as the English fisherman calls them, that float on the surface and show the position of the net in the sea. Everything is complete, just as you see the fishermen day after day in Brittany, with their stockinette caps, which at one time are worn with the bag flopping loose, as shown in the photo, and at others rolled over so that they fit closely down upon the head. Do you notice the little clay pipe that is grasped in his right hand, and, above all, the old retriever dog? This dog is quite as much a sailor as his master, and never fails to go to sea on every trip that his master takes. Indeed, he would rush about the quay whining most pitifully if, by chance, he were left behind.
It is a hard life for both the boys and the girls who have to earn their living in that way, and the mother, too, works almost equally hard in her little shop where the fish is sold.
"Joulupukki TV video productions: Petitcollin dolls - Poupées Petitcollin:
doll producer in France i Lorraine Etain - Petitcollin Fabricant des
poupées à Etain"
Description of Coloring Page: coloring page by Rose O'Neill, Kewpie and cookies, sitting in a corner, snack time
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I think that, among the various dollies that have appeared in this book, I must look one of the most remarkable, and I certainly have had a very adventurous life. I began life in a factory in France, where thousands and thousands of other dolls, just like myself, were made every year. From there I was sent to a shop and displayed in the window, just in the same way as every other dolly begins life, I saw the usual sights: people‚ men and women, boys and girls, passing by, the carts and motor-cars in the streets, and all the things with which Europeans are so familiar.
And then, one day, a lady came into the shop and bought me, with three or four of my sisters. I do not know where she came from, because I could not understand a word that she said; but we were all packed away in a box, and I saw nothing more until I awoke in a strange place among strange people, where everything was quite different to anything I had ever seen or imagined. I had to learn to understand a new language, wear new clothes, and live an entirely new kind of life. It was almost like a miracle to me, because, you see, I am a sleeping doll, and all the while I was lying down in the box my eyes were tightly shut, and so I knew nothing. And then I woke, will you believe me, in the harem of a Turkish home. The lady, who had bought me in the French shop was there, a number of other women, and quite a lot of children. I just opened my eyes in one big stare when I was held upright. The lady was holding me out towards a bright-eyed and attractive little girl with masses of dark hair, and never before have I seen so much wonder in a pair of human eyes as shone from those of Fatme (as, I found, she was called). Could it be possible that this great and wonderful doll was for her, all her very own self? Little girls are of but small account in Turkey, and no one ever thinks of giving them presents in the form of toys. Young as she was, Fatme had quite a considerable amount of jewellery which her father had bought for her; for from the time she was four years old her father had been buying her various gold and other ornaments so that, when she grew up, she would have a rich supply wherewith to tempt a possible husband J but dolls or toys, oh, no!
And then I came - brought by this wonderful lady from a wonderful foreign land, and allowed to enter the harem as a special favor. No wonder that Fatme could not believe the evidence of those bright, shining eyes of hers. And that is how I became a Turkish lady, living out my whole life in seclusion and wearing the strange dress of a country quite different to my own.
After my first surprise, when I had time to look round, I saw that all the women and girls wore short skirts that barely reached to their knees, under which was a very large number of other skirts or petticoats, showing that I was in a very fashionable household indeed; for the more skirts, the higher the rank of the woman. All their legs were bare, though slippers with high heels were generally worn, and the top of the body was covered by a short, loose jacket with long, tight sleeves. This bodice was open down the front and highly decorated.
Almost everyone wore a handkerchief on the head, and two of the girls had an aigrette as well. But the most curious thing of all was that everybody, except the very smallest girls, wore a thin veil over the face. It took me a long time to get used to such a queer life, where no one ever seemed to do anything, because there were so many girls to wait upon you, and one rarely, if ever, went out.
Fatme, after spending several days in doing nothing but gazing at me in wonder, began to make me a set of clothes exactly as those I have described above, and when I got used to them I began to feel much more at home. One of the most curious things of all to me was that there seemed to be no men in the country, or I never saw any; but day after day we lived the same life in the harem, never going out of doors, and surrounded only by the children and girls who waited upon us.
But a day came when I was to get a glimpse more of my new land, though, as you will agree, it was but a glimpse. For we went out - a rare and unusual event. Everything that I had just begun to grow accustomed to was changed by this, for we all had to put on an entirely new set of garments. These consisted of three pieces: a pair of trousers, a "chuddar," and a long veil. The trousers were very wide, and over these the large black "chuddar," then the veil, which consisted of a strip of white calico with openwork for the eyes, and which was fastened at the back of the head with a gold brooch. I did not like this at all, but all the girls seemed to think it just a matter of course, as soon as they are over ten years old, and all that we met were dressed in exactly the same way. The men walk the streets uncovered, and many of them wear great dark beards, and take no notice at all of any of the women and children that they pass.
