THE BABY SHOP

Shannon News, 28 October 1927, Page 2

THE BABY SHOP

A tiny out of the way town in Poland —A street, lost in the labyrinth of lanes, alleys and squares--A small reel brick house which 1 will always remember. A woman stood on its fheshold one September afternoon —a sturdy, mid-dle-aged, Polish peasantwoman, exquisitely neat in her black apron, her bright green skirt and her coquettishiy folded kerchief. There was nothing suggestive of a real shop about the house, but when I stopped she smiled and said: “Won't you come in and look at my little things • It was a shop inside, though per haps some inexplicable shyness prevented her from displaying her wares in the tiny windows. It was a shop ■filled from floor to ceiling with most extraordinary things. Plain they certainly were; just wood and linen rags and bright paints went to the making of them. Bat what variey, and what' a wealth of creative fancy they re presented. Toys? Were these really toys? Bears, dogs, cats, big woolly owls with big beady eyes; cunningly painted fishes, y.ou could see the intricate working of the scales); cowS of different, sizes., from tiny thing's about as big as your fist to huge bulky animals which had to stand on .he floor. And other things: little dramatic scenes of farm life; two brightly aproned girls milking a huge placid cow; joiners , working at a miniature table —I marvelled at the accuracy of detail. A friendly fish erman with his tiny rod. A huntei with a ridiculous wooden gun slung over bis shoulder.

“Those things are so simple to make,” explained the kind faced woman. “Just a knife and a brush. Of course, you must get your colours accurate. I don’t believe in giving a purple cow or a pink boar to a child. T am trying - to do my best. 'Plow long have I been at it? Oh, for years—since my husband died and I had to leave the village. Well, thank you, it goes on quite well. They call me “The Baby Shop Woman,” though those things are not for babies only; •You sec, I understand how little the children know about our country life. I just try to explain it to them. No, they are quite cheap—please won’t you have this one?” A lovely bear, his coat- marvellous'y painted in the correct shade of black-brown. I wanted to pay for it, but she refused to take anything. “Glad to see you like my Baby Shop,” she smiled.

It was not the toys themselves which struck me most, but the utter modesty of the woman, who was a real creative artist and never knew it. Edith M. Almedingen.