Learning to live with freckles

Press, Volume CXV, Issue 34038, 30 December 1975, Page 5

Learning to live with freckles

Bp

SHIRLEY R. SCHMIDLI)

“Glory be to God for dappled things.'*’ exclaimed the poet. I have often wondered, hopefully if Gerard Manly Hopkins nurtured a secret passion for a freckled maiden. I would like to think that someone had found inspiration in freckles, because nobody has ever waxed lyrical over mine. Frankly. I find the number of pale and damaskskinned lasses in English literature nauseating “Thy skin is ivory, so white." bleats John Gay to his anaemic black-eyed Susan And as for the skipper’s daughter in Longfellows Wreck of the Hesiperus.” with her “cheeks like the dawn ot day ' I’ll bet my bottom dollar that, had she been a freckled miss, our Victorian ancestors would

never have shed a tear over .tlie poem — if indeed it had ibeen written at all. The body of a “maiden fair lashed close to a drifting mast" conjures up a beauti- ' Lui and moving scene, but replace it with a freckled ’corpse and it is plain revolting — something Longfellow wouldn't have touched with a forty-foot spar. “SI VS KISSES" Well-meaning friends have often tossed that corny old phrase at me— “they’re not freckles, they’re the sun’s kisses." But as far as I’m ‘concerned, the sun can take •its kisses elsewhere There must be millions of people in Alaska or Siberia who’d give a fortune for his [attention. But no. he has to lavish his unwelcome love ‘tokens on me. How anyone can enjoy lying on a dazzling white • beach with that leery old sun • glaring down is beyond me. May-be if 1 turned out smooth and gold as caramel cream I’d put up with it too. But who would tolerate hours of sweating torture, maddened by mosquitos, gritty sand and the demented blare of transistor radios, only to end up looking like an over-peppered salmon steak? When I was young my Treckies were lumped together, with my’ unpredictable moods and my obsessions with Rupert Brooke and ’food as "something she’ll outgrow." But though my moods and enthusiasms became milder each year, my freckles remained.

Each summer I hoped for la miracle. At the end of my holidays I would feel suffused with a warm glow. ■Why. 1 would ask myself, did’it have to show up only iin spots? UNDIGNH II D “Gosh, you do look healthy'” my fellow office workers would say on my return to work. How I loathed them, with their golden limbs and unblemished complexions. Most, of ail I detested the honey-blonde girl, who would hold her delectably • tanned arm next to mine for I comparison and smile. A smug little smile Never mind that, her ears stuck out ’and het knees were fat. there was something about. ■ a sun-tan that cast a veneer • of glamour over the most lumpish features. How could 1, with my ■peeling nose and freckles. • ever be termed “sexy”? Neither could I ever achieve a dignified expression — not with a constellation of freckles on my nose. I was doomed for the rest of my days to being “a decent [type” — a sort: of ageing school-girl heroine. An idea, born of desperation, came one evening. 1 [filled the bath with hot water, tossed in a handful of Condy's crystals and after undressing, climbed in full of optimism. Now, the pale ' gaps between my freckles [would be dyed a glorious golden brown. While 1 lay soaking I visi ualized the admiring stares I of my friends next day. ‘Their glowing skins would fade into insignificance be-

side my coffee-coloured instant tan. I climbed out and eagerly! examined my arm- and legs.’ Instead of the glorious' transformation I’d expected, they’d taken on a sickly.' jaundiced appearance with each pure standing out in: dark brown relief. I scrubbed in vain with scrubbing brush, soap and bath cleaner As an afterthought J let the bath water out and got. to work on the evil brown stain that defaced the bath That didn’t come off either. Relationships with my! mother were very strAinedi for some days. Ihe stain oiti the bath, she pointed out,; would be permanent. I -looked at my limbs through a mist of despairing tears: and vowed to spend the rest’ of the summer wearing stocking’ and long-sleeved: dresses. Ihe bath stains never faded, but in due course, those on my skin did This, I ; was told, was more than J deserved Mv freckles remained. In spite of them though. I managed to find myself a husband. Perhaps he didn’t, notice them, or maybe he re-1 alised that culinary brilliance must be offset by some physical imperfection. I have never asked. I have given up hoping: I for a miraculous transform- : ation every summer. Now, i •in seaside picnics, I cower I iundet the trees with the| : grannies and the thermos | : flasks watching without' • envy, while my olive-: • skinned children frolic in the; bright rays of my’ old 'enemy, the sun * •*•■*■*<•*■*-*■*-* 4e-a