Some time ago, a Womble appeared at my flat in south London. It was a small, soft toy, about 13 centimetres high, that my son, who was in his early teens, had brought home. He had been out with his friends to our local fast -food outlet and it had been given away with his £1.99 meal.

I pounced on it. After all, he had grown out of the cuddly toy phase, even though he still holds them in a certain affection. Also, unlike his mother, he is not old enough to remember the Womble’s. I asked if I could have it. He nodded and gave a dismissive shrug, already knowing its fate.

I began by inspecting this small object. A label the size of a postage stamp, sewn onto the inside leg, held the following information:
“c. 1999, McDonald’s Corp. Made in China. Wellington c EB/FF, 1999.” I then started to unpick the tiny stitches holding it together, making observations as I went along. By the evenness of the stitches, I could tell it had been made on a sewing  machine. As I dissected him (having assumed that I was dealing with a ‘him’), I was struck by the number of parts, which had been used to construct him. There were 31 separate bits, including the tiny pieces of interfacing that had been used to strengthen his crutch, hairline, arms and main body. I spread them all before me, amazed.

Many questions flooded into my head. How could it have been sewn on a sewing machine? It must have been so fiddly. How long had it taken to make? Had it been made in a factory or at home by a piece-worker? Had it been made by a woman, a man or a child or, perhaps, a combination of all three, with someone making the ears and someone else making the head? Had its small parts been cut out by a machine or by hand?

I was on a mission. I spread the dissected body parts before me. Perhaps attempting to put them back together would provide me with some answers. But I wouldn’t even attempt to use a sewing  machine. I would carefully tack them together by hand. Several hours later, however, I hadn’t even managed to attach the first arm to the main body.

A trip home, to visit my mum, became a necessity. She was a skilled seamstress, past home-worker of many years’ standing, and experienced in the construction of clothing. I knew she would be able to help. Having made a pattern from the original, I painstakingly cut out  new pieces for its construction and presented them to  her on my next visit. She was intrigued by my request but, eager to indulge me, she took it on as a challenge. After about three hours of continuous work, my mother managed to recreate a creature very similar to the original Womble. She had succeeded where I had failed.