The world is such a harsh place, and life is very hard. But you know what isn’t hard? Fluffy bunnies. Tonight Jennifer does a deep dive into her favorite bunny story: The Velveteen Rabbit. She’ll also take a look at a song right out of Circa 19xx Land that also has ties to Jennifer's memories of the 1980s. And then she'll share with you what she hopes the Easter bunny brings to her this year in her Easter basket. She has a wish list—and everything on it is cool vintage stuff. Let’s have three cheers for “Sryoco!” What? Don't worry, it will all make sense later on. And of course we’ll explore The Velveteen Rabbit. It’s more meaningful and beautiful than you remember. Yeah, this is another wacky show in our series, but it wouldn’t be Circa Sunday Night otherwise.
Show Links
I'll Follow My Secret Heart (Awesome Song from Episode #28 by Noel Coward)
The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams Bianco, Digital Archive Version
Jennifer's Fantasy Easter Basket: Avon Cape Cod
Jennifer's Fantasy Easter Basket: Net Lace
Jennifer's Fantasy Easter Basket: Syroco Florals
Jennifer's Fantasy Easter Basket: Vintage Vanity Jars
Jennifer's Fantasy Easter Basket: Camphor Glass Pendant
Circa 19xx Land
The world is such a harsh place, and life is very hard. But you know what isn’t hard? Fluffy bunnies. Tonight Jennifer does a deep dive into her favorite bunny story: The Velveteen Rabbit. She’ll also take a look at a song right out of Circa 19xx Land that also has ties to Jennifer's memories of the 1980s. And then she'll share with you what she hopes the Easter bunny brings to her this year in her Easter basket. She has a wish list—and everything on it is cool vintage stuff. Let’s have three cheers for “Sryoco!” What? Don't worry, it will all make sense later on. And of course we’ll explore The Velveteen Rabbit. It’s more meaningful and beautiful than you remember. Yeah, this is another wacky show in our series, but it wouldn’t be Circa Sunday Night otherwise.
Show Links
I'll Follow My Secret Heart (Awesome Song from Episode #28 by Noel Coward)
The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams Bianco, Digital Archive Version
Jennifer's Fantasy Easter Basket: Avon Cape Cod
Jennifer's Fantasy Easter Basket: Net Lace
Jennifer's Fantasy Easter Basket: Syroco Florals
Jennifer's Fantasy Easter Basket: Vintage Vanity Jars
Jennifer's Fantasy Easter Basket: Camphor Glass Pendant
Circa 19xx Land
Cold Open
You know, the world is such a harsh place, and life is very hard, isn’t it. But you know what isn’t hard? Fluffy bunnies. Yeah, so that’s what we’re going to talk about tonight. That’s right: fluffy bunnies. Well, I mean a particular bunny. I want to do a deep dive into my favorite bunny story: The Velveteen Rabbit. I know, I know—our last episode was about a book. It’s true, I don’t like to do two similar themes in a row. But we are just days away from Easter, so what can I say?
Tonight’s show is not just about bunnies, though. No. We’ll take a look at a song fright out of Circa 19xx Land that also has ties to my memories of the 1980s. And then I’ll share with you what I hope the Easter bunny brings to me this year in my Easter basket. I have a wish list—and everything on it is cool vintage stuff. Let’s have three cheers for “Sryoco!” What? Just stick with me. It will all make sense later on.
And of course we’ll explore The Velveteen Rabbit. It’s more meaningful and beautiful than you remember.
Yeah, this is another wacky show in our series, but it wouldn’t be Circa Sunday Night otherwise. So, hit is maestro so we can get started.
Introduction
Hello, hello! Or, as a member of my team at work often says, “Howdy, Howdy.” So nice to see you. Yes, “see you.” I mentioned in a previous episode that when I sit here behind the microphone I visualize you sitting there on the other side of technology, listening to the show. I hope you’ve had a good week.
I’m coming to you from Springfield, Missouri, tonight. For those of you who are new to the show, I split my time between Kansas City, Missouri, which is where my home base is, and Springfield, Missouri, which is where my company has a Mid-West office. I’ve been painting this weekend. In fact, I noticed right before I sat down to do the show that I have a little bit of paint in my hair. Nice. Sea Salt from Sherwin Williams. It matches my shirt—which also has paint on it. What can I say? It’s been a busy day.
