Sunday, March 28, 2010

Marbles

I was in a dreadful antique store today.  In fact it wasn't really an antique store, it was a "bric-a-brac" store.  "Bric-a-brac" seems to be shopkeeper code for "collections of horrid teacups and twee little bits of quilting".  As such, when drawn into bric-a-brac stores I usually jam my hands into my pockets, stare at the ceiling, and enter my own private world while humming Freddie Mercury songs to myself.

But today I was relieved of the tedium when I spotted a bowl of marbles for sale for 20 cents each.  Deluxe!  These were good marbles too.  Normally when you see marbles for sale they are just digs or catseyes.  But these were a good range of glassies, onions, bananas and snakies.  I bought a couple of digs and catseyes too, since just going for the high-end marbles seems a bit snobbish.

Rolling my newly bought marbles around in my hands brought back a lot of childhood memories.  Fads would sweep through the quadrangle at school every few months.  Most were never to return, but marbles came back every year.  I don't know where our actual marbles came from (as opposed to the marble fad itself, not that I know where that came from either), because with one exception I was never aware of them ever being bought from a store.  I must have pinched some from my older siblings, because otherwise I can't imagine how I ever got any.

The one exception to marbles not being bought I remember happened when some kind blessed spirit possessed my Aged Mother and she bought for us a small mesh bag of bananas and black bananas, mostly quarters but a few halves.  For about a week I was living large at school, being newly rich in marble wealth.  Of course, I was pretty crap at marbles so I pretty quickly lost mine to my less sensitive and more athletically gifted classmates.

A typical example was one time when I was playing a kid who caught the same bus as me.  I'm pretty sure I had put up a couple of banana halves for a snakey quarter.  I thought I was a good chance but he kept accusing me of fudging and awarding himself two shots.  I can remember thinking that this was unbelievable, and that this country was stuffed.  I attempted to call him on it but he threatened my physical integrity so I conceded.

A few words of clarification: we played proper marbles, not the stupid version that seems to be depicted in British children's books and TV programs.  In pommy marbles the objective seems to have been to knock marbles out of a circle with your own marble shot from a distance.  This is plainly absurd and pathetic and no fun at all.  Our marbles was more like golf.  We dug a hole in the ground and, starting about 3 metres away, we would alternate shots to get our marble into the hole first.  Whoever won the game kept the marbles which had been pre-agreed as the stake.  You didn't have to shoot with the marble up for grabs though - hence you could choose a marble appropriate for the terrain.

Of course, all sorts of shenanigans can and did happen, usually leading to disputes, thumpings, tears and shouting.  But that's what childhood is all about.  Buy some marbles for your kids today, then give them a thumping.  One day those will be cherished memories.

Finally, do not under any circumstances submit comments about "losing your marbles".  I will find you and destroy you.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

I have never read such insightful comments about anyone's childhood.

Anonymous said...

Whereas I, have never seen such insightful comments about childhood performed as a rock opera. Or even a rock operetta.

PTR said...

I have the feeling that I am being mocked.

Anonymous said...

PTR, when your blog comes to Broadway, who would you cast as you? Noel Coward?

Or, if it's performed first in Bollywood, who would you caste as you? Brett Lee?

PS My verification word is "theatump". If only I had worked AA Milne into this gentle (yet reverent) mocking, then that would have been frighteningly topical. Can't you just imagine a cross-over musical "The PTR in the 100 acre woods"?

The more I blog - theatump
The more I sing - theatump
And the more I sing - theatump
The more they clap - theatump
The more they clap - theatump
The more I dance - theatump
Luckily I got me boots - theatump
In which to scoot - theatump
I've gotta scoot now - theatump
Bye bye - theatump.

[Exit stage left to thunderous applause]

PTR said...

I have never read such insightful comments about AA Milne. He's my favourite battery-powered author. When it comes to mains power, however, I prefer the work of AC Grayling.

Anonymous said...

Wow, the mockee tries to turn the table on the mocker. How do you like them apples?

Well, you should know that I've seen the mock operetta of PTR and I know that you're just mock, mock, mocking on heaven's door!

Opps, it's getting late - I'd better not mock around the clock!

PTR said...

Who is more mocked - the mockee or the mocker who mocks the mockee's mocking? He who mocks last mocks loudest. And furthermore, ask not for whom the mockee mocks - it mocks for THEE!