The Hat

On top of the stand sits The Hat. Underneath are newer, snappier hats, but this one is priceless.

Created and shaped by an intricate hand-made process, The Hat came to life as an accessory from one of the largest French fashion houses. It cost The Owner six weeks’ hard-saved wages but was worth it.

The Hat’s band balanced the pristine white creation. Offset with a delicately formed silk rose, it perfectly matched The Owner’s Nina De Ville Cobalt Blue haute couture jacket, slimline skirt and Marc Fabichon designer shoes. With a wave of an immaculately manicured hand, sporting silver and brilliant blue trimmed nails, The Owner and Partner departed in their silver convertible on their honeymoon. As the sun beamed down, the hat brim flapped gently, and The Owner smiled.

Five minutes later, an unexpected wind gust caught the edge of The Hat and it sailed high above the buildings, off into the distance. On it sailed out of sight.

“Oh, no! My Hat!” cried The Owner. They drove along the streets searching for hours in vain. Distraught, The Owner and Partner eventually stopped at a roadhouse for coffee on the city outskirts.

The Owner gasped with delight. Sitting on the counter was The Hat, rescued from the carpark by an employee. The employee saw that the blue of the suit matched the hat and returned it to the overjoyed Owner, who was so grateful a reward was gifted.

The Hat was worn on many occasions to special events, galas and gallery openings. Those opportunities eventually faded and became non-events for The Owner, and The Hat was retired from official duty at functions, along with The Suit. The convertible was traded for a station wagon.

The Hat became many things over the years. It was borrowed as a makeshift crib, using the crown, for the children’s small baby dolls. Later, faces plastered in make-up, it became part of the children’s dress-up wardrobe, (on loan from The Owner, of course), when playing High Fashion and taking turns in wearing The Owner’s old blue suit. Finally, the rose became shabby, unravelled and fell off The Hat. The Suit was donated to the local charity shop. 

The Hat served as a handy sandwich holder for country picnics, just the right size when inverted, until the day a large Bower bird caught a glimpse of the Cobalt Blue band. As The Owner and family laughed in the sun, it swooped, seizing The Hat in its beak by the upturned brim, toppling the wrapped sandwiches onto the blanket. The bird ascended rapidly and flew into the forest, where it eventually stopped to rest in one tree high above the ground. The Hat was gone, well and truly.

The Owner, Partner and the children wandered back to their family car, dejected. They would never see or wear The Hat again. One week later, driving down the same country road, The Owner shouted “Stop!” The Partner slammed on the brakes, panicked. The Owner almost tore off the car door in the haste to get out. Sitting on a post, outside a property, rested a pair of work boots, waiting for the farmer’s return. On the opposite post was The Hat, blue band intact, too much of a challenge for the Bower bird to remove and discarded somewhere. The Owner seized the hat and hugged it like a baby, before returning it to the top of the head where it belonged. 

Further years lapsed and The Hat became worn and battered but was always much loved. Small holes appeared in various places. They were covered over with some neat darning, which ultimately became grubby and unattractive. The darning was replaced with some careful embroidery and tiny cloth patches. The edges of the brim flopped down, but that didn’t matter. The Hat was the favourite out of all the hats, becoming a character extension of The Owner.

As the children grew and left home, The Owner and Partner took up canoeing. The Partner spied a large green canoe for sale in the local sports shop. It fitted perfectly onto the station wagon’s roof racks, so there were days spent trying out various river locations. On each trip, The Hat, now well-worn and moulded to The Owner’s head, accompanied them, even out onto the water.

It wasn’t a boating hat, but The Owner refused to wear anything else. There were times when the river currents were much stronger than anticipated, and sometimes they changed abruptly. One day, the weather was perfect for a river trip. The canoe was lowered into a quiet part of the river over a small current. Several people sat fishing on the bank at various locations. The Owner and Partner, oars in hand, paddled down the placid waterway. Within minutes, they realised there would be trouble afoot. Further along the waterway small rapids appeared, which developed into large rapids downstream. The Partner suggested they turn around and return to where they began. The Owner agreed. While they pivoted the canoe with the oars, the wind whipped through the trees on the riverbank. Away went The Hat, gone in an instant. It dropped into the water and was carried away towards the rapids. The Owner was mortified.

“Well, looks like The Hat’s gone for good this time,” said The Owner as they hoisted the canoe onto the top of the car. Crestfallen by the turn of events, The Owner and The Partner drove back along the road beside the river. The decision was made to return home and cut the losses.

Further along the riverbank, a young boy frantically tried to reel in his line without success. He leaned forward, his knees buckled, getting dragged towards the edge in the struggle. “I’d better give this young fella a hand,” The Partner said and stopped the car. “Here, let me help you,” The Partner called out. The Owner stayed in the car, in a sullen mood.

The Partner took the rod and reel and pulled with all possible strength. It seemed to be stuck under a large snag, so The Partner jerked the rod upright in a short, sharp motion. “It must be a big one,” said The Partner through gritted teeth. Suddenly, the rod broke free and whipped back up onto the bank. Caught in the hook was a big one, alright: The Hat, complete with a full-sized fish inside the crown. 

The Partner handed the fish to the boy. “Here you are, mate, you’ve earned this,” said The Partner.  “Good fishing. And We thought we’d lost this forever,” The Partner continued, grinning, holding up the dripping Hat to drain.

The Partner returned to the car; The Hat hidden from view. “Could you hand me a towel from the back seat?” The Partner called. “What have you got there?” queried The Owner.

The Partner grinned again and held up The Hat. “An old friend of yours, I believe,” The Partner replied. The Owner was overjoyed once again at being reunited with the battered, although wet, Hat. 

“Well, it won’t quite ever be the same,” The Owner laughed. “But that doesn’t matter a bit.”

The Hat is now used in various ways, from bringing in fresh eggs from the chicken coop to carrying small fruits off the vine into the kitchen.

The Hat is a survivor. One that has weathered the trials of life and always returned. The Hat did have one last official job: to carry the ashes of The Partner to the final resting place under a tree in Pioneer Park.

On top of the stand sits The Hat. Underneath are newer, snappier hats, but this one is priceless.