Childhood weekends
For some reason (nostalgia is a funny thing) Iâve been remembering how I spent my weekends when I was a child. I had a Best Friend, Susie, and we were virtually inseparable. We spent almost every weekend together, either at her house or mine (we lived in the same street). Iâm going to sound like Iâm having a bit of a Monty Python moment, but when I was a kid, we spent most of our time outside if it wasnât raining too hard. I feel a bit sorry for children today who seem to be imprisoned by their parentsâ fears of paedophiles, violence and car accidents. We were fairly free-range children: we had to be back by tea-time, but other than that we could roam around without having to be in constant mobile phone contact with our parents â imagine that!
Most of our outdoor play involved energetic movement of some sort. We would roller-skate down the hill beside Susieâs front garden. This was in the days before fancy in-line skates, and we had those old metal platforms on wheels which we would buckle on to our shoes with leather straps. I donât think that the hill was particularly steep, but to a small child on roller-skates it seemed an impossible gradient. Luckily, Susieâs garden was bordered by soft fir trees, so we would dare one another to start off one tree further up each time, and fling ourselves into a tree-cushioned crash-landing in the event of things going horribly wrong.
I remember that we spent most of our childhood days up various trees. My garden had a very nice willow tree in it. The first couple of metres were tricky with a smooth, branchless trunk, but with a couple of rope loops on the first branch, we could get into more climbable territory. We would sit up there for hours, chatting about girl things, unmolested by my little brother. Iâm sure that my Mum worried about us, but I think she relied on the Pavlovian conditioning method: the first time we fell out of the tree and broke something, weâd learn to be more careful, or never want to climb a tree again. But in years of climbing trees, neither of us ever fell out.
We even had our tea up the tree, rigging up a pulley and basket system to get the food up there. Tea was almost always the same thing: toasted sandwiches (cheese and Branston Pickle or cheese and Marmite), cake (chocolate, if I had my way), an apple, and a glass of Ribena. Actually, we only had Ribena at Susieâs: my Mum had an aversive experience with a broken bottle of Ribena outside Tescoâs, and vowed never to buy the wretched, sticky stuff again (see, Pavlovian conditioning does work). The toasted sandwiches were made in a proper toasted sandwich maker, and were neat little pillows with the edges welded shut by pressure and butter. When you bit into one, the melted cheese was hot, but the Marmite or pickle reached temperatures akin to those found at the earthâs core. Thus, it was vital to gingerly bite the end off the parcel and blow into the cavity for several minutes to let the contents cool to merely scorching.
We made a go-cart out of an old pram chassis with a board on it, and would hurtle down the garden on it (my brother on the brakes, such as they were) at supersonic speeds, stopping just in time to avoid the garden wall and subsequent 3 foot drop onto the patio at the end. Somewhere at home, my Dad has a fantastic picture of me, Susie and my brother, eyes wide with exhilaration, fun and fear, as we roar down the garden on the pram. I love my life, but I feel slightly sad when I look at that picture: I just donât have that kind of fun anymore.
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Same when I was young. Me and my friends used to roam all over the area on our bikes, making like the famous five or secret seven, or swallows and amazons. We were warned not to accept sweets from strangers, and that was about it. Of course, lacking comouters and related technology we had little choice but to invent our activities. A field with tall grass was a war zone, or a great place to explore the jungle. Neighbouring woods could contain any of a vast array of fantasies to live out. And orchards were a gerat place to steal lunch
The worst dangers we faced were slipping in a pile of horse pooh, or being chased by an enraged farmer (or his geese - much worse).-----
Without sounding like something from 'Cider With Rosie', I don't think that children play as imaginatively today as we did. I remember playing in Susie's living room, and pretending that the sand coloured carpet was a desert. It was too hot to walk on, so we had to get from chair to sofa by using copies of National Geographic magazine as stepping stones. I don't think that we appreciated --- at the time --- the interesting metaphor that our play created.
by bsag @ 16/02/2003 2:03 pm • Permalink •
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i used to play this game with my little sister where i would tap a part of my body and she would pretend the corresponding part of her had just been injuredpunchedstabbed etc, and react accordingly. i have no idea how this game came about, what its point was, but i always remind my sister of it -- she can't quite believe she used to play it unquestioningly [she never got to be the one inflicting the 'pain'!].
just thought i'd share that with you all. :D
by dvd @ 16/02/2003 3:02 pm • Permalink •
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It's amazing that you didn't grow up to be a psychopath. You're not a psychopath, right?
by bsag @ 16/02/2003 5:02 pm • Permalink •
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no, luckily for everyone i didn't progress onto using physically tangible weapons. i'm sure my sis got her revenge from time to time -- little sisters always have the secret weapon of crying on demand as a failsafe way to get their older brothers in trouble.
by dvd @ 16/02/2003 6:02 pm • Permalink •
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