It is a beautiful and wonderful country, with its unusual buildings and mosques, and I love to be here with my dear Fatme; but never, never, never will it seem other than strange, when I think of France, and the days before I became a Turkish dolly.
Some people have a very strange idea, when you speak to them about a Dutch doll, and think that we are all made of wood, with thin arms and legs that work upon wooden pegs, and that our heads are nearly round, with black painted hair and eyebrows, with a dab of vivid carmine upon each cheek. Nothing could be further from the truth. Dutch dollies - real Dutch dollies, that is - are quite as varied and beautiful as those of any other country, and our little mistresses certainly take quite as much care of us, and spend even more time in dressing and playing with us than English girls do.
Of course, my name is Wilhelmina, one of the best names for a loyal Dutch girl, and I live a very happy life in my lowland home where everything is kept so neat and clean, and where, especially in the spring months of the year, there is so much vivid color and beauty to be seen. But before I tell you anything at all about my country or its beauties, let me tell you how I am dressed, and what I look like. My face is more "square" and flat than your English dolly, but really there is not much difference in us, for my eyes are blue and my hair very fair, and I am made of " biscuit " china, so that my whole expression is very live and vivacious.
My clothes are far more bulky than yours; it is not at all Dutch to look slim, so that I wear quantities and quantities of petticoats, which give me my plump appearance. On my head I wear the Dutch bonnet or cap, made of white muslin, fitting tightly to my head, but which has also two side wings that stand out on either side of my face and are stiffly starched. My bodice is tight, but the sleeves only reach to the elbow, and under this is a chemisette of white, embroidered in color, and round my neck a string of coral beads. As I told you, my skirt is very full, and over it I have an apron without a bib.
Of course, my feet are shod with clogs; everywhere you go in Holland you will hear the clitter-clatter of clogs over the cobbled streets, and my own feet are no exception to the rule. Can you picture at all the kind of home in which we live, I wonder, and the life we live? Betje - that is the name of my little mistress - is the daughter of a bulb farmer, and our house is long and low with a bright red roof, and adjoining it is a large storehouse where dozens of men and girls are always at work, sorting and cleaning and packing the bulbs that are sent all over the world to beautify the spring garden. Everywhere you can see the windmills, which are always at work, pumping and pumping to keep the land dry.
I have not been played with much lately, for Betje has been ill, but now she is better and sitting up in her bed again, and the first thing she asked for was me. She cannot sit up for long together yet, and so she has propped me up at her feet so that I can see out of the window and tell her all that is happening outside. And what do I see? A wide stretch of perfectly flat country, spreading for miles and miles as far as ever I can imagine; but this, of course, is no interest to Betje, she wants to hear about the things near to home.
First, there is the canal that comes almost up to the house door at the side. This is a very curious canal, for so much of our land is below the level of the sea that our canals are higher than the land through which they run, and therefore the banks are mounded up higher than the fields through which they flow.
"Yes, Betje ! There is quite a large ship just outside, and Johann is leaning over the side, talking to the sailor-men who are idling about on the deck. The mate is leaning against the mast, and has a broad smile upon his face at some remark Johann has made." And now I look out across the fields and the stables, where Pieter is sanding the floor for the horses and cattle. What a sea of color! The last of the daffodils are still filling their squares with primrose yellow and gold, for all the ground is set out in squares, each filled with one kind of bulb, so that the whole looks like a giant draughtboard painted in many different colors. Those squares of vivid blue, pink, red, white, and purple, are fields of hyacinths, and as the curtain fiaps with the soft wind one can smell nothing but the powerful fragrance of hundreds of thousands of the stiff spikes of flower, set in rows just like a regiment of soldiers.
Everywhere Dutch girls and women and men are at work among the flowers, and, as I tell Betje about it all, she longs to be up and out with the rest of the world, revelling in the sun and fragrant blossom. Presently her mother comes in with a glass of milk that she must drink, and in her other hand a gorgeous bunch of the first tulips and some blue muscari. The milk is drunk, Betje lies down" comfy " again, I am put into her arms, and we both go off to sleep; so that it may not be many days ere we are both out in the air again, amongst all the other girls and boys, laughing and playing among the fields of fragrant blossom in the happy spring flower-time - a Dutch doll and a Dutch girl in a typical piece of Nederland.
"Only a half-hour away from Amsterdam, the Keukenhof Tulip Gardens is one
of the most beautiful parks in the world, highlighting the famous Dutch
tulips and so many pretty flowers and plants. Every area is more
striking than the next and besides the outdoor gardens, there are indoor
pavilions, kid's playgrounds, a windmill and boat rides through the
neighboring tulip fields. This is one of our best videos yet, thanks to
its amazing subject- The Keukenhof!"