OK, I’m a bit of a slob right now, so let’s talk about the Russell’s ball on episode 9 of The Gilded Age. (How do you like that for a segue?) I’ve shared some criticisms I have about this show in the past, but I have to give credit where credit is due: that ball was dreamy. As you know if you’ve listened to the show, I love a good ballroom. And the one on this episode in the Russell’s mansion was spectacular. Well, and the gowns and the diamonds, and the gentlemen in their finery, and the waltzes. Wow, I would LOVE to go to a ball like that. Are there balls like that anymore? Well, if not, then I would love to be an extra in a ballroom scene in the Gilded Age show. How about that? I just want to wear the gown and dance a waltz. That’s all. Is that too much to ask?
[Music]
Hey, if you’d like to support the show, you can do so in three ways:
1) Share it with someone you know who might like it. Send them a link and say, “Hey here’s a little show that will cure that insomnia you’ve been battling.”
2) Give the show a five-star review on Apple podcasts or the platform where you tune in. I’m not sure how to do that, but if you do, that’s a great way to say to the listening public that may be looking for a new show, “Hey, this show is tolerable.”
3) Subscribe to the Circa 19xx Land You Tube channel and give this episode a thumbs up. I know nearly all of you listen out on the podcasts platforms, and that’s OK, but if you happen to spend time out on Youtube, won’t you please consider subscribing to my channel? It would be cool to build a little community for us out there.
Speaking of You Tube, let’s do a check of our little subscriber community. What were we up to last time? I think we were at five—but then I remembered that I myself was one of the subscribers. So, four official subscribers.
I’m going out there now. And we have…five subscribers! So, ok. You know what? I’m going to celebrate that. We haven’t lost anybody! That’s my new goal. My old goal was to get to 25 subscribers by the end of the year. Now I think my new goal is to hang on to those four subscribers to the end. It’s all about perspective. Life is all about making adjustments.
[Music]
I received a question from a listener about our last episode. Here’s the email. This is from Carrie H. Hi, Carrie, if you’re listening. I’m not sure where Carrie is located. But, anyway, here’s her question:
“I really enjoyed the show about The Enchanted April. I saw the movie when it came out, and a couple of years later was even able to visit Castello Brown on a vacation to Italy…”
Oh, you lucky girl! How cool.
“…I saw scenes when I was there just like in the movie. It was lovely. But I have a question. Can you tell me what the song was that you played as an intro after the time machine segment? Not the featured song, but the song after the time machine takes off? I can’t get that out of my head.”
I know, right? That is a beautiful song. That’s called “I’ll Follow My Secret Heart,” and both the music and lyrics are by Noel Coward. Many singers have covered this song, but my favorite recording is the one I plugged into our last show, an instrumental version by Ray Noble (of course. You know how much I love Ray Noble). That one was from 1934. You can find it out on YouTube and I’ll put a link to it in the show notes. I particularly love the way the song concludes. Just beautiful.
Noel Coward was one of those names from the early part of the 20th century like Cole Porter that made such an impact on the culture of the time that we still know them today. He could do so many things: He was an English playwright, composer, actor, singer, and—a painter. And here’s our tie-in to our theme in the last episode: He painted several scenes of Portofino, Italy.
What about our song, “I’ll Follow My Secret Heart”? Well, that’s from a musical comedy Coward wrote in 1934 entitled “Conversation Piece.” Now, here’s an interesting tidbit I found out about this song on Wikipedia:
The big tune from the show, "I'll Follow My Secret Heart", caused Coward much difficulty while he was composing the score, and he was on the verge of giving up the whole show:
I poured myself a large whisky and soda... and sat gloomily envisaging everyone's disappointment and facing the fact that my talent had withered and that I should never write any more music until the day I died. ... I switched off the light at the door and noticed that there was one lamp left on by the piano. I walked automatically to turn it off, sat down, and played "I'll Follow My Secret Heart" straight through in G flat, a key I had never played in before.
Well, I guess the moral of that story is—never give up. Your breakthrough might occur at any moment.
Or maybe the key to creative genius is whisky and soda.
[Music]
Well, it’s Eastertime here in Circa 19xx Land, and there are two things on my mind: Jesus, of course. He has risen! And what happy news that is, right? You know, I mentioned in an earlier show that one of my goals for this year is to read through the Bible all the way through. I’ve never done that before—particularly the Old Testament. I’ve read big chunks of the New Testament, a few little bits of the Old Testament, but not the whole thing cover to cover. So I’m doing a little “Bible in One Year” study program. What an adventure that is. I’m still in the Old Testament at this point. I just read Isaiah 43, a passage I actually have read before, but that is just so beautiful and perfect for Easter. Here are a few lines:
Thus says the Lord…
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are mine.
That just gives me chills! I love that.
When you pass through waters, I will be with you;
through rivers, you shall not be swept away.
When you walk through fire, you shall not be burned,
nor will flames consume you.
For I, the Lord, am your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your savior.
Because you are precious in my eyes,
and honored, and I love you.
