On the green in the next village along from mine, a replica of the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz stands proudly, watching the traffic go by. Although I have always relished seeing him, I have also often wondered how he got there, as this rural Welsh village has no connection to the story.
Imagine my alarm, then, when it was announced a few weeks ago on the village community Facebook page that the Tin Man had been stolen. The nuts and bolts that rooted him to the land had been tampered with and there was no sign of our empty-chested friend.
A slew of messages followed from disgruntled residents demanding his return: “own up—who has him?!” said one. Others lamented how the village was poorer for his disappearance. One resident shared an AI image of the Tin Man half-buried on a landfill site; it disturbed everyone. As with all small joys, you only know what you’ve got when it’s gone.
It transpires that the Tin Man held real significance for the village—most of the residents said that he made them smile. There is some irony about how me much we loved this character who was famed for not having a heart. The eccentric sight of him standing on the green was a welcome lift from the mundanity of everyday life.
Soon I became consumed by the mystery, not only the question of how the Tin Man disappeared but why he had been erected in the first place. Why had the artist chosen the Tin Man over the Scarecrow or the Lion? What were they trying to say with this empty kettle without a heart? The community Facebook page has asked everyone to stay vigilant; to check if our elusive friend is being sold on marketplace or eBay.
Two weeks ago, the first of these mysteries was solved when the Tin Man reappeared on the green. No one saw the moment of his return; it had happened in the middle of the night. Somebody claimed the creator had taken the statue away for restoration. On hearing the good news, I drove down to the village to see him with my own eyes. And there he was, shinier and more resplendent than ever, with the same gold heart painted on the left side of his chest.
Everyone in the local area—not just people in the village where the statue resides—breathed a collective sigh of relief. “Thank God,” they commented; “Hooray!” One woman said the village hadn’t felt the same since the disappearance, while another said her smile was back. There’s no doubt the village is happier now.
I have not, however, been able to solve the second mystery: who is the creator of this statue? I have asked around—there are theories, but no one can tell me with certainty.
The Tin Man’s recent escapades have surprised, distressed and delighted the people of the village in equal measure. For me it has had the curious effect of reminding me of my deepest grief. Although our hearts flutter when we’re in love or feel excited, I think we only really feel our hearts when they break. I have never been so aware of the location of my heart than in the period after my mother died—my heart hurt so much that I wished I didn’t have one.
As the wizard said to be Tin Man when he offered him a ticking heart: “Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.” The statue’s disappearance may only have been brief, but in that short space of time the Tin Man reminded us all what it means to be human and have a heart.
