What else do you do on a summer Saturday but excavate the historic doll/stuffed toy collection from under the dust of ages and I do mean ages. I am not sure that the stuffed toys have had the dust bashed out of them for decades.

Meet the motley crew, some of who are almost centenarians.

They were removed from their cupboard-top home, stripped naked, apart from the two that my mother appeared to have sewn into their clothes and readied for the major operation.

Next, to wash the clothes, some of which needed hand washing. It might be a while since they were last washed but I know from bitter experience these are old fabrics that are far from colour fast. Sadly, since they were last laundered, it seemed that the moth had made a meal of some of the woollen items, lovingly knitted by three generations.

The shoes were scrubbed and left to drain.

Then bath time. I don’t have a real bath (I have what is officially the smallest bathroom in the world – seventeenth century cottages not being too hot on bathrooms, so I replaced the bath with a shower). No bath means no bubble bath, so I substituted washing up liquid. It turned out that I also had to use a rather rough washing up sponge to scrap the dust from grubby limbs and faces – sorry dollies.

From the left: Christine, Jilly, Mary, Jane, Betty, Sally, Big Peter – you can pin point my generation just from the names.

As you will see, the baby bath has stood the test of time. I am wondering if this will be marked up as an inappropriate image.

Mary and Jilly

You have no idea how long it takes to peg umpteen small items on the washing line. Take it from me – a long time and it used up every inch of line and every peg I could find.

The dolls were left in the sun to dry. I did have to temporarily amputate a few limbs and even one head, in order to let the water drain out.

Big Peter and baby Peter (not a lot of imaginative naming on the part of my mother there), now in their late nineties, were spared total immersion, not least because baby Peter’s clothes don’t come off. In fact I fear for the stability of the wires attaching Big Peter’s limbs and heads, hence the warning notice.

Then it was time to bash the soft toys together and stand well back as the dust flew.

A quick bake in the sun followed. Today they will be redressed and replaced on top of the cupboard. It is a sobering thought that if they wait as long for their next washing as they did for this one, I may not be around to do it.

My lovely memories group ladies are writing about the toys and games of their childhood at the moment. I am fortunate to have many of mine still in my possession. The great loft sort has revealed a feast of goodies. They may just become the subject of a talk. In the meantime, whether you still have the contents of your toybox or not, I would encourage you to record the memories of your own particular treasures.

NB no dolls were permanently harmed in the creation of this blog – well, I am not sure I should have washed Jane’s hair (already her second lot of hair) but she will get over it.