Well, there you are. If that doesn’t keep you going, I don’t know what will. How beautiful and comforting that is.
Ok, so I said there were two things on my mind. What’s the other thing? Bunnies.
Yes. I mean, why not? It’s springtime, the Easter Bunny is going to be delivering baskets to the kids soon. I saw a couple of bunnies the other day at my parents house. Some bunnies live under this covered platform deck my parents have in their backyard. When I take Olive over there and she runs around in the backyard, she always sniffs around that deck because she knows they’re under there.
On the cuteness scale, bunnies are just way up there near the top, right? Now, for those of you have are listening to this show for the first time, this is probably the point at which you are asking yourself “what kind of goofy show is this?” Well you know, I always have a plan for what episodes are coming up—and then about 75% of the time I abandon the plan because something else is on my mind, and this time it's bunnies. What can I say?
So, I want to explore a book—about a bunny—that is celebrating it’s 100th year of publication: The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. Actually, the full title is The Velveteen Rabbit (Or How Toys Become Real). Yeah, so it was first published in 1922. Now, I know that we just covered another book from 1922—The Enchanted April—in our last episode. I try not to cover two similar topics in back-to-back shows like that, but the timing just seems right, here—it being April and Easter time. Although I should mention that The Velveteen Rabbit doesn’t really have much to do with Easter—well, or does it? We shall see.
Wait, you know what, before we go any further, I’ve been using “rabbit” and “bunny” interchangeably. Can I do that? What’s the difference? Is there a difference? Let me do a Google…The difference between rabbits and bunnies…OK, here we have a website, AZ Animals.com that has probably never been visited by an adult before. They have an explanation for us:
“Bunny” is an informal name for a rabbit, but it usually refers to a young rabbit or a baby. That is an unofficial name. Baby bunnies are actually called kittens.
What? No. Who’s ever called a baby rabbit a kitten? Ok, they have more for us:
Nobody is sure where the word “bunny” comes from. One theory is that it comes from the Gaelic word “bun,” which was used for squirrels, rabbits, and attractive women. Some people believe it referred to the rabbit’s small, bun-shaped tail.
Another theory notes that the original name for a rabbit was “coney,” which referred to both rabbits and hares. Since it was close in pronunciation to a vulgar word—what?—people began avoiding it and using the rhyming word “bunny” instead. Initially, people used rabbit to describe baby rabbits and “bunny” for adults, but in modern times, those meanings have switched.
Well, we are—what, 10 minutes into the show?—and already learned so much. Listen, I’m just here to keep you informed.
[The More You Know Jingle]
Ok, I want to briefly meet Margery Williams, and then dive into the story itself, because I think there is more there than meets the eye.
[Music]
It was actually hard to find a satisfying biography of Margery Williams—also known by her married name, Margery Williams Bianco. In 1942 she wrote a book entitled “Bright Morning,” which was apparently about her childhood, but that’s been long out of print, and I could find almost no information out about it. I even went out to Gutenberg.org, which is usually a good source for obscure books, but no luck there. She actually wrote a lot of books—she even wrote a horror novel that may have inspired H.P. Lovecraft’s story, The Dunwich Horror, but almost no one knows anything about these works. When it comes to Margery Williams Bianco’s own personal story, it’s all about the Rabbit.
So, that leaves us with Wikipedia. Here are some bits about her life from there:
Margery Winifred Williams was born in London, the second daughter of a noted barrister and a renowned classical scholar, Robert Williams. She and her sister were encouraged by her father, whom she remembered as a deeply loving and caring parent, to read and use their imaginations. Writing about her childhood many years later, she recalled how vividly her father described characters from various books and the infinite world of knowledge and adventure that lay on the printed page. She noted that the desire to read, which soon transformed into a need to write, was a legacy from her father that would be hers for a lifetime.
When Margery was seven years old, her father died suddenly. This was a life shattering event for the young girl. Later her stories would often depict themes of sadness and loss. Williams maintained that the human heart developed greater empathy and compassion through pain and adversity, and that life is a process of constant change, that there are departures for some and arrivals for others—births and deaths, triumphs and setbacks—all of which, so characteristic of the human experience, help us recognize and understand the suffering of others—because we have known suffering ourselves.
Sidebar: you know, I think this is an important idea—this idea that suffering is a shared human experience. No two people’s suffering is the same—and some people’s suffering is more obvious than that of others—but no one escapes it because we live in a fallen world. One of the things I notice about people today is that suffering and adversity has become a contest—“I’ve suffered more than you!” or “My life has been harder than yours,” or “my story is more tragic than yours.” I think we spend so much time thinking about and romanticizing our own troubles that we lose sight of the fact that everyone suffers. Some suffering is obvious—some not. Suffering takes different forms and results from different causes, but it’s universal. There’s no escaping it. And I agree with Williams, here, that it is through our own suffering that we develop compassion for others. I think we really get this wrong today.
