How Bumless Norman has become a priceless part of our family - Ian McMillan

No, we’re trying to get a fix on Bumless Norman’s trajectory through the autumn air, to see where he’s going to land and how fast he spins. Suddenly he collides with the ground and bounces a couple of times before settling in a pile of leaves that are the same brown as my hair used to be, unless they’re the same yellow that my mam’s custard used to be. Norman’s stoic and faintly bewildered expression doesn’t change.

Hang on, McMillan, I can hear readers shouting, stop going on about custard and hair! Rewind a bit to the section where you’re describing the trajectory of Bumless Norman. Who’s he? And what was he doing falling from the sky?

Let me explain. Bumless Norman is part of the mythology and storytelling history of two generations of my family, from my children to my grandchildren. He’s a toy wrestler who turned up many, many years ago on the beach at Cleethorpes when the tide had gone out for a stroll to the Low Countries. We were just coming back from a ride on the donkeys (that’s the kids, not my wife and I) when my son Andrew noticed a forlorn plastic head sticking out of the sand. He reached down and The Legend of Bumless Norman began.

To be frank, Bumless Norman isn’t an example of the craftsman toymaker’s art. He’s made of a kind of rubbery plastic that feels a bit like chewing gum. He’s got a vacant expression, a caterpillar of a moustache and pinpoint eyes. He’s quite muscular and he’s wearing red boots and wrestling trunks. Oh, and he’s bottomless. Hence the name. He’s left his behind behind somewhere and there’s just a void.

We took him back to my mother-in-law’s and washed him in the sink. I wanted to call him Bottomless Pitt but that was a bit too ironic so in the end we called him Bumless Norman. And the reason he was flying through the air in our back garden is that Noah has got a game which basically consists of me throwing Bumless as high into the air as I can and we both watch him fall.

And the point of this is that I reckon we’ve all got these old toys, these worthless but at the same time priceless things that we’ve kept for years and which have been enjoyed for decades. Stories grow around them, and memories stick to them and they are instant time-machines, taking us back to places that we thought we’d forgotten.

So, in turbulent times, let’s hang on to these shards of innocence and they can keep us going in the storm.

Come on, Bumless Norman: time to throw you in the air again!

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