Golden Memories: The Toybox

At first, nostalgia seems like a unique, individual experience, but as time goes by people often realise that others have had very similar events in their lives. Trivial, magic moments seem to occur with the same impact as the deaths of world leaders.

My Toybox was not Jack Kennedy, yet my recollections are clearer. The box was a rough, pine packing case, used during our post-divorce removal. Because we left an army camp, I imagined for years that this box had previously been used to transport rifles, although later it seemed more likely to be the standard removal container (replaced later by tea chests, and now cardboard boxes). It was stamped inside with code numbers and '1956'.

Most of my toys languished there and I could easily bore readers with an exhaustive list. Instead, I'll pick out one or two oblique memories, which capture some of the terrain of strange childhood thoughts.

I recall, for example, the mysterious appearance of numerous 1950's toys, including military vehicles, Meccano in a wooden box and a scratch built locomotive which used an old Vim tin as the boiler. This was interesting to me at the time because I had no idea where these toys came from. Many were older than I was, so who were the doners? Perhaps I should have asked.

And now it's too late.

Another event was clearer, and I wish it wasn't. On top of the Toybox I had assembled my fleet of Airfix warships (every boy in the '60's had an arsenal of weapons which were probably considered reasonable preparation for the next war). At the same time, my mother had decided to 'give up' and she had acquired a home help who actually did little but talk over a cup of tea for an hour. When the helper was one day asked to tidy the upstairs landing, she had a fit of pique and managed to decimate my model fleet with a feather duster. The fleet lost their final battle, with propellers, six inch guns and aerials scattered far and wide.

But then I was a lazy kid.