Anyway, back to Wikipedia…
In 1890 Margery moved with her family to the United States. A year later they moved to a rural Pennsylvania farming community. Over the succeeding years, until 1898, Margery was a student at the Convent School in Sharon Hill, Pennsylvania. Her ambition to make a living as an author propelled her in 1901, at the age of nineteen, to return to her birthplace and submit to a London publisher her first novel, The Late Returning, which was published in 1902 and aimed at an adult audience. It did not sell well and neither did her subsequent novels, The Price of Youth, and The Bar.
While visiting her publisher, Margery Williams met Francesco Bianco, an Italian living in London, who was employed as the manager of one of the book departments. They were married in 1904 and became the parents of a son, Cecco and a daughter, Pamela.
Pamela, by the way, became a famous illustrator—and even illustrated a couple of her mother’s books.
As Williams Bianco’s children were small, motherhood because her number one priority, so she wrote little during that time.
In 1907 the family left England, heading first to Paris, where Francesco was head of the rare books department at Brentano's. They later settled in Turin, Italy. In August 1914 Italy, along with the rest of Europe, was plunged into World War I, and Francesco Bianco joined the Italian Army. While remaining home with the children, Margery Bianco gained hope and inspiration from the works of the poet she called her "spiritual mentor", Walter de la Mare, who she felt truly understood the mindset of children.
Wait, who was this guy? He was an English poet, short story writer and novelist. He wrote a lot of fairytales for children as well as ghost stories.
At the end of 1918 the Great War had ended, but postwar hunger and deprivation became a problem in Europe. In 1921, Bianco, along with her family, returned to the United States and settled in Greenwich Village. Inspired by the innocence and playful imagination of her children, as well as the inspiration she felt from the magic and mysticism contained in the works of Walter de la Mare, she decided to resume her writing, and gained almost immediate celebrity.
The Velveteen Rabbit or How Toys Become Real was Margery Williams Bianco's first American work, and it remains her most famous. It has remained a classic piece of literature through numerous adaptations in children's theatre as well as on radio, television and in the movies.
Bianco wrote numerous other children's books. Most of them continued her preoccupation with toys coming to life and the ability of inanimate objects and animals to express human emotions and feelings.
In her final nine years, Bianco interspersed children's books with novels for young adults. These all featured young people who were in one way or another isolated or alienated from mainstream society and the joy, success, prosperity and social acceptance seemingly enjoyed by their peers.
In 1939, as her native Britain entered World War II, Bianco began to include patriotic themes and references to European history in her works, such as 1941's Franzi and Gizi. Her final book, 1944's Forward Commandos!, was an inspirational story of wartime heroism.
Margery Williams Bianco did not live to see World War II end. As Forward Commandos! went on sale, she became ill and, after three days in hospital, died at the age of 63.
Ok, so now we have a nice little background on the author to prep us for the story of The Velveteen Rabbit. But before we get to that, why don’t we take a little musical break?
In honor of the upcoming Easter holiday, we’re going to jump up in time a few years to 1930 for a little jingle that’s sure to lodge in your brain for the next couple of days. This is one that may be familiar to you: “Great Day,” sung here by Bing Crosby and Trio with the Paul Whiteman Orchestra.
[Song.]
Now, if you are a child of the 1980s, you’re probably sitting straight up in your bed right now, saying “Jennifer! That’s the Kellogg’s breakfast song!” Yes, you are correct. They’re Grrrrrreat. To this day I can’t hear this song without thinking of Tony the Tiger and Frosted Flakes. I happen to have a recording of one of those “Great Day” recordings from the 1980s. I’m going back and forth as to whether I should subject you to that one…oh, yeah, let’s do it. You knew I was going to do it. Here it is: “It’s Going to be a Great Day,” with the Kellogg’s cereal characters. Tony, Snap Crackle, and Pop. Let’s see, who else is in the choir here…Toucan Sam the Fruit Loops bird—oh, the Apple Jacks stick drawing kids. There’s that weird frog. What cereal is he from? I don’t remember what cereal—wait! Sugar Smacks. Yeah, Sugar Smacks. Yikes that sounds like poison, doesn’t it? Are those even around any more? I don’t know. But anyway, here they all are, helping us get out of bed.
[Kellogg’s commercial].
I can already see the hate emails coming in. “Jennifer, I now have an ear worm!” or “Jennifer, you ruined a perfectly good song.” Yeah, I know. I couldn’t help myself.
