Golden Memories: Toybox #2

I've succumbed to temptation and decided to revisit some of my old toys. It's supposed to be a mistake in writing to use lengthy lists, but maybe a few little genies will chuckle through the lines.

Many of my toys were transitional objects, being half oldschool materials such as tinplate, and half revolutionary plastic. It was all the same to me then as I fired match sticks from my artillery pieces and pulled tufts from the carpets with the friction motors of my racing cars. Never would I have guessed that match sticks would become rare one day, and plastic would pollute the seas....

The emphasis on weaponry in toys would engender strokes amongst the politically correct these days, and understandably so, because the world is a much safer place (sic). My Toybox was brimming with machine guns, cannon, crossbows, soldiers and pistols of every variety imaginable - water, cap firing, potato, plastic bullets and sparking. It ruined my mind completely, and I am now a homicidal maniac hunted by several police forces around the world.

A few incidental memories are now rising through the mist. The way the rubber tracks of a favourite tank turned into a sticky mess one hot summer, the spring loaded moon rocket that nearly took my eye out, my mother's old bucket handbag used to store sundries, 'Made in Hong Kong' on garish pastel plastic, popguns, and native Americans with spears and a different name.

Did they come alive at night?

Night and day.