‘Despite our best efforts, we never found my stuffed toy’
A few days before leaving London to move to Southend last November, I realised I didn’t know where my childhood stuffed toy was. The toy, named Katie, lived on my bed, and had done since my great-nan gave her to me a few weeks before my first birthday. She was tattered, patched and ripped, but just perfect, and meant a lot to me. We searched the entire house and I asked local neighbours in case our cat had carried her outside. Despite our best efforts, we never found Katie. I’ve always been so careful in knowing where she was (I know, I’m 32), so it really hit me when I lost her. I still dream about finding her – ridiculous! LJ Cannell, works in property development, Southend-On-Sea
‘My dad’s golf club is one of the few things I had kept after his death’
I had gone out to London for the day and when I returned, my house had been burgled. The electronics, the car, and my new complete set of golf clubs in the back of the car, all gone. The only thing I mourned the loss of was my father’s Ping Anser putter circa 1975, with manganese bronze head and Lambkin grip – one of the few things I had kept after his death. I have another one now, almost identical. I told this story at the golf club and the next time my playing partner brought along a Ping Anser which he said had been in the garage gathering dust. I’m not sure I believed him, but I’ve played with it every round since, and I have always been grateful for the gesture. Robert Barnes, architect and university lecturer, Henley-on-Thames
‘I hadn’t counted on how much I’d be attached to my wedding ring’
My wife made our wedding rings because there was a grim sense of inevitability that one of us would lose ours. Mine was gone for ever within six months. It was a pretty little rose gold band with an agate stone and I miss it very much. I didn’t replace it as nothing else would be the ring I wore on the day of our wedding. I thought for ages that I must have taken it off to keep it safe at work, but it never showed up. I was glad we’d spent so little on it (about £20), but I hadn’t counted on how much I’d be attached to it as a memory of our wedding day. Pips, Somerset
‘A photo of my grandmother reminded me of when she was full of life’
My parents bought a plot of land when I was young and our immediate neighbour practically raised me – for the longest time I thought she was my “real” grandma. You can imagine the disappointment when I learned that she wasn’t. She gave me a photo of herself when she was younger and it has always been in my purse. At the time, she was diagnosed with diabetes and, due to complications, she is now almost blind. That picture always reminded me of her when she was still full of life, happy and healthy. I believe I lost it after completing my undergraduate studies. I have moved several times since then and I keep hoping I will find it in all my stuff, but it’s been three years now. It’s unlikely I ever will and that breaks my heart. Chao Shete, student, Voi, Kenya
‘One day I’ll get my mum’s parrot earring made into a necklace’
I lost one of the gloriously 1980s parrot earrings that belonged to my mum. She died when I was very young, and so her clothes and jewellery became my link to her, especially after I moved to Scotland from Australia and away from my family. I used to wear her blue and red enamel parrot earrings all the time – they were my favourite bit of jewellery. I was in Ullapool for work, and it was incredibly windy so I took the earrings off and put them in my bag (to avoid losing them!) and one of them must have fallen out. I was absolutely gutted. I’ve searched eBay, Etsy and other sites just in case they were common enough that others might have them. I still feel sad about it, but I tell myself that one day I’ll get the remaining earring made into a necklace instead. Mikaela Atkins-Blake, working in the arts, Glasgow
‘It was only when I got home that I realised my Saints scarf was gone’
I’m a huge Saints (Southampton FC) football fan and I’d been wearing the same scarf to games since I was a teenager – well over 30 years. I’d accumulated a decent collection of club badges, including several years of season-ticket holder-only pins. Then came a dark night – an evening game at home to Leicester, a 9-0 thrashing [against us], and a wind-and-rain-lashed walk back to my car. I was so distraught that it was only when I got home that I realised my scarf was gone. My overriding thought was that somebody would find it in a puddle, and assume it had been abandoned by a long-term fan who had totally given up on their team. Never! I still have huge pride in the Saints, but also huge sadness in losing the scarf that led me back to the 1980s when I first started watching them. Christine Strangwood, civil servant, Fleet, Hampshire
‘I carried a photo of my birth mother everywhere until my bag was stolen’
When I started searching for my birth mother, I managed to track down the people she had been staying with at the time I was born, over 20 years earlier. They gave me a studio portrait of me with her at a few weeks old. I carried it everywhere with me until my bag was stolen while I was unloading a van for a theatre. That was about 35 years ago and I still fantasise about finding it one day. My reaction probably has as much to do with the lack of a relationship with my mother as the photo itself; losing it equals losing her. I remain convinced that, one day, I’ll get a copy from an as-yet-unidentified source. Lizz Poulter, teacher and translator, France
‘I threw my grandad’s copper arrowhead out the window’
When I was a boy, my dad gave me a copper arrowhead which had been given to him by his dad, a miner, who had discovered it in a mine near Lake Superior in the 1930s. One day, when I must have been about nine, I was upset with my dad and I threw the arrowhead out my bedroom window. It landed in a snow bank, and I immediately regretted my impulsive decision. I ran outside to look for it, but the arrowhead was impossible to find in the snow. It’s been nearly 30 years since and it’s never been found. Over time, upon each return to the house, I’d slip away and comb the yard beneath the second-storey window – once, I even borrowed a metal detector. My parents sold the house in 2018 and I haven’t really gotten over the loss. Devin Keast, comedian, New York
‘I left my songbook and Dictaphone on board a ferry’
I’ve written songs since I was 12 and have had songbooks going since then. In 2010, I was taking the car ferry back to the UK with my family. The sea was choppy and I had to go and lie down. I took my latest songbook and Dictaphone with me, hoping to be able to leaf through, but couldn’t open my eyes due to motion sickness. I must have fallen asleep and was woken by a ferry announcement. It wasn’t until the evening that I realised I’d left both songbook and Dictaphone on board. The ferry company were never able to locate them for me; the book had my name and contact details inside but so far no one has called. Gone for ever, I suspect. Now, before touring or travelling, I photograph my current songbook and back up my phone. Duncan Roberts, musician and songwriter, Paris
‘The cufflinks from my father are here somewhere’
My late father was a keen metal detectorist and found a single Georg Jensen cufflink on his property in the 1980s. He contacted the Georg Jensen shop in London, who happened to have one spare so that he could make up a pair. He then gave them to me. Unfortunately, the box in which they were kept went missing during a complex house-moving operation last year. I have been pacified with the assurance that the box is just “temporarily mislaid” and will turn up eventually. I have no option but to exercise patience. They are here somewhere! Jonathan Stiles, managing director of a small company, Finland
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