OK, about the song: It was written by Edward Eliscu, Billy Rose, and Vincent Youmans back in 1929, for a show, Great Day. There’s actually a better song from this show, “More than you Know,” which is a beautiful song. You might want to check that one out on the Internet.
[Song]
If you happen to be playing the part of the Easter Bunny for some little sweethearts this year, what should you put in the basket—I mean besides chocolate bunnies and jelly beans? Good Housekeeping Magazine has a few ideas:
Bunny-themed lip balm – super cute
Lego Easter chick kits – sorry, but this looks nothing like a chick. It looks like a little stack or yellow and white bricks with a beak on it.
Easter fidget poppers
Scented coloring pencils
Pastel bath bombs with little toys inside – that’s a good one, by the way. I bought my six-year-old niece bathbombs with little toys in them for Christmas and she loved them.
Ok, well, these are ideas for kids’ Easter Baskets. They have a few more ideas, too. Fine. But what would I want in my Easter basket? I would want vintage stuff in mine. Well, besides Russell Stover vanilla cream eggs—which, you know, I have to have those.
Ok, here are the five things I would want in my vintage-themed Easter Basket:
1. Avon Cape Cod napkin rings
I’ve talked about Avon Cape Cod on the show before. You can’t go into an antiques shop—or even my local thrift store—here in Missouri without encountering pieces from the Avon Cape Cod series of dinnerware. I always hear that Avon Cape Cod is over-priced, there is too much of it in the marketplace, that it has not value. All true, I’m sure, because it isn’t rare and it does tend to be pricier that supply would warrant. But there is no question that it is beautiful. It’s a deep ruby red glass produced and sold by Avon in the 1970s and early 1980s (I believe). If I remember correctly, it was introduced around the bicentenniel in 1976, and it has this colonial look to it. I think it’s stunning, and while I see it all the time, I never buy it. There are plates, candlesticks, glasses, serving platters—I don’t know how many pieces there are, but a lot. I think I’d like to start collecting them—but I want to start small—with napkin rings. I’ve never seen napkin rings as often as the other pieces—and actually, I haven’t seen them for a while. So, that’s number one for my fantasy Easter basket.
2. Old net lace
What’s not to love about net lace. I’d like a runner for a table or to lay at the end of the bed. I love it.
3. Syroco Wall Flowers
Ok, this is a passion of mine, so if you’re not familiar with Syroco, settle in for a little historical retrospective…
“Syroco” is the Acronym for the Syracuse Ornamental Company, which was an American manufacturing company based in Syracuse, New York that was founded in the late 1800s. At that time they specialized in decorative wood carving, and would make things like mantelpieces and other things that were popular in Victorian homes. You know how elaborate things were in the Victorian era.
As demand for their products increased, they developed a material that looked like wood, but didn’t have to be carved and could be shaped. I have an old Syroco box that is of this type. It sort of seems like wood, and you think it could be wood, but it also doesn’t seem like wood. For the longest time I didn’t know what it was.
Well, molding and shaping material was a lot faster than carving, so they were able to increase production. This new material was a combination of would pulp, flour—what? Yes, flour, as a binder. You can eat it like cake. No, that’s not advised. Anyway, there are other mystery materials in there to give it strength. This mixture was pressed into molds made from original carvings in wood.
I come across items like this from time to time in my antiquing travels. Often they will still have a sticker on them that says “SyrocoWood.” All one word. SyrocoWood was a main staple of the company through the 1940s—my little vanity box dates back to this period. It’s really beautiful—covered with what looks like carved flowers. Now I will say that syrocowood doesn’t age as well as wood. It’s softer than wood, and can appear beat up—and when it is really beat up, it doesn’t look great. Wood can take a beating and still look beautiful; syrocowood, not so much.
Anyway, this syrocowood could be varnished to look like wood, and was used in crown moldings, corbels, and other architectural elements—catalogs in the early 1900s show elements on caskets, too. Wow.
By the 1930s the company started making gift and novelty products made of “Woodite,” a combination of wood flour and polymer. And in the 1960s they began to use injection molded plastics for some items—and this is where my fantasy Easter basket comes in.
They started making plastic floral wall hangings that look from a distance like carved pieces. I LOVE them. Actually, my sister loves them, too, and we both have small collections. Now, you have to be selective. Some of them are truly horrible. But some of the delicate dogwood florals are beautiful and remind me of lace when you hang them together. I have small dogwood floral Syrocos in both of my master bedrooms—in Springfield and Kansas City, and a set of large dogwoods in my living room at the Springfield cottage. You also have to look carefully when you find them because they are often broken.
