August 2011
Sophie was eight, Mary seven. They had met at the Saving Grace Sunday school in Upper Suburbia. Their backgrounds and life-styles were very different though, appropriate to their tender years, they had only a vague notion of the facts. Anyway, as is the way with young children, they soon became firm friends.
In the summer they would enjoy outings, arranged by the Sunday school, sometimes to the swimming pools at nearby Grendforth or, their favourite, a coach ride into the countryside with a picnic included.
Mary was, however, puzzled, each year, in the autumn when Sophie would disappear for two or three weeks. Sophie's parents were what is known as 'comfortably' off , her father being the European C.E.O. of a major multi-national engineering conglomerate and her mother a well established Harley street psychiatrist.
Mary's parents, by considerable contrast, were much more humbly situated; father a bus driver and mother a warehouse assistant at the Tesco depot, on the industrial estate.
Mary's parents knew, of course, that Sophie's annual absence was caused by her parents taking her to one of their holiday homes; usually the luxury bay-side mansion in the Caribbean. They did not think, though, that an explanation, involving a lecture on 'Socio-Economic variations within Western society' would mean very much to young Mary.
But, anyway, Mary missed her best friend. Thus the routine continued for several years – until one fateful Xmas – when the peaceful situation took a turn for the worse.
It happened like this: when asked about possible presents Sophie said she would really like a nice Doll's House. Daddy, of course, agreed (how could he deny his little angel anything?)
In accordance with his life-long principle of only buying the best he asked his secretary to make some enquiries. Before long she came up with what seemed the best solution.
An order was duly sent off to Neiman Marcus, New York for one of their top-of-the-range luxury models.
On that Xmas day Sophie was presented with this prestigious gift, amidst great anticipation and excitement.
Sophie could hardly wait to tell Mary about the wonderful present. 'Daddy says it is the best in the world, it is called the Taj Mahal Platinum, and it is really, really beautiful . . . mummy said she thinks it will fit into the Bentley – so we will bring it round for you to see.'
When Mary and her parents saw this wondrous object they were amazed and awe-struck.
'Daddy, daddy, can I have one like that?' cried Mary . . . 'Of course you can dear' (what else could he say?)
The next time the girls met Mary looked a bit sad and dejected, 'Daddy says all the shops have sold out of the Taj Mahal, but, anyway he is going to make me something very like it.'
A week later Mary was able to tell Sophie, 'Daddy has finished my Doll's House – it's lovely; he calls it Xanadu (but I don't know what that is) you must come to see it.'
Sophie and her parents duly arrived to witness the un-veiling of Mary's father's D.I.Y. creation. When it was revealed, in it's full glory, there was a rather awkward, hesitant, silence – but before the parents could say something diplomatic, Sophie spoke up (from the mouth of babes . . . etc.) . . . 'It is very nice Mary . . . with all those bright paint colours, and the clever cut-out window things . . . but it is only a cardboard box.'
Neither of the children could understand, of course, the significance of this innocently intended comment – but, in effect, Sophie had demonstrated something that would remain part of her throughout life. The sub-conscious message being, 'We can be friends, at the moment, but I belong to a superior strata of society . . . and you can only stay in your place.'
To mis-quote Rudyard Kipling . . . 'Rich is rich, and poor is poor, and never the twain shall meet.'