Syroco florals are always something my sister and I look for when going antiquing or shopping in vintage markets. The prices are all over the place—sometimes you’ll find them quite expensive. I just saw a listing on Itsy for a large dogwood at $165. That’s way too high. Don’t pay that much. Not in this market. You can find them for well under $100.
Ok, so Item number 3 in my fantasy Easter Basket is a set of two small Syroco floral wall hangings.
4. Item 4 would be a vintage vanity jar. A month ago I found this fantastic Art Deco porcelain lotion jar with a stopper lid. I had never seen one before, and now I’m obsessed with finding more. I believe mine is from the 1930s. It is light blue porcelain with gold accents, and at the top, under the porcelain stopper, is gold lettering that says “Lotion.” You know, we use so many lotions and moisturizers and liquid soaps—if you want to romanticize your surroundings, why not transfer those lotions from the ugly plastic containers they come in from Walmart into pretty vintage jars? There’s no reason in the world not to do that—except those jars are hard to find in Missouri. Like I said, the one I bought was the only one I’ve ever seen. But hey, if anyone can find another one for me it’s the Easter Bunny, right? OK, so that’s item number 4.
5. And finally, for item 5 in my fantasy Easter Basket, I’d like an antique camphor glass pendent. Camphor glass is that cloudy class, usually encased in sterling silver, that was popular in the mid-1800s all the way through the 1920s and 1930s. So delicate and beautiful. There’s nothing prettier.
OK, Easter Bunny. That’s all I want. Is that too much to ask? I’ll try to put links to images of all these things so if you’re not familiar with some of these things you can see what I’m talking about. There are so many beautiful things in the world, aren’t there?
[Music]
Why don’t we turn back to the story of our Bunny of the hour, the Velveteen rabbit. So what is this about? It’s a moving story about love, and loss, and spiritual evolution, and ultimately a Heaven of sorts. Ok, so when kids read this story, that’s not what they’re thinking about. That’s the way I read it. But it’s a wonderful little story.
If you don’t remember this one, let me refresh your memory. A little boy gets a sweet little stuffed velveteen rabbit in his Christmas stocking. What’s velveteen, you ask? It’s a fabric made to look like velvet. Anyway, the boy thought his velveteen rabbit was the most wonderful thing in the world—and he loved him for a little while—the book actually says he loved him for 2 hours. But then new presents arrived when aunts and uncles came to visit, and the rabbit was forgotten.
He lived, after that, in a toy cupboard. I want to read this section because its sweet and a little sad. This is a passage that is frequently quoted. I’m not the only one who loves it.
For a long time the velveteen rabbit lived in the topy cupboard or on the nursery floor, and no one thought very much about him. He was naturally shy, and being only made of velveteen, some of the more expensive toys quite snubbed him. The mechanical toys were very superior, and looked down upon everyone else; they were full of modern ideas, and pretended they were real. The model boat, who had lived through two seasons and lost most of his paint, caught the tone from them and never missed an opportunity of referring to his rigging in technical terms. The Rabbit couldn’t claim to be a model of anything, for he didn’t know that real rabbits existed; he though they were all stuffed with sawedust like himself, and he understood that sawdust was quite out-of-date and should never be mentioned in modern circles.
Even Timothy, the joined wooden lion, who was made by the disabled soldiers, and should have had broader views, put on airs and pretended he was connected with Government. Between them all the poor little Rabbit was made to feel himself very insignificant and commonplace, and the only person who was kind to him at all was the Skin Horse.
The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys to arrive to board and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.
“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”
“’Real’ isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You BECOME. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
Ok, yes, this is a children’s story, but there’s so much to unpack here, isn’t there? What does it mean to be real? Now there’s a philosophical question we could go around and around on for a long time. The way I read this is that to be real is to reach a state of selflessness. Think about this: when you’re young you care primarily about yourself—about how you are perceived—what people think of you, how you look. Do your ideas conform to the ideas of the day? Do you have the approval of others? I read recently that people’s greatest fear is that of public humiliation, closely followed by the fear of rejection. They will go to tremendous lengths to avoid those things, and to avoid them we have to spend an enormous amount of time thinking about ourselves and how we come across.
The ‘modern’ toys in the nursery do this in Williams’ story. They boast and put on airs. They aren’t real. Not everyone achieves a state of “realness.” The Skin Horse explains that it doesn’t happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept.
But there’s also the fear of ugliness. No one wants to be perceived as ugly. The Skin Horse paints a picture of what “real” looks like that is pretty unappealing. “Real” isn’t perfect; it’s shabby, and balding, and sometimes your eyes pop out. The Rabbit even goes on to think about this, and the book says “the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become real without these uncomfortable things happening to him.”
That’s the same thing we all wish, right? That we can somehow escape this broken world and make it to the other side without uncomfortable things happening. But we can’t. That’s just not how it works. Suffering is an experience that we all must experience, and it shapes us, makes us more compassionate, makes us more loving and more lovable.
That’s a beautiful passage. I love that.
Ok, so things went on for a bit, and the boy had taken to sleeping and cuddling with a toy dog he had. One night the boy couldn’t find the dog, and Nana (the nanny) didn’t want to go hunting for it at bedtime, so he spotted the Velveteen Rabbit, snatched him up by the ear, and gave it to the boy as a substitute. The boy started sleeping with the Rabbit, and playing with him.
At first the Rabbit didn’t like this. He missed the life he had become used to in the nursery, hanging out with the Skin Horse. But he was there for the boy—selflessness, right? Putting another’s happiness and wellbeing before his own—and soon he came to be very happy, and he and the boy were inseparable.
It's at this point that we start to see the process of becoming real slowly take place. He’s getting shabbier and shabbier. His tail was starting to come off, and the pink of his nose was worn off where the boy had kissed him. He’s getting shabbier—and happier because he is loving and lovable.
At one point the Boy accidentally leaves the rabbit outside and he becomes wet with dew and smells earthy—you know, that outdoors smell—and the Boy made a fuss. He wanted his rabbit. Nana gets annoyed that he would make such a fuss, and that’s when the boy says, he isn’t a toy—he’s real!
Oh, how nice. Well, that must be the end of the story, right?
Not quite. At one point our rabbit encounters real rabbits in the garden, and he is astonished. They are moving around of their own accord, and their fur didn’t show any seams. The real rabbits don’t know what to make of him.
Now, I think this is a point in the story that is really interesting. The real rabbits ask the velveteen rabbit to come and play with them. Listen to this exchange:
The rabbits stared at the Velveteen rabbit, and the Velveteen Rabbit stared back. All the time their noses twitched.
“Why don’t you get up and play with us?” one of them asked.
“I don’t feel like it,” said the Velveteen Rabbit, for he didn’t want to explain that he had no clockwork.
“Ho!” said the furry rabbit. It’s as easy as anything.” And he gave a big hop sideways and stook on his hind legs.
“I don’t believe you can!” he said to the Velveteen rabbit.
“I can!” Said the Velvetten Rabbit. “I can jump higher than anything!” He meant when the boy threw him, but of course he didn’t want to say so.
“Can you hop on your hind legs”” asked the furry rabbit.
That was dreadful question, for the Velveteen Rabbit had no hind legs at all! The back of him was made all in one piece, like a pincushion. He sat still in the bracken, and hoped that the other rabbits wouldn’t notice.
“I don’t want to!” He said again.
But the wold rabbits have very sharp eyes. And this one stretched out his neck and looked.
“He hasn’t got any hind legs!” He called out. “Fancy a rabbit without any hind legs!” And he began to laugh.
“I have!” cried the Velveteen Rabbit. “I have got hind legs! I’m sitting on them!”
“Then stretch them out and show us, like this!” said the wild rabbit. And he began to whirl round and dance, till he got quite dizzy.
“I don’t like dancing,” said the Velveteen Rabbit. “I’d rather sit still.”
But all the while he was longing to dance, for a funny new tickly feeling ran through him, and he felt he would give anything in the world to be able to jump about like these furry rabbits did.
The strange rabbit stopped dancing, and came quite close. He came so close this time that his long whiskers brushed the Velveteen Rabbit’s ear, and then he wrinkled his nose suddenly and flattened his ears and jumped backwards.
“De doesn’t smell right!” he exclaimed. “He isn’t real at all! He isn’t real!”
“I AM real!” said the Velveteen Rabbit. “I am real! The boy said so!” And he nearly began to cry.
But our friend isn’t real, is he? Not yet. What do we see in this passage? He’s putting on airs—just like the other toys in the nursery. He tries to create the impression that he can jump really high—but leaves out the part about his need for the boy to throw him in order to do that. He wants to dance very badly, but tells these furry rabbits that he doesn’t want to—implying that he could if he wanted to, but he just doesn’t want to.
He's not there yet. He’s still on his journey to becoming real. And this encounter with the furry rabbits is an important rite of passage, because it’s painful. It hurts to become real. This is an example of the suffering that you have to push through to help you become real.
The rabbits get started when the boy approaches and they run off. The Velveteen Rabbit calls after them, saying “Come back and play with me! Oh, do come back! I know I AM real!”
Time passed, and the boy loved the Velveteen Rabbit, and the Velveteen Rabbit became shabbier and shabbier. He even began to lose his shape. But he no longer cared, because the boy loved him.
And then…the story takes a tragic turn. The boy comes down with scarlet fever. Throughout his sickness, the rabbit laid with him in his bed. The rabbit never left his side, and he never minded, even when the boy squeezed him tight, even when he was hot under the bed covers, because he knew the boy needed him. It was boring for him because he was in the bed with the boy all the time, but he was patient because the boy needed him. Again, selflessness, right?
After many days, the boy started to feel a little better, and his parents decided to take him to the seaside so he could fully recover. The boy was very excited about this. And so was the Velveteen Rabbit. He couldn’t wait to go to the seaside.
But the doctor saw the Velveteen rabbit, and announced that it was full of germs and would have to be destroyed. The rabbit was thrown outside among all of the germ-ridden toys and bedclothes that would soon be burned. Meanwhile, the boy was given a brand new stuffed rabbit to sleep with. The Velveteen Rabbit was sad, and lonely, and cold outside. He was afraid, too, of what was to become of him. He thinks of everything the wise Skin Horse had told him, and he wondered what the point of get shabby and becoming real was if it all came to this.
Yes, life is very tragic indeed, if this is all there is.
OK, I’m going to go back to the text now:
A tear, a real tear, trickled down his little shabby velvet nose and fell to the ground.
And then a strange thing happened. For where the tear had fallen a flower grew out of the ground—a mysterious flower—not at all like any that grew in the garden. It had slender green leaves the color of emeralds, and in the centre of the leaves a blossom like a golden cut. It was so beautiful that the little Rabbit forgot to cry and just lay there watching it. And presently the blossom opened, and out of it there stepped a fairy.
She was the loveliest fairy in the whole world. Her dress was of pearl and dewdrops and there were flowers round her neck and in her hair, and her face was like the most perfect flower of all. And she came close to the little Rabbit and fathered him up in her arms and kissed him on his velveteen nose that was all damp from crying.
“Little rabbit,” she said, “don’t you know who I am?”
The Rabbit looked up at her, and it seemed to him that he had seen her face before, but he couldn’t think where.
“I am the nursery magic fairy,” she said. “I take care of all the playthings that the children have loved. When they are old and worn out and the children don’t need them any more, then I come and take them away with me and turn them into Real.”
“Wasn’t I real before?” asked the little rabbit.
“You were real to the boy because he loved you. Now you shall be real to every one.”
And now we come to the best part of the story. Not only does our little rabbit become real, but he goes to live in Rabbitland for ever and ever, where he can be with other real rabbits. His reward is eternal bliss and freedom. How beautiful that is.
And now back to the text for the end:
Autumn passed and Winter, and in the Spring, when the days grew warm and sunny, the boy went out to play in the wood behind the house. And while he was playing, two rabbits crept out from the bracken and peeped at him. One of them was brown all over, but the other had strange markings under his fur, as though long ago he had been posted, and the posts still showed through. And about his little soft nose and his round black eyes there was something familiar, so that the boy though to himself: “Why, he looks just like my old bunny that was lost when I had scarlet fever.”
But he never knew that it really WAS his own bunny, come back to look at the child how had first helped him to be real.
Now I ask you: Is this the most moving story in the world? Answer: Yes, it is. I can barely read this ending without tearing up. Because I see in this story something so appropriate for Easter. No, it isn’t usually read as an Easter story. But it’s about the transformative power of love, that true love costs something. It isn’t easy. It’s selfless. And then we see at the end this beautiful redemption. In this case the Fairy is the redeemer; at Easter, Jesus is the redeemer.
Did Williams intend this connection? I have no idea. That’s what’s so wonderful about artwork of all kinds—something is revealed in it that may not even be obvious to the artist. But anyway, that’s how I read this wonderful story.
And speaking of artwork: I love the original illustrations in this book. They were done by William Nicholson, who was a British still-life, landscape, and portrait painter. He also authored children’s books of his own. My favorite illustration in The Velveteen Rabbit is of the flower fairy. If you happen to be listening out on Youtube—and chances are very good that you are not—but the thumbnail for this episode includes that illustration. I’ve also linked a digitized version of this book in the show notes, and you’ll see it in that book as well. I would love to have a high quality print of that picture to hang in my office. It has this very characteristic art deco look to it. Fabulous.
OK, let’s leave it right there tonight. Thanks for joining me tonight. Remember to subscribe to the channel and like this episode if you are out on Youtube, or if listening via your favorite platform, please give this show a favorable review.
Another work week is ahead. But it’s OK because Friday—hey and Easter Sunday!—will be here before we know it. Have a great week and I’ll see you soon.
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